Page 32 of Sweetling
Enough that, when Allarion finally released her to fetch some food from the cold box, she was brave enough to ask more questions.
“Did you mean what you said to the lord consort?”
He didn’t answer immediately, but when he returned to set a block of cheese, a loaf of bread, apples, carrots, and other vegetables on the block before her, his expression was gentle and open.
“I did,” he said.
“So you mean to go through with this handfasting?”
“My intentions are to take a wife, yes. I very much want her to be you, Molly Dunne.”
“And what if it’s not? What if I don’t like it here?”
That gentleness faded from his face, but while Molly tensed, awaiting anger or frustration, instead it was a profound sadness that darkened his brow.
“Do you not like your chamber? I had hoped…”
Molly shrugged. “It’s a lot better than being kept in the cellar, I suppose. The room’s nice. But that’s not really what I’m asking.”
His frown grew troubled, and for a moment, it looked as though he was trying to parse out meaning from her words. What he didn’t understand she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to thank him for not keeping her tied up somewhere dark and dank afterbuying her.
Finally, slowly, he said, “You aren’t my prisoner here, Molly. I wish to woo you, to court you.” He came around the butcher block, his movements deliberate.
Molly held her ground, watching him come, as graceful and silent as a predator. When he stood before her, he loomed tall, making her crane her neck to keep his gaze. One purple-gray hand rose to gently touch her cheek with his fingertips.
“I wish to show you what it is to be a fae’s mate. We cherish our females, you see. You would be the air I breathe. The ground I walk upon. Nothing would please me more than giving you everything you deserve,azai.”
Molly’s mouth twisted in a sardonic grin.What I deserve, huh?
She’d heard flowery words before. Sure, his made her belly flutter with excitement, and she couldn’t ignore how she suddenly ached between her thighs. Something about the way he looked at her, those amethyst eyes set in darkness, promised her everything he’d said and much more. A life of comfort and luxury, and nights of softness and passion.
His back bowed slightly, as if to curl himself around her, and she knew without a single word, he’d kiss her.
Instead, Molly turned to the butcher block to start sorting through the vegetables. A stew was in order—that’swhat she deserved.
“We’ll see,” she told him, because fairy tales and fae promises weren’t for barmaids.
8
For all that the looming fae and brooding unicorn mystified and terrified her, respectively, Molly had little trouble learning to love a sentient house. Her first evening knowing the situation, she stayed up late into the night, testing out ideas of how to communicate.
She figured out it was the one who’d brought her water and changed the chamber pot. Through a few more halting conversations with Allarion, she learned the house laughed by rattling its shutters and pouted by creaking. There were all sorts of noises it made—Molly just had to listen.
Soon, she had a system—one drawer or door opening was yes, nothing was no. This way, she was able to at least have something of a conversation, odd as it was, with the house itself.
“Did you like your first family? The one who built you?” she asked, feeling brave and vulnerable as they sat talking in the deepest hours of the night, awash in soft candlelight.
The armoire drawer opened and closed many times. An emphaticyes!
Molly smiled. “You must miss them.”
It wasn’t a question, but the drawer again opened and closed, much more softly this time.
Her heart hurt for the house. Absolutely mad as it might be, she felt its sadness in that one action, could feel how the very walls mourned the loss of its former family.
“Do you like having people living with you, then?”
The drawer opened and closed in rapid succession.
