Page 110 of Fate

So she dropped his arm and sat demurely in her place, and nodded. “So we are.”

He hummed, and she could not explain how his demeanour changed, yet it did. Perhaps it was the lightness in his expression when he asked after his mother’s paintings. If he might ask for some to hang upon the bare walls since he did not think his mate was proficient in tapestry.

“I could be!” she protested, because she was skilled with her hands and would have time enough to learn. But any true argument died on her lips as she saw Ellena smile so brightly at the request, and if he showed her the wall he wanted filled, she would make something special.

She did not expect him to pick up her hand. To bring it to his lips and to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Of course you could,” he soothed, and there was that look in his eye that he gave when he was merely indulging her, the smirk that she found loathsome—most particularly because she wanted to kiss it off of him,and this was not an appropriate moment to do so. “Stubborn creature that you are.”

Which was not a flattering thing to say, and had no business making her stomach tighten and her lips to part, because he was a wretch after all, and both their mothers did not need to know that as well as she did.

If this was meant as a punishment for bringing her chair closer to him, he was doing a very fine job.

Although she had far too much pride to move it back again.

Mama was asking Ellena about her painting, lamenting how she had no talent for the craft, despite her appreciation for the skill.

Which left Firen room to smile sweetly and lean in close so her words were for him alone. “Talk like that will set you up for a new tapestry for each and every one of your name-days for the rest of your life.”

She leaned back again.

“Promises, promises,” he murmured back, and Firen was left with the distinct impression she really was going to have to learn tapestry, and that he’d goaded her because...

He liked them too.

And she didn’t huff, did not poke him with her elbow, but she wanted to.

He simply might have asked her to learn.

But she supposed this resulted in much the same outcome.

Fuelled by her own indignation and determination, which she supposed could be considered a better prompt than pleasing the mate she loved.

Not by her, of course, but someone.

She wanted to stay cross at him, but he brought his hand to her leg and squeezed it gently, and it was so unlike him to do anything of the sort when family was about that she grew a little breathless as she glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking at her—was instead watching his mother talk with a great deal more animation than she had previously, all about charcoals and pastels and really, she’d be more than happy to provide something for Aylin’s house if she only told her the orientation and colouring of the room...

But the bond was warm, and so was his hand when she tucked it between hers, and she did not know how long they might have before he had to leave again. Vandran seemed to be a kindly sort of master, but a strict one, and she wondered what exactly Lucian had to barter in order to earn a reprieve from the schedule.

She hoped it would not be a late night, but she supposed it could be.

A sacrifice. A worthy one, but she was selfish and did not want to make it.

It made the rap upon the door feel even more abrupt—as if Vandran himself was coming back to collect Lucian. It was enough that Firen turned to her mate first and gave a rather accusing look. “You did have permission to slip away for this, didn’t you?”

She was rewarded with his rolling eyes as he stood from the table. “Of course I did,” he answered curtly, and then she was filled with visions of Vandran growing jealous of tea and company, deciding it was his right as master to trespass on a family party simply because of affiliation.

But it was not Vandran at the door. She would not have known immediately, except that she’d been nosey, and followed Lucian toward the door. She’d kept at the kitchen threshold, just close enough she might have gone forward and tried to smooth over any unpleasantness if Lucian had stayed longer than Vandran had agreed to, but when he opened the door and she saw the dark robes, the fair hair, the grim expression...

She was more than glad she’d stayed where she was.

“Father,” Lucian greeted, and if he was surprised at his appearance, he ensured nothing in his voice or posture revealed it.

What surprised her was the way he stood in the doorway. Almost...

Liked he was blocking entry.

Not taking the customary step backward.

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