Page 53 of Ironling
Perhaps she should’ve been surprised at herself, but she wasn’t, not truly. His fine form outlined by a soaked shirt wasjust the last in a string of qualities that drew her to him. The attraction had been growing for a while now, beautiful and unstoppable.
Fates, I really do like him.
She couldn’t help it—not when Hakon was simply…everything she could want.
Aislinn could be reasonable. She knew there was something to seeing Sorcha so happy with her own halfling. But Hakon was his own person, and the companionship they shared, the way he helped her and encouraged her, the way he gave her his time, his attention, his patience…
What she knew of how Orek was with Sorcha may have given her ideas of what Hakon was like, but it was he himself who proved to her, every time she interacted with him, what a genuine man he was. Kind, patient, skilled. It washimshe admired, not just the idea of a halfling lover.
She knew it wouldn’t be proper; that when her father said to find a partner, he’d meant one of their own. Someone landed. Someone of good stock. Someonehuman. She acknowledged the wisdom and reason in all of it—but that didn’t stop her gaze, and her heart, from wandering. For the first time in a long while, Aislinn wasexcited;she rose with the hope of spending time with her blacksmith. Days were better when he was in them, and that wasn’t something she took for granted.
Her mood had quickly gone dour after not visiting him for days. Brenna reminded her every morning that her tasks were more important, yet Aislinn didn’t think she was actually completing any more than on days she visited him. Her attention waned and she trudged through the work, slowed by her apathy.
Seeing him now, arguing with his unruly dog, was a balm to her sore spirit. She almost…wanted to go down and join them.
What if I do?
The dangerous thought expanded inside her, excitement clutching her throat. She was heiress, yes, but that meant this washercastle. She could do as she wished within it.
What she wished for was the blacksmith.
Aislinn laid her hand on her chest, feeling how her heart fluttered at her breast. Acknowledging her attraction somehow released the tension there, and it felt as if bubbles of joy burst in her blood.
She would have gone to him, had she not overheard what the maids said.
“It really is a shame,” sighed Tilly.
“I was so sure,” grumbled Brigitt.
The other maids made sounds of pity and comfort, patting her shoulders and squeezing her arms.
“So were we,” agreed Claire.
“Looking at lips must just mean something else to orcs,” said Fia.
“Hmph. Or he fancies someone else,” Brigitt said.
Aislinn’s mind suddenly filled with the sight of him in the dining hall, always surrounded by maids.
Something must have happened.Although unsure what, their words stuck in her mind, even hours later. The bubbling excitement inside her fizzled, leaving her confused and a bit more reasonable. She didn’t hurry down into the courtyard, instead stole one last look at the blacksmith attempting to dry off his complaining wolfhound, then passed by the maids.
She met Fia’s gaze for a moment, and she thought her maid might say something, but Aislinn was quickly deep within the castle.
The meeting with the tailor played out by rote, being fitted for a new gown and warm layers.
Aislinn stared at herself in the long mirror as the tailor measured and pinned fabric in place, chattering about newpatterns from the capital that had just come in. She made the necessary noises of assent or appreciation, but her mind was far afield.
Must mean something else to orcs…
Hakon looked at her lips sometimes. Aislinn perhaps wouldn’t have assumed it meant wanting to kiss, but then, she’d never been adept at flirting. She hadn’t assumed any of his actions were flirting, yet…
Her palm itched to hold the wooden rose.
That didn’t feel like nothing—but perhaps it meant something else to orcs. She knew little of orcish culture, just human stories that were unkind to them and their ways, and what little Orek had said.
Her stomach churned not knowing if she was again misreading someone, a person she’d thought she understood. She’d made that mistake with her own brother. Perhaps it was nothing more than a misunderstanding of cultures, but either option made unpleasant emotions begin to bubble inside her.
I could ask.
