Page 37 of Fate

But the thought was a distant one of earlier dreams rather than the stark reality before her.

She did notwantto know these people. Not with their stiff formality and harsh looks that flowed far too readily between them.

Lucian could not forbid her from seeing her kin. And she could not prevent him from having further dealings with them, either.

Oberon would. Any of them could see that. They’d be banished and she would comfort Lucian through the whole of it, and they’d be the better for it afterward.

He made no concession to his mate. They simply continued to stare at one another, and Firen did not know where to look or what to say. Manners drilled into her from her hatchling days insisted she give another bow, offer her name, insist it was a pleasure to meet her mate’s mother. To thank her for his raising and his birth, and might they share tea together when it was convenient?

But this was not a home for niceties.

“Lucian, darling. Please take your mate and wait for us outside.”

Lucian turned, his expression worried. “Mother...”

She moved further into the room so she could touch his cheek and smile at him briefly. “I’ll not lose you,” she murmured so softly that Firen wondered if she had heard it at all.

“Never,” Lucian mouthed back, allowing no sound to accompany the word.

It felt too intimate a moment to be witnessed, even... even by a mate. Something deep and personal and while their bond was bright and true, they were still relative strangers.

She turned her head, lest she see any more of it.

Only to be ushered out soon after by her arm, Lucian’s mouth set grimly as he walked her through the door and out into the atrium. She did not know what to suggest. Back to his room to hide? Or better yet, hers. They’d never find them.

She settled for putting her arms around him. Absorbing his tension, the anger that left him shaking. She worried little about her welcome. She needed him, and he needed her, whether or not he chose to admit it. “Was that better or worse than you imagined?”

It was whispered. She trusted the heavy door that stood between them, but not the echo of a tower and its impossibly high ceiling. “Both, I suppose. If that’s possible.”

Firen nodded, because it was. He did not hold her back, but that was all right for the moment. It was about his comfort more than hers. “Shall we escape to mine? Not... not forever. But maybe we could sort some things out along the way.”

Lucian’s hands found her shoulders, and he pushed her back so he could look at her. “If I run now, I shall lose whatever respect he has left for me.” There was the hardness in his eyes again, and she could not say she had missed it while it was absent. “I’ll not stop you.”

She wanted to chide him for that. Insist that he most certainlywassupposed to stop her if she took off for her childhood home. Remind him just as thoroughly that it was custom for them to make parental introductions together.

But his eyes flickered toward the door. Where she could just make out a raised voice and cringed a little inside to hear that it was from his father.

Mates did not hurt one another. That was known.

She would be fine.

And yet...

It was enough to keep her quiet. To keep talk of their future tucked away for later.

“Do you want to go back in?” she asked as gently as she could. “I can stay here.”

He frowned slightly. “Best to leave them to it. I tend to make him angrier.”

She did not embrace him again, but she nestled her hand into his. “I’m sorry.”

He made a sound low in his throat. Not a hum and not a grunt. An acknowledgement and maybe an agreement. That... he was sorry, too. Whether for his father’s attitude or for what he’d said and insinuated, Firen couldn’t be sure. But it was comforting. To be unified, if only for a moment.

“Come along,” Lucian urged. “We’ll go to Mother’s room and wait for her.”

It should not surprise her they did not share a chamber, yet it did. Mates... always shared. How could they sleep otherwise?

Except the room he took her to held no bed. It was a parlour, instead. Or... might have been. If there were not so many easels and canvases spread about, the shutters open wide, the suns streaming through and illuminating the space. Despite its clutter, the brushes were all clean. The palettes as well. Cups of murky water were the only thing that could be considered untidy. Even the paints in their bottles were wiped clear at the sides. She took care of her things.

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