Page 89 of The Iron Flower

“Elloren...” he says, then hesitates. “I was very harsh with you when we first met.”

I remember him scoffing at my grief over losing my quilt. I’d hated him in that moment, but it seems like such a long time ago now. Especially considering how drastically my feelings for him have changed since then.

“It’s all right,” I say. “I can understand why you acted that way.”

“No,” he counters with a tight shake of his head, “it’s not all right. I’m sorry.”

I nod in acknowledgment, feeling overcome with emotion, my mutinous eyes tearing up.

“And I’m sorry my mother treated you like that,” he adds. “It was a mistake to bring you there. I thought...” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I thought she’d give you a chance.”

I sigh heavily, blinking back the tears. “I imagine seeing me brought back horrific memories. I look so much like my grandmother...”

“But you’re not her,” he insists, staring at me intently. “I was hoping she’d be able to see that.”

My breath catches in my throat. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”

He gives me a small, rueful smile, and I feel my lips curving upward in return.

“You know, it’s funny,” I muse out loud, so tired it’s easy to just speak my train of thought.

“What is?”

“This situation, right now. It’s so inappropriate, it’s actually funny.”

Yvan’s eyebrows edge higher in question.

“Here we are, two unmarried, unsealed people, you a Kelt, me a Gardnerian, alone in a room in this seedy tavern, lying in bed together...” I pause for a moment. “It’s just...amusing, don’t you think?”

Yvan smiles slightly. “It is.”

“My people teach us that men can’t control themselves around women, and that’s why we need to dress so conservatively, and be chaperoned everywhere we go. Fasted younger and younger. Yet here we are, you and me, all alone—”

“The idea that men can’t control themselves is ridiculous,” he says adamantly. “It’s just an excuse.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought. I mean, I don’t have any experience with, you know...” I think of Diana’s impatience with me when I trail off ambiguously on this particular subject. Yvan seems to understand, though—his culture is extremely straitlaced, as well. “But I grew up with two brothers,” I continue, “and I know they’d never force anyone to do anything like that.”

I blush, feeling self-conscious. “I’ve never spoken to anyone about things like this. I suppose I shouldn’t really be talking to you about it.”

“I don’t mind talking with you about it,” Yvan says, his expression open and unguarded.

I suddenly feel very close to him, our eyes locked in understanding. The side of his hand touches mine, and without thinking, I slide my hand over his.

He turns his head from me to stare up at the ceiling, his breathing suddenly deepening. Then he turns his hand over and threads his long fingers through mine.

My breath catches, warmth flaring inside me. I focus on the rafters above us as well, too overwhelmed by the feel of his fingers clasped around mine to look directly at him.

We lie there together for a long moment, holding hands.

It’s like heaven—a thousand times better than kissing Lukas. And, strangely, more intimate. Because it feels like, in this moment, he’s truly letting me in for the first time.

Both his fire power and my fire lines flare at the same moment, reaching for each other. Twining at the edges, like his hand around mine.

I finally dare to glance over at him. He continues to stare at the ceiling, stone-still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yvan,” I breathe out, his flame lightly caressing my lines, “the fire...”

“Do you like it, Elloren?” he asks, his voice throaty as he turns to me, his eyes sparking gold.

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