Page 53 of Shrine of Fire

Before I could ask him anything personal, Cuan took off down another hallway. For the next few hours, we toured the castle grounds. Stefan cleverly asked questions about Cuan’s childhood and, before long, the two were swapping stories about growing up in a castle and the mischief they got up to among the secret passageways.

We ended up in a tapestry room with long wooden looms displaying partially completed blankets, quilts, tunics, and other textiles. I touched one of the blankets, admiring the black and green pattern repeating over and over. There was a surprisingly elegant sitting area in the corner, with couches and tables.

“I love all the crochet work.” I turned to Cuan, surprised to find him closer than I realized. He was so tall, I barely reached the top of his chest. I touched his tunic without thinking, trailing my fingertip over the braids. “I’ve never seen such an intricate cable pattern.”

“You crochet?” He paused, a slight frown on his face. “I didn’t expect a noble lady from another land to know the Sacred Arts.”

“I’m not a noble lady.” I dropped my hand, remembering my manners. “I’m from a tiny village in the mountains. My grandma taught me to crochet when I was little.”

He picked my hand up again, and electricity fluttered through me.

He brought my fingers to the top of the knotwork, where three stitches were repeated three times before the loops of a braid started. The fluttering intensified, and I had to swallow hard to focus on the pattern.

Crochet was relatively simple—all you needed was some yarn and a hook. The basis of every stitch was whether you looped yarn around your hook before stabbing into a stitch or while your hook was already inside the stitch, and when you pulled the hook off the loops.

These stitches looked tied together. There was a way to make a new stitch inside an existing stitch, but it was complicated, and I had never seen it carried on through an entire piece of work.

“We hold crochet dear, as dear as skill with a blade.” His voice dropped and his piercing blue eyes watched me. “We practice at an early age. I made this tunic myself when I completed my spirit journey.”

The air around me seemed charged. His oakmoss and whiskey scent was everywhere, and I swayed closer. “It tells a story?”

“These knots signal my birth, and the fortune read at the time.” He grimaced at that, letting go of my hand. “Each line in the braid signals my deeds, mastering a sword, reciting the Spirit Saga as it’s been passed down through the generations.”

“I would like to learn those stitches, if it’s allowed?” I didn’t move, barely dared to breathe.

“I will teach you.” Cuan looked at me with such intensity I thought I would burst into flames. But then a shadow crossed his face, and he stepped away, almost bumping into a loom behind him.

“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what had upset him, but the towering beta seemed like a spooked horse.

He shook his head, glancing at Stefan. “Of course. But, ahh, I must take my leave. Apologies, there are some duties I must attend.”

“By all means,” Stefan said, faintly amused.

Cuan left the room quickly, and I frowned. “Did I offend him?”

Stefan gave me a rueful look. “I don’t think that was offense.”

“Then what?” I sighed. “He seemed like he was opening up.”

“He was.” Stefan took a seat on one of the couches and I sat next to him. Delicate, white, crocheted lace doilies covered the table. “He’s pretending like he wasn’t about to start kissing you.”

My cheeks flushed. “He smells nice.”

Stefan grinned. “We don’t have to leave him behind.”

I bit my lip. It was a tempting thought. He smelled like a long walk through the forest and, if I could find out why he was trying to push me and Stefan away, maybe I could figure out if my feelings were purely physical.

Then I told myself no. I couldn’t do that to Cuan. My heart was in pieces. I couldn’t ask him to offer me more when I didn’t know what I wanted myself, nor when I doubted I had anything to give.

“I won’t know if I want him…like that…by the time we must leave. There’s no point in tearing him away from his life. I don’t want to be cruel.”

Stefan cocked his head. “Is that why you keep telling me I don’t have to pretend to be your fiancé?”

I looked down at my hands, wishing I had my crochet bag with me. “You should be free to love who you wish. When we get back, I’ll find a way to make your father listen to reason.”

“We will have to do that anyway,” Stefan chuckled. “Since we will be arriving without a single suitor in tow.”

“Right.” I swallowed past a lump in my throat. When had life got so complicated?

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