Page 68 of Changelings
“It’s not a competition,” Imogen muttered, even as she flushed and fluttered with pleasure.
“No, but I thought you should know all the same.” He grinned, fondness crinkling beneath his eyes. It wasn’t quite the kind grin she’d grown used to, either. Dare she think…it held a little interest?
Do I want him to look at me like that again?
She hadn’t handled it well the first time.
But now…
Pitter-patterwent her heart.
Yes, she thought she might be able to bear it now.
Leaning closer, she watched Balar’s eyes grow wide as she drew near. Placing a soft kiss on his tawny cheek, she whispered against his fur, “Thank you, Balar.”
His chest exploded with a pleased purr. “Oh,urisá,sweetness from you will be my undoing.”
22
It was well into winter, the first snows come and gone, when Imogen came to an enlightening realization.
The pitter-patter she felt in her heart, how it lurched and ached and performed all sorts of acrobatics whenever Balar was near, meant something important. That she was, in fact, in love with him.
She could forgive herself for not knowing so immediately. She’d never been in love before. Imogen had no idea what to do with these unfamiliar, unwieldy, horribly fragile feelings. For long days, all she could do was hold them carefully in her own hands, hoping they wouldn’t break.
Keeping them close to her chest allowed her time to look them over and marvel. Delicate as they were, these feelings somehow carried their own kind of beauty. They made the world feel softer, safer. Snowflakes came to look especially pretty and fluffy. The scent of baking bread carried an extra layer of comfort. And the blanket he’d gifted her…she snuggled it every chance she got, imagining it was the downy fur of his chest.
Yes, after careful consideration and sitting with the feelings for a while, Imogen could confidently say it—she loved Balar.
Well, say it to herself, at least. Inside her own head.
She’d no idea what to say tohim. How did she put into words the bone-deep relief she felt whenever he walked through the door, a load of firewood in his arms and a gentle smile on his face? How could she truly articulate the way her heart went soft and aching, like a bruise, when he helped her into bed and kissed her forehead goodnight?
The feelings made no rational sense; they sometimes sounded outlandish even to her own ears. She’d never been good with words or feelings, and now she had to contend with both.
It wasn’t that she thought he wouldn’t welcome hearing that she loved him. Hadn’t he been hoping for such a thing for months? At least, that’s what she would’ve thought before her fever. Now, though, even with Balar in her house, keeping her company through the long winter and overseeing her land and animals, she couldn’t help feeling a small wedge of distance between them.
The inkling that something bothered him hadn’t left her. Like a stubborn nettle, it burrowed beneath her skin to itch and irritate. She wanted to ask about it, but as the days passed, an easy sort of complacency settled over them both. Did she dare upset the balance they’d found? If he left her now…Imogen didn’t know what she’d do.
She’d survived winters on her own before. Her health was quickly returning; by spring, she’d have her strength back, she was sure.
But Imogen…didn’t just want to survive. She didn’t want to spend the rest of winter alone.
She didn’t want to be alone at all.
Balar had changed so much for her. It wasn’t just that he took the utmost care with her—he truly cared. He fussed over hercomfort and happiness. He remembered the things she liked. He was always looking for ways to make her laugh or smile.
No one had ever cared about Imogen like that.
Yes, her family wanted her to be happy, in the way that most families hoped kin would be happy. But Balar didn’t consign that hope to mere thought—he made it a reality. With his own hands and good nature and indomitable spirit, he ensured that Imogen laughed and smiled and was happy more than she ever thought possible.
How do I ask him to stay with me?
Imogen spent long winter afternoons considering this. Probably too many, given that she hadn’t come to any real answer.
She suspected it wasn’t actually too complicated. It was a simple enough series of words. What kept her from saying anything was…fear.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, Imogen stared moodily into the crackling fire. Although what Neomi had said had hurt, some of her words stuck in Imogen’s mind. Not because of their harm but because of their truth.
