BLYTHE HAD NEVER ROUSED FROM A BED FASTER THAN SHE DID THE next
morning. When she blinked past the dregs of sleep and remembered where she was—and more importantly who she was next to—she pressed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt at teleporting herself to anywhere but the bed, then rolled herself off the mattress. She did so inch by inch, contorting herself in a desperate attempt to silently escape the room without waking Aris. And yet with her rolling came a throbbing head, and Blythe had to stifle her tired groan as she tried to re-center the world. Her efforts, however, were in vain.
“That was quite the performance.” Aris was seated in an armchair behind her, a newspaper in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. “I had no idea you were such an acrobat.” The fox at his feet chittered quietly before curling into a tighter ball. Aris reached down, patting the top of the beast’s head. Of course one monster behaved for another.
“I was trying to be mindful,” Blythe snapped, hoping that her cheeks weren’t as flushed as she felt. “Why are you awake so early?”
“It’s not early,” he said first, nodding to where sunlight filtered in through a gap in the curtains. “Also, I don’t require sleep in the same way that you do. I only needed a bit of rest with my magic so depleted.”
Blythe wished she’d never asked. Because now she had to reconcile not only the fact that she’d spent the night in the same bed as Aris, but that he hadn’t even been sleeping for all of it.
“It turns out I’m not the only troll in this relationship.” His eyes skimmed over the edge of the paper, observing her. “Did you know that you
snore in your sleep?”
She didn’t know whether she wanted to stay and burn Aris alive, or whether she should flee the room and hope that she never saw him again. Both, unfortunately, were wishful thinking.
Blythe stepped closer to the curtains, ignoring his jab as she poked her head through. The town outside the palace walls was covered in fresh snow that whipped in the air as the beginnings of a blizzard stirred.
“It’s going to be foul weather today,” she commented, pulling the curtains open wider. “How are we meant to go outside in this?”
“We’re not.” Aris plucked a cube of sugar from a bowl and dropped it into his tea, followed by another. “There are fewer people I’ll have to manage if we stay inside for the day. It’s a better idea anyway, if you’re sick. You can have some tea and stay by the fire. You might want to put some clothes on, though. You’ll catch a chill dressed as you are.”
Clothes.
Blythe gaped gown at the flimsy chemise that stopped an inch below her knee. It was thin and sheer, the edges of her body toeing the line of visibility. She could practically see the bones of her hips pressing through the fabric, too sharp. Too frail. Blythe hugged her arms tightly around herself as she hurried back to the safety of the sheets.
“You brute! Don’t look at me,” she spat, letting anger burn away her embarrassment.
“You’re assuming that I’d want to.” Aris licked the tip of his finger and skimmed to another page without turning to her. “There’s a dress for you in the wardrobe.”
Blythe spared a glance at the wardrobe in question, but she didn’t move. After several long seconds of her stillness, Aris’s sigh broke the silence as the legs of his chair scraped across the wood.
“A thorn,” he whispered under his breath as he crossed to the wardrobe, “right in my side.” He threw it open and tossed the dress at Blythe, who caught it as though it were a piece of gold.
It was an exquisite piece, the bodice a gentle cream color with embroidered hellebore that stretched down the length of her skirts, where threads of gold mixed with the green of vines. The top, however, was still a corset.
It had been one thing to allow Aris’s help last night beneath the cover of
darkness. Here, in the light of day, she refused to acknowledge anything they’d discussed or the people they had been the night prior.
“I can’t—” She paused when a knock sounded. Blythe held the sheets tighter as Aris moved toward the door with his lips pressed thin, opening it for Olivia. He let the woman inside, then grabbed his tea and stalked past her.
“Get dressed, you infernal creature,” he told Blythe. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
 |
The king and queen were not in attendance when Olivia escorted Blythe to the dining room an hour later.
“You’ll have to forgive their absence,” Aris was telling Elijah as she walked in. “I’m afraid they’ve been summoned by their royal duties.”
Now that Blythe was no longer avoiding his stare, she could see that while Aris smiled, the skin beneath his eyes had darkened overnight. She doubted he’d admit to it aloud, but it seemed that he needed more than “a bit of rest” to replenish himself.
Blythe would have loved to throw on a coat and further explore the brilliant town that surrounded them, but for his sake as well as her own need to heal, perhaps it was better to spend the day indoors. There were a few things she wanted to discuss with her father, anyway, and it was likely she’d have a better chance at getting her answers if Elijah had nowhere to run off to.
Blythe had barely sat before she homed in on her father, not bothering with niceties as she began filling her plate for breakfast.
“What’s going on at Thorn Grove?” she asked plainly, unable to bear another second of not knowing.
Elijah sighed into the mug of coffee that had only just been poured. “Nothing is going on, Blythe.” Beside him, Aris turned his attention to the herbed butter he was scraping across a scone as if trying to stay out of the cross fire.
“Of course something is going on.” She gripped her fork tight, trying her
best to remain civil. “You’ve avoided answering me three times now, which does not equate to nothing. So do us both a favor before I either pester you to death or spontaneously combust from my own stress of not knowing.”
“So she’s always been like this, then?” Aris cast Elijah a pitying look.
“As if you’re not just as dramatic,” Blythe spat before her father had the chance to answer.
Elijah looked between the pair as he finally drew his first sip, a pull between his brows that Blythe couldn’t decipher—amusement? Curiosity?
“She is as bad as a bloodhound stuck on a scent,” Elijah began. “But this matter doesn’t concern either of you. Thorn Grove is well enough, but there’s been a break-in at Grey’s. It’s only a bit of vandalism, nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Grey’s. Blythe bit back her scoff at the word. God, how she hated that place. Hated who it turned the men of her family into and the suffering it had brought the entire Hawthorne family.
“Oh good, does that mean it’s time to finally burn the place?” A sharp sound grated across her plate as she scraped her fork into some eggs.
“Perhaps,” Elijah acknowledged. “Though Grey’s is a blight with no cure. No matter how many times I try to rid myself of it, the blasted place never stays gone for good.”
That much was undeniable. Her father had tried to run the gentleman’s club into the ground after Lillian’s death. Then, after refusing to let Percy or Byron Hawthorne take over the business, Elijah had tried to sell it to Lord Wakefield only for the man to drop dead.
Unfortunately, despite how little time Elijah tried to spend there, the club had once again risen to popularity ever since Blythe’s engagement to Aris.
“Nearly half of its patrons have offered to help clean the place up. Probably they all think it’ll curry my favor. Or yours.” Elijah nodded to Aris, then took another sip. “I’m on the hunt to find someone new to sell it to. I’ll keep a small percent to satisfy Byron and then wash my hands of the place once and for all.”
Blythe stabbed her fork into a gooseberry. “Let’s hope the next person who buys it doesn’t drop dead.”
While Aris tensed at this, arching a brow, her father only laughed. “Indeed.” As content as he sounded, it didn’t escape Blythe’s notice that his
smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Perhaps I should pay Thorn Grove a visit,” she tested, searching her father’s face for whatever information he might have been withholding. He lifted his chin as Blythe did, matching her glare.
“I look forward to the day that you do. I imagine running a kingdom keeps you both busy, but you should consider visiting Thorn Grove for the Christmas ball.”
Blythe didn’t have the heart to remind her father just how well Thorn Grove’s past several soirees had gone. Parties were Elijah’s way of getting his mind off things. He’d spent nearly a full year mourning her mother by throwing ridiculously lavish parties at Thorn Grove. If his mind was already fixating on the next, Blythe worried about the extent of the vandalism and all that Elijah wasn’t saying.
“Perhaps I should return with you,” she argued, “just to ensure that all is well.”
At this, Elijah laughed. Blythe’s eyes prickled at the sound; God, how she’d missed it. After they’d lost her mother and Blythe had fallen ill, she hadn’t been sure she’d ever hear it again.
“It’s better this way,” he told her. “The two of you are meant to be on your honeymoon, which I’ve already infiltrated. I do apologize for that, Aris,”
“It’s not a bother,” Aris answered automatically. To anyone else’s eye, he likely looked well and put together. But Blythe had seen him enough over the past month to realize just how haggard he was as he slumped over what was at least his third cup of tea. “Believe me when I say that I could use the help. I was in over my head marrying this one.” He wagged his knife at Blythe, though there was no cruelty.
A joke. He was attempting to make a joke on her behalf. Her father slid her a sideways glance, intrigued by the banter.
Blythe rolled her eyes, arms folding as she leaned back in her chair. “I can hear you, you know. I’m sitting right here.”
“And here is where you’ll stay,” Elijah told her. “At least until I’m certain that things are safe.”
Safe. How tired she was of people always trying to decide things for her in the name of keeping her safe. Her father’s words lit a fire in her chest, and it flared brighter when Elijah turned to Aris with that same pull of his
brows and a look that Blythe couldn’t decipher.
“I miss my daughter very much,” he said, “but I don’t want her involved in whatever is happening back at Thorn Grove.”
Blythe’s fists clenched in her skirts. Her anger was so palpable that she could barely breathe around it. Her father had told her that she was welcome back at Thorn Grove anytime, and now what? He was conspiring with Aris to keep her away even longer?
She opened her mouth, not about to spare him any of her rage, when Aris set down his tea and looked firmly at Elijah.
“I understand that is your opinion,” he said. “I just don’t agree with it or understand why it has anything to do with me.”
The breath loosened from her chest.
“I understand her history, Elijah, but Blythe is not fragile, nor is she unwise. You’re not protecting her by keeping her ignorant. She can make her own decisions.” He said it so simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and all at once that fire that had been burning so intensely within Blythe was extinguished.
Throughout her entire life people had treated Blythe like some delicate heirloom. Something pretty to keep upon the shelf and far from harm’s way. Of all people, Aris was the last one Blythe expected might protest this, and she didn’t know what to do with the realization. She couldn’t for the life of her stop staring at him, nor could her father.
“I see.” Elijah whispered the words, though they didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded almost pleased. He turned to Blythe, and with a small bow of his head offered, “Should anything else happen, I will keep you informed. But for now, there is nothing for you to help with. We’ll reconvene on the matter when you come for the ball.”
“We’ll be there,” Aris said, surprising Blythe yet again. Her lips refused to move how she wanted them to as her father pushed his plate aside and rose from the table.
“Excellent news. Now, I’d like to get to know my son-in-law better, and I have an idea that not even the foul weather can stop.” Elijah’s eyes were practically dancing. “How about we play a game?”
