Alethea had been a confident girl, before coming to the castle. She’d been a bit more like Tris, in fact – a little queen presiding over her domain, assured of the fact that she was loved and lovable, with a cast of subordinates to remind her of her charms. That confidence had degraded in the intervening years. Between adolescence, her unrequited infatuation, and finding herself a prisoner in her own home, Thea had learned to question everything about herself…to doubt her own worth and power. For better or worse, that was the version of her that Tristan had gotten to know; insecure, and longing for things out of her reach.
But something about their time apart and her escape had changed her. She’d learned many important things about herself: among them, that she was far from helpless and that, while she may not be able to move mountains on her own, she could be relied upon as part of a team. Call it growing up, or coming into one’s own. (The island had also done wonders for her confidence, but she wasn’t prepared to revisit those memories at the moment.) Her blush still came easily, but it no longer reached her eyes.
So the look she leveled him with was probably more direct than he’d grown used to, from her. She tracked the movement of his hand at his invitation to compliment him, taking in the freshness of his cheeks, the hedonism in his gaze. “Am I your mirror, mirror on the wall?” she teased, quirking a brow. Then, smiling: “It’s a very good look. But, so was the scruff.” Honestly, did he need reminding that he looked magnificent? Thea was fairly sure he ranged between charmingly disheveled and impeccably groomed, with only shades of handsome in between…and she was certain he knew it.
But if he wanted to hear it from her, she was happy to oblige.
They fell into easy banter; easier than it had been in ages, easier than it had ever been without any alcohol to lubricate their words. Thea suspected he was testing her, leaning into the innuendo in such a way. “I would hate to scandalize you,” she agreed, batting her eyelashes. If he thought she would forfeit this round, she had news for him…even if he did close the distance between them, suddenly close enough to touch. She lifted her chin, to meet his eyes. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
The quiet of the rest of the stables suddenly asserted itself – until that moment, Thea hadn’t quite realized they were alone.
“Oh-ho, I see! You’re conscripting me.” His fingers threaded through hers, and she swallowed. Beneath his skin, magic beckoned to her like a breath against her ear, green and warm as the exhalation of leaves. She squeezed his hand reflexively. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ll need to freshen up first. I don’t dare handle those fabric samples smelling this much of horse.” Her voice almost sounded normal, she thought.
He led her from the stables back to the castle.
“Who else have you enlisted in your redecoration task force?” She inquired casually as they walked, hand-in-hand. And she did try to listen to his response, even through the distraction of his power tugging at her, and the unreality of his touch. Touch-starved, she remembered it was called, though that wasn’t the whole story. There had been months when she’d been touched by nobody, true, but even if she had, this would be…
She could not name it.
They walked all the way to her room, which was its own unreality. There were no guards by her door, or even in the hall. Nobody was observing them. Nobody was taking notes. She thought she might be sweating a bit, and retrieved her hand from his before it could become clammy and unladylike. His magic broke off sharply. “Twenty minutes, your grace,” she promised through a smile, and closed the door between them.
Then she sprinted to the bathroom, stripping clumsily as she ran.
LETO WHAT DO I WEAR, Thea shouted down their bond as she tripped into the shower, barely registering the temperature of the water. She scrubbed frantically at herself while her familiar hummed, thinking. Don’t overdo it, the wolf advised, he likes you better in trousers, anyway. Thea frowned. Was that true? It seemed crazy not to wear a dress when Tristan was dressed like that. No, she could not do it. She toweled herself and dripped across the floor into her bedroom, where she rummaged through the armoire for a blouse.
Twenty minutes later, she was reaching up to knock on Tristan’s door. Her hair was gathered into a damp bun at the nape of her neck, and her skin was dewy and clean, and she looked crisp in a white blouse and goldenrod skirt. Adjacent to his colors, without being too obvious…she hoped. She breezed through the door when he opened it, and nervously took in the room.
It was familiar, and not. She tried not to fixate on that, or on the fact that they were alone in his room, and instead stared at a table where piles of fabric squares, books, and beautiful papers were stacked. She whistled.
“Wow. Even I did not know there were that many brocades.”
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