Page 16 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

"I thought they were friends of yours, prior to the trials."

"They were acquaintances. We didn't have many opportunities for informal interaction, but we definitely built a connection during the trials."

Sofiya took a drink of her water. "Then what's the problem?"

"They're a connection to a life I'm not sure I'm ready to revisit yet. I just got here."

"That makes sense. Especially with the royal wedding coming up," she added, her tone careful.

"Especially," I sighed, the thought heavy on my chest.

I would have to see him. It was inevitable. And it would be when I watched two beings, who absolutely adored one another, publicly made their union official.

Sofiya reached across, squeezing my hand. "Well, you have me now. And the others. Who needs an absurdly attractive bedmate when you can have friends who will treat you like family?"

I pretended to mull it over. "Depends on the bedmate."

Sofiya slapped my arm. "Very funny."

Shaking her head, though definitely amused, she began cleaning up our lunch so I got up to help. Minutes later we were back in the garden, Sofiya in her happy place and me in a place I could exist without feeling too much.

By the time she left, I was actually tired. Maybe tonight I'd finally sleep without dreaming.

The next day, an unwelcome sense of trepidation poked at me as I trudged alongside Sofiya from our short errand. She'd shown up all chatter and giggles, pointing out where the fences needed mending, her chestnut hair catching the wind in playful whips.

Much to my horror, she'd decided to help me learn to cook.

I wasn't a picky eater and knew how to prepare basic meals. Apparently, my new friend expected me to be better than basic. Plus, as she'd told me, my new dwelling was old and parts of it were of an age they'd need to be replaced soon.

I adjusted the basket I was holding, distributing the weight more evenly across my left hip so I could keep my dominant hand free. It was a habit I'd decided was still necessary, like keeping a spear on my back or a dagger on my belt.

Sofiya was still talking and I realized I'd lost track of the conversation.

"You'll get the hang of it," Sofiya encouraged. "And then you'll have the best pumpkins in Greenhollow!"

"I don't think that's an expectation you should be setting for me," I cracked. "Does anyone actually eat pumpkin? It's not something that I would say tastes good."

"Ah, but you haven't tasted my pumpkin soup," she retorted, nudging me playfully.

I don't know what she'd eaten for breakfast but something had given her an extra dose of energy. Unlike myself, who woke up groggy from not enough sleep.

We reached the cottage, its old stones witness to a simpler life, one without courtly conspiracies. Or one's parents trying to murder the king and his mate.

Together, we laid out ingredients on the butcher block. I grabbed a pot for water.

The spout, an archaic contraption of battered metal, groaned in protest as I wrestled with it. Water sputtered out like it was ridiculing my futile attempts at domesticity.

Sofiya's laughter rang out, clear and kind, not a trace of malice in it.

"Here, let me help," she offered, stepping in close. Her deft fingers coaxed the water forth, turning the trickle into a steady stream.

"Thanks," I murmured, watching her work.

Cooking on the tiny wood stove proved to be another battlefield. Sofiya stood by, acting as a teacher, trying to guide me through her pumpkin soup recipe.

We laughed as smoke billowed, the scorched scent of charred pulp filling rising faster than the blackened pieces floating up from the bottom of the pot.

"Your gardening skills were impressive, Raina, but cooking is not your forte," Sofiya teased, waving away the smoke.

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