THE PALACE WAS SILENT WHEN THEY ARRIVED, AND BLYTHE GUESSED Aris was
to thank for that.
He did not return Blythe to her room, but instead carried her through an ornately carved door down the hall from her own. Had it always been there, or had he magicked it into existence for the sake of convenience?
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, blinking eyes that had long since lost their bleariness. By this point, Aris was just being stubborn to not put her down.
“To my room, where I can keep an eye on you. The last thing I need is the hassle of your death while your father’s down the hall.”
He gave her no time to argue as he opened the door not into a dusky purple sky pocked with starlight or an enchanting forest glade, but into a plain suite with a plain sitting area and an unadorned bedchamber similar in layout to the one she’d woken up in that morning.
“This is your room?” Aris must have registered her surprise, for he gave the space a single glance before shaking his head.
“Of course not. For the length of your father’s visit, this is our room.
We’re happy newlyweds, remember?”
“Our room.” She chewed at her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth. “Right.” The suite was larger than hers, though far less grand, with walls of a rich forest green and all the basic furniture. There was no sign of originality. No sign of Aris.
Though she could see the hardwood floors against her soles, she kept expecting them to split open and force her to step around bushels of
lavender or sage that spread like wildflowers. How jarring it was to be surrounded by magic and wonder, only to suddenly not find any of it. It seemed Blythe was getting spoiled, so accustomed to Aris’s magic that reality felt dull.
Aris strolled inside, loosening his cravat. She noticed then how slowly he moved, his footsteps a shuffle and his head drooped as if pulled down by an invisible weight. He worked at his cuff links, fumbling over them for so long that Blythe could no longer stand it and eventually stepped forward to take hold of his wrists.
“You are not yourself,” she said as she undid her gloves to get a better grip. “Why is it that we’re surrounded by plain walls and your shoulders are bowed just so?”
He stiffened at her touch, rigid as her fingers brushed against the smooth skin of his inner wrist.
“Magic of this level is not easy to maintain, even for me.” Blythe felt his eyes on her as she worked off the first link, then started on the second. “Right now, everyone is asleep in their homes. My control over them can drop for as long as they remain that way, and it should be enough for me to maintain this ruse for a few days more. But this magic doesn’t come freely.”
That much was certainly clear. He’d seemed far more energized early in the day. But as the hours passed, the magic had taken its toll. Even his voice was haggard, words a slow drawl as exhaustion clung to him.
She hurried to undo the second link, guilt thickening her throat. He was the one who had put them in this situation, but her father was the reason that Aris had to go to such extravagant lengths, and seeing the toll it took on him had Blythe pausing before she drew her hands away.
“I appreciate what you’ve done,” she told him. “You’ve gone beyond your means to put my father at ease. And I appreciate your bringing me to whatever town we’re in, because it’s the most enchanting place that I have ever seen.”
So still was Aris that, could she not feel the pulse of his wrist beneath her.
“I’m glad that you enjoyed it,” he said. Though the words were no more than a whisper, they rang loudly against the silence. “Despite what some may think, I do not find delight in being cruel. I know how important Elijah is to you, and I know what he’s gone through these past few years. I would
not wish to bring him more pain by letting him believe that his daughter is suffering.”
Blythe appreciated that more than words would ever convey. Slowly, she peeled her hands away from him. “I’ve always wanted to travel. It’s why I never planned to marry. I never wanted anyone to tell me where I could or couldn’t go.”
Aris looked to the floor as he admitted, “I know. I wove your tapestry, just like all the others. One does not easily forget such a blazing soul.”
Of course he had. Yet while she’d always known this in the back of her mind, she’d never considered the implications of it. The knowledge stilled her, for if he knew that… “Is that why you kept me locked away in Wisteria?” she asked. “Because you knew how much I would hate you for it?”
His laugh was the softest puff of breath, warming her cheeks. This time when he answered, his eyes found hers. “We went to war with each other the moment you spilled your blood onto my tapestry. Do not be angry that my arsenal is better equipped than yours.”
Perhaps she should have felt vexed from his statement, but Aris was right. She’d called for war, and if she’d had the advantages that Fate did, Blythe would have used them, too.
“So you know everything, then,” she mused, trying to sound more rueful than she felt. “You likely even know how long you’ll have to put up with me, don’t you?”
Aris must have recognized the lie of her cheerfulness, for he stepped but a hair’s breadth from her and spoke in a voice softer than she knew him capable. “Your tapestry became a mystery to me the moment your life was spared. I don’t know when you’ll die, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t know what you’ll do, or the person you’ll become. Not anymore. I wove your fate as I once knew it, which had you dying by your brother’s hand. But you’ve changed your fate several times over. You are a mystery to me. A sweetbrier, full of thorns in my side.”
Blythe could not make sense of the things his voice did to her. Days ago, all she could focus on was the hope that she and Aris could get through her father’s visit without tearing out each other’s throats. Now her mind was in disarray, flustered ever since being plagued by that vision of the man who had hiked her hips against his. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a
caged beast as her body betrayed her, and Blythe peered behind Aris, to the single curtained bed. She swallowed.
Aris followed her gaze. “I don’t have it in me to manifest another,” he told her, sounding apologetic enough that she believed him. “Truth be told, your suite no longer exists. But do not delude yourself into thinking that I intend to seduce you. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
That would be the better option, and yet it was clear that what they both needed was a good night’s rest. She told herself it was guilt and the fact that she needed him in his best shape to entertain her father that had her shaking her head. For she despised Aris.
Even if she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his bare throat, visible now from his lack of cravat. Even if she was enamored by his body, so warm and inviting that she yearned to press herself against it.
“I will take the floor,” she told him, forcing the words out. “I’m used to sleeping on a hard surface.”
Aris winced. “I might have gotten carried away with that one, I admit. But you’re sick, and this bed has more than enough space for us both… if you would like to share it.”
He was right. The bed likely had enough room for four people to sleep comfortably. She wouldn’t even be close to touching Aris if she agreed, and yet that didn’t make it feel any less intimate.
Rather than answer, Blythe smoothed her hands down the length of her bodice and turned from him. “I’ll need Olivia. Unless I’m to suffocate overnight, I’ll need assistance getting out of this corset.”
Silence stretched between them for a long moment until Aris admitted, “Olivia is asleep. Everyone is.”
Well. That wouldn’t do at all. It seemed she’d have to see to the matter herself.
“Turn off the lights,” she told him, waiting until Aris obliged. “And draw the curtains, too.” He sighed but did as instructed. Blythe waited until all traces of light were gone before she took a steadying breath, kicked off her boots, and then stretched her hands behind her in an effort to reach the laces. While she’d been growing accustomed to her routine when it was just her and Aris at Wisteria, Olivia had outfitted her properly for a woman of high society. Unfortunately, that meant that her clothing was nearly impossible to get off on her own.
But blast it all if she wasn’t going to try.
Blythe bent at the waist, breath catching in her lungs as desperate fingers clutched for the laces, to no avail. She must have been trying for at least five minutes, attempting to quiet her huffing and gasps of air as Aris readied himself for bed in the dark. With every rustle of his clothing as he undressed, she huffed louder, trying not to think about whatever was happening behind her. Eventually she became so distracted by her efforts that she didn’t notice him approach from behind. He set his hands on her waist and drew her upright so that Blythe was against the hardness of his chest, pressing one hand to her mouth and hoping that he couldn’t feel the frenzy of her heart.
“I would very much prefer sleep over listening to you wrestle your gown.” The night fought to steal his whisper, the sound hardly audible against her ear. “Be still, Sweetbrier.”
He didn’t need to tell her twice. Aris skimmed his hands down her back, having to use touch to guide his way in the absence of light. When Blythe’s spine tried to arch, she silently cursed her traitorous body and forced herself rigid. She shut her eyes as his fingers hooked under the satin ribbons. He was slow, pausing every time that Blythe twitched or caught her breath. While his fingers were deft with tapestries, Aris worked at the laces at a glacial place, fumbling in the darkness.
Almost… almost as if this sort of thing were new to him.
“Aris.” Blythe’s voice was no louder than the slip of silk. “Have you done this before?” She knew it was one of those intrusive thoughts better left unasked, yet behind the shield of darkness she could not help but give voice to it.
Aris went taut. “Dresses have changed over the years. I swear they get more complicated with every century.”
“Century?” she echoed, disbelieving. “Has it been that long since… well, since you…”
“Since I was with a woman?”
Blythe wasn’t sure whether she should be thankful or embarrassed that he’d finished the sentence for her. She held her bodice tightly against her as he undid another lace. “Perhaps that’s not something you’re interested in.”
His breath grazed her neck as he leaned in. “I am interested in all of life’s pleasures, Sweetbrier, those of the body included. I do not limit who I
find those with, though nothing has felt the same since my wife’s death. Not that it’s any of your concern, but I have tried to move on. Quite extensively, for a period. Sometimes I still do, though no matter how interested my body may be, my mind has found intimacy meaningless. Without my wife, the pleasure has been lost.”
Good.
That was good. Because Blythe felt nothing, too. Obviously.
She hoped that he could not feel the heat radiating or the clamminess of her skin as his fingers brushed her back and the corset finally slipped down her body. Aris took her hand, helping her step out of the gown. She was left in only a thin slip of a chemise that was to act as a nightgown and was grateful for the darkness, overly aware of how some of her bones still protruded, persistent reminders of her months spent ill.
She was also pathetically aware of what his words had done to her. Aris had said nothing overt, and yet her mind had stretched itself, imagining fantastically ridiculous things that she had no business imagining. She wondered what Aris would be like as a lover—not that she had much to compare to. She’d read enough stories to know things that none but her mother ever thought important to teach her. Lillian, at least, had sat her down years ago and told her everything society expected of a woman. She told her to be safe and to be wise with her heart, but beyond that, she had left Blythe to her own devices.
Blythe was by no means an expert, though she’d had her fair share of trysts. Curious kisses that led to even more curious touches in the woods behind Thorn Grove. Sometimes with men, and twice with Lady Asherby, the daughter of a marquess who frequented her father’s gentleman’s club whenever he visited the country. She and Blythe had made a fast pair, though it had only ever been in fun. As far as emotions went, Blythe had never found herself serious about anyone. No matter how much she enjoyed a person’s company, it had always felt like something was missing. Like there was something she was waiting for but hadn’t yet discovered.
Still, Blythe had enjoyed her past experiences and had always expected that there would one day be more. It had been some time since she’d had a rendezvous, which likely explained why she was having such potent feelings in that moment. Aris was not at all someone she’d ever thought of in that way, but a brush of his finger against her back was all it took to send
her mind spiraling. Would he be a passionate lover? Would his hands be gentle as they caressed her skin, or would he seize her by the shoulders with a commanding touch and pin her beneath him?
Until that moment, Blythe hadn’t realized that this would be its own challenge in marriage. Would she and Aris both be free to take lovers if they wished? She could see him being too prideful for that, even if they were wed only in name. But Blythe was young and curious, and she had no desire to live through the remainder of her life without knowing physical intimacy with another.
She supposed Aris himself could be an option… No.
Good God, what was she thinking? So much had happened today, and she wasn’t in her right mind. She and Aris were only sharing a bed. They were married, and they were sharing a bed.
… Not that she’d ever shared a bed with a man before. Maybe it would be nice. Maybe she wouldn’t be so cold, or better yet, it would be cold and then they’d have to—no. No, no, no. She needed to stop while she was ahead.
Blythe really ought to have been a writer. She might not have had much experience, but with as much as she read, she certainly had the imagination. And right then, that imagination was hopelessly explicit. She tucked herself under the sheets, grateful for the valley of space between them. The last thing she needed was any more accidental brushing of skin.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to be with someone else?” she asked, wishing for the foresight to bite her tongue and end this conversation. “Would you ever be open to courting, I mean.”
“I’ve had a long while to consider it.” Blythe was surprised by the tenderness in his words. His voice was close, as if he was facing her. So she turned on her side as well, even if it was too dark to see him. “I spent ages hoping that time would lessen the loss, but I’ve never been able to get over the hurdle of knowing that she’s still out there somewhere.”
Blythe thought at once of Signa, and of Death’s tender embrace the last time she’d seen her cousin. The way he held her without any signs of letting go, and the way she’d been so content to let him.
Blythe knew she was wading into dangerous waters, but still she asked, “And what if you do find her and she no longer feels the same? What if she
doesn’t remember you, or has fallen in love with someone else?”
Aris needed no time to ponder this. “Then I will hope that her next life will be one that favors me.”
Blythe leaned into her pillow. It saddened her to think that someone would waste so much time pining when they could find someone else to be happy with. And yet she also wondered what it must be like to love someone or to be loved so profoundly. Blythe couldn’t think of a single other person who would be so willing to wait even half as long as Aris had. If it was true that Life had loved him—and Blythe believed that she had— then she was a fool to have given up someone like him. Someone who would wait for her. Search for her. Bend the world for her.
It was so admirable that, for once, Blythe thought she might like to experience something akin to that love at least once in her life.
“I never asked whether you had someone?” Aris said, posing it as a question while Blythe fought off a yawn.
“Never anyone serious. Though it’s like you said earlier—you already knew that.”
He was quiet for a moment before he laughed, caught. “You’re right. I asked in the hope that it would get me to what I really wanted to know, which is why you don’t have someone. I may see a person’s fate, but that doesn’t mean I personally understand each of their decisions. I want to know why you were so content to be alone.”
Blythe wasn’t sure what to make of this fragile spell that had been cast between them. It seemed that this was one of those evenings that worked like magic, the darkness bleeding away inhibitions as the night snatched secrets from their tongues.
“I have never found someone who’s held my interest,” she admitted. It was an answer she didn’t often give aloud, for friends had laughed at her, believing that she was joking or vain or something in between. But that was the truth, and to her surprise, Aris acknowledged it without so much as a hint of mockery. Curiosity, perhaps, but no mockery.
“I don’t love compromise,” she admitted when he said nothing in response, feeling a need to explain herself. “And I’ve always hated the rules and nonsense that we adhere to just to avoid being a social pariah. Why is it that we’re expected to sit and accept flowers or ridiculous poetry from men who have determined us valuable from our pedigree or our faces, without
ever truly getting to know us? Why is it that we are given a season to graze the surface of who someone is, and then are expected to make a match? And God forbid if it takes us more than one or two seasons to find someone in our tiny social pond. Not that it’s any better if you do find someone, as everything the two of you do will forever be watched. Will you have children? When will you have children? If a woman is out without her husband, then certainly she must be up to no good. Maybe he’s tired of her. Maybe she’s not performing her womanly duties up to snuff, because heaven knows it can’t possibly be him that’s the problem, or that maybe she simply wants a night to herself.”
She sighed, having grown more awake and heated with each word. So heated, in fact, that she bristled when Aris hummed his amusement.
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” he said, to which she snorted.
“How could I not, when so many people believe that this is all I amount to? I hear the gossip when a married woman shows up to a dance alone, or when someone is on their third season and has yet to make a match. Even if I know that it’s all ridiculous, having enough people mock or ridicule you still takes its toll.”
“The process leaves much to be desired,” Aris agreed. “There is nothing that makes spring a better time to find love than winter. And no one should ever be expected to sit and listen to something as awful as poetry as a profession of love. I can see how that alone would sour the idea of marriage.”
It was Blythe’s turn to laugh. “I’d forgotten how much you detest poetry.
It’s really not so bad.”
Aris’s displeasure came from somewhere deep in his throat. It was a low, gravelly sound that had Blythe tucking her legs closer to her chest, more aroused than she had any right to be.
Fortunately, Aris didn’t appear to notice. “There is nothing in this world that is more pretentious.”
Blythe wanted to argue that he, in fact, was far more pretentious than poetry, thus disputing his claims. But for now she let it slide.
“Poetry and process aside, there are many joys to be found in partnership. There is friendship and trust. A joy of knowing that there is a person in the world who knows you truly, to the depths of your soul.”
“Certainly, if you’re one of the lucky ones,” Blythe said.
“If you’re one of the lucky ones,” Aris echoed, his voice growing distant as he shifted to face the ceiling. “Though I don’t suppose either of us will ever be.”
“No.” Blythe matched him as she, too, rolled to her back. “I don’t suppose that we will.”
