Page 72 of Fate

“I have a housing prospect.”

She didn’t stiffen. Didn’t allow the sudden bolt of anxiety to blossom into anything at all. “Oh?”

She couldn’t keep him here. Not indefinitely. But there was some part of her, perhaps too entrenched in her girlhood, that liked the idea of it.

“At the Hall.”

Which was better than his family’s tower, although there was still a prickle of guilt for thinking it. “The Hall,” she repeated, because she was listening, and she wasn’t setting herself against it. She wasn’t.

“Not inside, of course. But near to it. I’m sure it is nothing opulent—they’re mostly for understaff and apprentices. But it would be ours. Assuming... assuming he would sponsor me.”

Not theirs, then. Because it belonged to neither family. But the city belonged to them all, did it not? So maybe that was all right.

His fingers skimmed over her arm so lightly that it tickled at her. “He would like to meet you. Before he gives his endorsement.”

Firen turned her head, and he had a guarded sort of look. “That displeases you? You think me so ill mannered I shall sabotage your efforts?”

It was an ungracious thing to say, but she had mostly meant it as a jest.

But Lucian flinched, and she was sorry, and she grabbed hold of his arm before he could retreat from her fully. “Of course he wants to meet your mate,” she soothed, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles. “And I shall be happy to charm him using every one of my wiles.”

He relaxed against her, but he brought his lips toward her ear. His voice was a low rasp against her. “Is that so?”

She nodded seriously. “I am determined that one person from your circle shall think well of me.” Orma did. But Firen did not think she counted. She was not truly one of them. More hostage than anything else.

He stilled behind her, and she hoped she hadn’t insulted him somehow. She’d meant only in a light and teasing way, although there was truth enough in it she felt guilty she could not call it solely a jest. “I am not certain that is a worthwhile endeavour,” Lucian cautioned, rolling onto his back and glaring at the ceiling.

She wouldn’t be hurt by that. Wouldn’t let it land with a sting of fault and blame. “Because I am so unlikeable?” She would not allow this to dissolve into a squabble. And that seemed an easier determination when she moved over him. If he found her habit of sitting upon him disagreeable, he had to chide her for it.

And she did so like the way his eyes moved over her when she did it. How his hands settled on her thighs, and ever so gently kneaded. Her eyes and head hurt too much to be much interested in loving, but she found his touches pleasant, and if it eased the way for their talking, then it could not possibly be so wrong.

“Your father is downstairs,” Lucian reminded her.

Firen rolled her shoulders before leaning down. Not to kiss him, because they were talking, not loving, but it allowed her to keep her voice even lower. Just for him. “That is fine, because this is not a seduction.” She sat upright again, her brow quirking slightly. “Or did you have intentions of me? When my head hurts so?”

His hands went to her waist, and he held her there. “You were the one that settled uponme.And yet you call me the brute that would impose upon you?”

She did kiss him then. Just once, upon his cheek, so it was hardly a kiss at all. But it was a bit of softness when his tone hadgrown too hard. A reminder that they were not enemies. Not in the least.

“You are not a brute,” she murmured, skimming her lips across his cheekbone. He relaxed under her, and she feared she had touched too near a genuine concern. She sat back and eyed him, perhaps a little too closely because his expression hardened as he set his attention back toward the ceiling. It was only wooden slats. With bits of soot they had missed from their night of scrubbing. “Lucian,” she urged, her fingers continuing what her lips had begun.

He looked at her. Eyes too grey and far too worried. It was nearly enough for her to slide off of him, but she was certain if she did so he would leave and pace and perhaps escape out the door entirely.

But no. That was what she would do.

“I was only teasing,” she promised him. “But I won’t. Not about this. Not if it troubles you so.”

He made to roll his shoulders to show it did not matter to him, but it did. She could see it plainly, even as he worked to cover his expressions as best he possibly could. “It does not matter.”

She touched her finger to his bottom lip and shook her head. “Lies,” she muttered, and watched his eyes harden. Which made her kiss him again, this time a brush of her lips against his. Soft when he was sharp. Gentle when he grew prickly. “If it matters to you, it matters to me. And you have been nothing but kind to me. Whether it’s in your bed, or here in the mishmash that makes up this one.”

Firen cupped his cheek and tried to bid him look at her. His throat was tight and his head only moved because he willed it. He wasn’t glaring, but it was a near thing. She did not flinch, did not mutter an apology. Just kept her fingers gentle as she leaned a little closer. “Did you think you wouldn’t be?”

His teeth ground together, and she hated the sound. Hated it so much that she gripped his face between both of her hands and kissed him much harder than she’d intended to, so long as it meant that his jaw would loosen and he would kiss her in return.

Which was a success, for it distracted the both of them. Made the bond hum slightly, urging gently that there were much better pursuits that did not require talking or thoughts of eyes and strain and anything but being together again.

But that was not the point.

---