Page 39 of Fate

But she didn’t.

He was making little patterns with his forefinger over the arm of the sofa. He was listening—she knew that. But his eyes drifted to the door with greater frequency, and she was certain his thoughts were with his parents. With his future.

Their future.

“There’s a room above the smithy,” Firen offered. “I would play there when I was little. Da made me a cupboard and called it my kitchen. A bed so I could put my dollies to sleep. But it’s afull room.” Used for storage, now that she was grown. But it was proper, and could be outfitted all the better if they needed it.

“You wish me to live in your playhouse?” Lucian asked, brow furrowed and lips curling.

Firen tapped at her leg, rolling her shoulders slightly in answer. “I want to be with you,” she clarified. “Whether it’s a tower or a room above my father’s forge. We’ll not starve, and there will be a home for us. So maybe... maybe you don’t have to be so nervous about what he’ll say.”

They were going to argue. She could see it in every line of his features, the coiling of his muscles. And if he said one word about her home, if he called it a hovel and reminded her of the finery he’d known and was not at all willing to sacrifice...

She was liable to fly out that large window behind them.

“Do you need all this?” she asked as gently as she could manage with her heart racing. “To be happy?”

He turned to look at her, not with the glare she expected, but with absolute confusion. “What has happiness to do with anything?”

Firen deflated almost instantly. And before she could formulate her reply, the door opened. Lucian’s mother entered with her mouth twisted into obvious displeasure, although it smoothed as she saw the both of them seated together. Assuming, however wrongfully, that they were pleased with one another.

She was a beauty. Fragile, with delicate features. The lines about her eyes and mouth suggested more of frowns than at smiles. She shared her son’s fair hair, but her wings were a mottled white and fawn. She said nothing, at first. Pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes.

Firen wished she could ask if she would like her to fetch something. Water, or a cup of tea to settle her. But that would be a ridiculous offer when she did not know the kitchen’s location.

Firen stood.

If she had been denied one proper introduction, she would at least attempt a good one if possible. “A fair morning,” she began. “I am Firen. You are Lucian’s mother?” A hand over her chest, a bowed head. She even spread her wings ever so slightly to complete the posture, just as her mother had taught her.

She raised her eyes and was met with a small smile. “Ellena, mate of Oberon.” Not a typical addition, the words given with little pleasure. Habit, rather than thought. She scowled, catching herself, before she pressed away from the door and moved toward them. She paid little mind to the easels, the movements so natural and done so often that she did not fear clipping against corners or edges.

“I’ve negotiated for a supper. With the family. But it... might be best for you to be gone for a little while. Let him adjust.”

Lucian’s eyes darted about, and Firen could tell he wanted to pace away his frustration. But the room did not allow for such movement, so he had to settle for placing his head in his hands, his elbows perched against his knees. “I am not certain I could imagine anything worse.”

Ellena gave him a hopeless sort of smile. “She might surprise you.” As if she was not standing there, able to hear all. “She is quite pretty. If she keeps quiet and smiles at the right moments. Beauty can cover much.”

Firen pushed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. She should have bound it better before they’d come down. It would prove a nuisance on the flight home. “I thank you,” she cut in, trying to keep her tone sweet even if she prickled. She did not care if Ellena found her pretty—she cared if Lucian did. And it was one thing if she was nervous and shy and wanted to allow others to lead in conversation, but to betold?

Ellena blinked once, slowly, and turned her head. “Was that insulting? I did not intend for it to be.”

The insult was that she would not have manners enough to conduct herself without a pretty face to cover her uncouth behaviour. The insult was in talking to her mate rather than to her.

She took a breath. Felt entirely too closed in. “I’m sorry,” Firen offered. She wanted Ellena for an ally. For someone to react encouragingly, for Lucian’s sake. “None of this is... quite what I expected.”

“Of course it isn’t. It might be, if you’d been born to it.”Like a proper mate.She did not say it. She did not have to. It hung between them, unspoken, but felt by all.

Firen swallowed, feeling a pull of tension through her. Some of it Lucian’s. Some of it a grasping, horrid part that was all her own.

“If you will excuse me,” Firen murmured. She was no prisoner here. She had opened the door before Lucian rose to his feet and called after her. The door was hard as she gripped it. She wasn’t what they expected. What they wanted. She’d known that. Lucian had made it clear from the start. But she’d had enough of this smothering, horrible awareness. She needed fresh air and a home and a family that loved her.

“You know where to find me,” she said over her shoulder. He might come. He might not.

At the moment, with her heart racing and her temper flaring, she did not much care.

“Firen!”

She shut the door behind her.

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