Page 57 of Sunder

“Well,” she fussed, her hand smoothing down her skirt that had not in fact managed to wrinkle in the half-minute since she’d done it last. “Well. That’s wonderful.”

She seemed to soften all over, which always happened when her smile reached her eyes. Father would declare there was nothing as beautiful as his mate when she was happy, and she would hum and sidle close, and whisper in his ear while their children were left to wrinkle noses and threaten to flee the room.

There were no quiet huddles today. They sat in chairs that were meant for beauty rather than comfort, a table separating them with their own refreshments. A mirror of Athan and Orma’s postures, a glimpse into what they might be in the future.

Except their clothing did not complement one another. Orma in her black garb—a straight, split skirt covering her trim leggings. Athan had settled on a pale blue tunic, and if there was a spot on the sleeve, it was covered enough by the only embroidery he seemed to possess. She had not asked him where he’d come by it, only nodded in approval when he held it out for her inspection.

Which felt... odd, at first. Intimate. Because he’d obviously been dressing himself for an entire lifetime without her help, yet suddenly he wanted it.

Wanted to know she’d find it suitable.

Findhimsuitable.

It was obvious her mother wanted to ask more—likely if Orma’s visions had passed now that she’d been properly mated, but she cast Athan an anxious look and kept quiet. Did theythink she’d kept it from him? Saved it for a season or two so he’d be more used to her before she blurted out her... eccentricities?

The silence stretched out until Orma could take it no longer. She rubbed at her chest because she couldn’t help it as she looked at her father. “What happens now?” she asked, her voice tight. Her fear was likely flowing freely through the bond because Athan shifted, turning toward her ever so slightly.

If they were in his kitchen, he’d be touching her by now. Holding her. But he kept still and tried to focus on comforting her through the bond alone. She felt it—little feeble pulls as he sorted through what was hers and what was his, how to tug and how to push and it was all terribly distracting and not the soothing presence he was hoping for.

Her father took a placid sip from his cup. “In what way do you mean?”

She hated this part. Where was calm and purposefully ignorant, which led her insides to squirm about before she rambled with every one of her doubts and worries.

It made it easier to go to her mother. Who would then take it to her father, and they would fight about it for a few days if the subjection was contentious, then the bond would overtake the rest of it and they’d come to some sort of understanding.

While Orma had to wait and fret in the meantime.

She tried not to give him a sardonic look, but by the thinning of his lips, she knew she was hardly successful. “I should have told you first,” she admitted, because it would have been the gracious thing to do. “I don’t know how much Lucian told you, but... I hadn’t planned to actually...”

Mama cut in, her hand reaching across to rest briefly on her mate’s arm. “He explained, dearest. We are not angry with you.”

Orma’s lip wobbled. “I don’t want to lose you,” she got out.

Her father sighed and made a great show of putting his cup down on the table. “Orma,” he began, and he was goingto remind her about tears being a private matter, and she had responsibilities as a member of a great house to keep herself under control when in public.

But Athan wasn’t public, was he? Or was he going to tell her she wasn’t a part of that great house any longer, so she could do as she pleased but to keep her dramatics to herself?

She wiped at her eyes and took in a shaky breath. “Your mother and I had this discussion quite a while ago. After certain... events.”

A lump settled in her throat.

“Given your unique circumstances, it is impossible to hold you to the same standard as your brothers.” That should be a comfort, but it wasn’t. Not when he was looking at her that way. Not a disappointment, but something to be coddled. Incapable of meeting their expectations, so they’d ceased to hold them. “I will not deny there will be some family functions you will probably not attend, but those have hardly been your favourite in any case.”

He walked over to her and cupped her chin, bringing her face up so she might look at him. “You are welcome here, Orma. This was not your fault.”

She waited for the relief to come, but there were too many hurts rattling about in her chest to feel anything else.

Athan stood, and they both glanced his way. “I would like a private word,” Athan urged. “With you. Regarding my mate’s care.”

Orma’s stomach tightened and her father’s hand fell away as both men regarded each other.

Orma shifted, feeling dismissed and anxious rather than soothed. “Athan,” she began, and he glanced down at her, his eyes soft.

“For just a moment,” he promised, which wasn’t the point. Her care was going to be her own. And there were thingsshe wasn’t ready for him to know about her. Her father was traditional—he would have no patience for privacy or secrecy between mates. He’d go over all of it in minute detail because Athan was a healer, after all, and surely he would oversee the next portion of her treatment.

Wasn’t that fortuitous? Just what she needed.

Her heart was fluttering and her hands trembled, and her mother was brushing past both men so she could fuss over Orma. “You two have a talk, and we’ll get Orma calmed down. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

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