by Imogen Sera
The next morning he hadn’t come after breakfast, when he usually did. He didn’t come after lunch, or dinner, either. After a long time of laying in bed and hating herself she succumbed to her boredom and rose to fetch her books. She was thoroughly absorbed, sitting up in her bed to practice her words, when Tarquin strode into her room without knocking.
“You look like shit,” he said, his arms full of something.
She barely had the energy to throw a half hearted glare at him.
He surprised her then by tossing tissues and a small bottle of something on the bed, then turning to her little tea table she'd arranged neatly. He crossed to her sink, kettle in hand, then set it over her dwindling fire. He stoked up the fire, adding several more logs, then came to sit on the edge of her bed. She watched him as he worked, trying not to adore the way his hair brushed his shoulders, trying to avoid admiring the crease on his forehead each time he glanced her way. She tried not to think about the fact that he seemed to be intent on taking care of her.
“Tell me why you weren't at breakfast,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I'm sick.”
“Tell me why you weren't at dinner.”
“I'm sick.”
“Tell me why you've been avoiding me.”
“I love you,” she said. She’d wanted to say she was sick, had tried to say it, wasn't sure how the other traitorous words had slipped out, but they were gone now and she didn't have the energy to try to snatch them back.
He didn't react, just leveled his dark gaze at her for a long moment, then rose to finish making her tea.
He came back and helped her sit up in bed, helped her sip her tea out of the pretty cup with tiny blue buds on it. He set it down on her nightstand when she was finished.
“That tea set was Aurelia's,” he said, the look in his eyes far off. “She loved it.”
“Apparently we have similar tastes,” she said, gripping the cup tightly between her fingers. Apparently nothing could be just hers. She considered breaking it on purpose, but then felt childish for having considered it. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”
He shrugged slightly. “I’m glad it’s not forgotten somewhere.” He paused, staring at the tea pot. “I was very proud of how much she loved it. It was the first gift I ever gave to her. I spent days trying to figure out what she would want, and then hours agonizing over the pattern.”
“That sounds like you,” Mira said.
He looked at her oddly. “Does it? I was just thinking how different I am now.”
“You always do things so… cautiously. Thoughtfully.”
“Not when it comes to you,” he said, his gaze turning dark. “I shouldn’t have— that first time—” he trailed off.
Mira’s cheeks reddened and she shook her head. “It’s fine, I don’t—”
He cut her off. “I’m sorry, Mira. I think about it often. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “it’s not as if we haven’t fucked a million times since then.” She laughed her loud laugh.
He just watched her as she laughed, and when she finished, he put his palm on her cheek. She quieted immediately, treasuring his touch again after so long, fighting the urge to shut her eyes and soak in the feel of him.
“It does matter, though,” he said, regret on his face. “We were nearly there, weren’t we? We were getting closer. I even made you laugh your real laugh once. I really thought you could be mine.”
She fought her wobbling chin, fought the urge to look anywhere except for at him.
“But after that first time, you pulled away. I blamed you at first. I thought you were selfish. I thought I deserved all the time in the world because of what had happened to me.”
“You do deserve that,” she said.
“Maybe,” he murmured, keeping his palm on her face. “Maybe, but you shouldn’t have been the one to pay for it. I blamed you because I wanted you, and I blamed you because you weren’t her. But I was never kind to you.”
“You were fine,” she said quietly.
He shook his head and paused for a minute. “I never contemplated tea sets for you. I should have. And now it feels so hopeless.”
“I don’t want it to be hopeless,” she said.
He looked at her for a long minute, his dark eyes full of an emotion she didn't recognize. “I thought you hated me.”
“I do,” she lied.
“You said you love me. You said it twice.”
She just stared at him, not denying the truth which was so obvious and thick in the air she wondered how he couldn't have already known.
He didn’t say anything else, but gently took her teacup from her and set it on her bedside table, before climbing into bed next to her. She didn’t protest as he pulled her to his chest. He leaned to kiss her forehead, and it was so soft and so achingly sweet that her heart hurt from the gesture. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could, and cherished his solid form under her hands, and laid like that silently until she was asleep.
Mira awoke in the midst of a coughing fit, the air around her cold, but the body next to her warm. Tarquin’s arms wound around her once more while she coughed, his hand rubbing her back soothingly.
She sat up and swallowed water from her bedside table, afraid to talk or lay with him again. She didn’t want to scare him off as she’d done before— the moment was too sweet, the future too hopeful to do anything to jeopardize it. So she just sat up for a moment, the cold night air washing over her, until he sat up next to her and leaned against the headboard, and pulled her so she was laying against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, feel his breath moving through him; she wanted to memorize the feeling. He was quiet for a long time, so she was too.
“Aurelia was perfect,” he said suddenly, into the darkness. “Too perfect to be matched with me.”
Mira scarcely breathed, not wanting to do anything stupid that would make him stop talking.
“She was the daughter of a merchant. She came across me by chance, on her first visit to the palace with her father. He was trying to sell tapestries. When I met her I knew there was… something there, but I didn’t know what it was at the time. She was lovely—” he paused and glanced at Mira. “You’ve seen her portrait. But more than that; she was kind, she was sweet. I could feel it radiating out of her right away.”
Mira stared into the darkness while he talked.
“I didn’t like her at first. She was so sweet, it felt like an act, like she’d be kind to you and then turn around and laugh about you. But it wasn’t an act, she really was that good.”
She clasped his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.
He was quiet for a long time, so long that she thought he was done talking when he interrupted the silence. “She was pregnant,” he said. “It was new. Very new. Nobody knew about it.”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
He shook his head. “I feel like… like by moving on, that I’m letting the child be forgotten. I miss her, of course, but she has her father and her brothers to mourn her too. But nobody knows about the child except for me.”
Mira was silent, touching him but not sure what else to do.
“I’ve never hated you,” he continued. “Sometimes, when I looked at you at first, I hated myself. I wanted you right away. I was consumed with thoughts of you. But you’re not her, and it— it ate at me.”
“I’ll never be her,” she said, tension settling in her gut and her expression carefully guarded.
“I know that. And you’re not perfect. You’re rough and hateful and you laugh at terrible things, and sometimes you manage to say something that makes the entire room fall silent. You cut your hair when I told you I liked it. You’ve been cruel to me and you kicked me out of your bed constantly when all I want to do is hold you. You’ve questioned me endlessly about my dead mate, not caring that it’s painful, that the reason I don’t want to talk about her, especially to you, is because I feel like I’m betraying her e
very time I look at you. Because I don’t hate you. I think you’re wonderful, despite everything, because of everything. I want you, Mira— and not just in the ways that I’ve had you. I want you on my arm during the day, I want in my bed at night, and I want you next to me for the rest of my life.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I'm not your mate,” she said. “I never will be.”
“I don’t care,” he replied. “You’re my match. I choose you. I think that counts for something.”
Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She looked away from him, settling her cheek against his chest once more. “I hope it does,” she said.
He clutched her as tightly as if she’d agreed vehemently with him, and she let him, her mind racing and her soul feeling split in two the rest of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Come with me,” Tarquin demanded the next morning, but made no move to leave the bed they were pressed together in.
“Come with you where?” Mira asked sleepily, her face buried in his neck.
He didn’t answer, and when she moved to sit up and look at him he just smiled slyly at her.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
He sat up too, cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. It was slow and tentative with none of the usual urgency. There was no heat, no demand for anything else, just something sweet and whole, all by itself.
Mira felt a wave of unease, but pushed it away. He was hers. He had said it himself, and she had no reason to doubt him, had no choice but to trust him. So instead of pulling away she leaned against him.
He helped her dress. The tenderness with which he looked at her as he buttoned her pants around her waist made her falter. There was a sweetness that had never been present when he was removing them. He dressed after she did, and she found herself watching him, admiring him from her seat in her big chair.
The gentleness between them was new, but had a sturdiness that had never been there before. They had fought for it for months; it was hard won. Mira had no intention of letting it go without a fight, and as she watched him pull his shirt over his head she hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.
He held her hand as they left her room, and she was thoroughly confused when he opened the door right next to hers. She’d been in the room countless times, had picked over all of the items left in it, but when he pulled her inside after him she was shocked by the change. It no longer had forgotten items stacked on various surfaces, no longer had a thick layer of dust, but was instead just a bedroom, clean and tidy and ready to be slept in.
“This is mine,” he said, a sweet proud smile on his face.
She just raised her eyebrows at him.
He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You knew I wanted to be close to you, even your first night in the palace. You ran away so I guess I have to chase after you.”
She smiled widely at that.
They left for the breakfast room. Her hand felt small in his warm one, and she savored the feeling, but as they approached the front hall she tried to pull hers away. He looked at her questioningly and she just shrugged.
“You don’t care if people see?” she asked.
“I do care,” he said, as a look of sadness crossed his face. “I want them to see. I should have wanted them to see months ago. Do you care?”
She didn’t know. She was crazy about him, utterly swept away and totally in love with him, but the thought of making such a public declaration was unsettling. She didn’t know how to say that without hurting his feelings, so instead she just said, “I like touching you.”
That seemed to please him, and when they sat down together for breakfast, his hand found hers under the table as it had a million times before. He traced his fingers along her palm as he’d done for months, but this time he lifted her hand in his and pressed a kiss against the back of it.
She watched him as he did it, and it was easy to ignore the way the conversation had quieted and easy to ignore Lily’s delighted grin. It was even easy to ignore Caelian’s muttered, “Finally.”
They sat silently, and hardly a minute had passed before the conversation had resumed, and Mira felt safely invisible again. Not invisible, though, never invisible again, not when Tarquin looked at her like that, not when he grinned at her like he was proud of her. Like he loved her.
It was strange to Mira to have everyone know that there was something between her and Tarquin, but it was hard for her not to like it. Not when everyone knowing meant that whenever she visited the queen’s parlor, he would sit next to her and pull her feet across his lap, or when he passed her during the day, he could lean and kiss her forehead, or her cheek, or her mouth, right there in the open. She liked not being a secret.
They spent a quiet afternoon in the library together, after Tarquin had described to her how much he’d enjoyed reading when he was growing up. He’d had little time to do it in the years since, he explained, so she took him by the hand and pulled him behind her, straight to the massive room with books stacked from floor to ceiling.
“You should find something to read,” she said, and then stretched out long across a sofa.
“You don’t also want one?” he asked.
She just stared at him. He knew, he must have known. He’d walked in on her struggling with books for children enough times that he must have known that there was nothing in this library that she could possibly read.
She didn’t know how he took her silence, but he disappeared around a row of shelves, and returned a minute later with a book in hand. She lifted her head from the cushion it was laying on and raised her eyebrows at him. He sat, and she settled her head in his lap.
He didn’t open his book, just watched her as she pressed her cheek against his thigh, and after a moment he’d set it down entirely.
“You know I can’t read,” she said suddenly. She wasn’t trying to be accusing, but it came out that way.
He paused for a minute. “I know you’re trying to learn.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” she said. She watched him thoughtfully. “That’s why I didn’t write to say I was coming. You were so mad at me. My father’s the only one who could write, and he never would have written that for me. He wanted me to stay at home.”
“I shouldn’t have been mad at you,” he said, and his big warm palm came to rest on her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” she smiled faintly. “Besides, it means you kissed me, so I can’t be too annoyed at it. But why were you so mad?”
He smiled down at her. “You terrified me. I was so worried about you— it was too late for that, I suppose. There was also the fact that I’d been keeping an eye out for your letter so I could be the one to escort you. I was missing you.”
“I was looking for you the whole way,” she said.
“I love you, you know,” he said. “At least, I hope you know.”
“I think I do,” she murmured.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The unfortunate part of Tarquin’s role at the palace was that he needed to leave frequently, and for the most part she couldn’t come along. It was never longer than two or three days, but she spent the entire time missing him. So when he whispered to her one evening that he needed to leave the next day, and would she please come with him, she grinned and hugged him so tightly that there was no way he’d have been able to go without her.
“Why are we here?” she asked, the next morning, after he was finally awake. She didn’t mind so much, though, not when his arms were tight around her.
“I want to get married,” he said.
She shot him an incredulous look. Surely she’d misheard him. “What?”
He smiled and lifted her hand to his mouth. “I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said.
“I thought you might say that,” he murmured, his lips trailing from the back of her hand to the inside of her wrist, “but I hav
e good reasons.”
“What are your good reasons?” she asked, savoring the little thrill that traveled from her wrist straight to her core. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“It’s your choice, sweetheart, of course it is,” he began, “but hear me out first.”
She shut her eyes as he kissed up her forearm to the inside of her elbow, then ran his tongue along the crease. She nodded.
“Helias has a mate,” he said, “and Caelian. I know that others have found theirs as well.”