Page 83 of Sweetling
At the grand entrance of the castle—a pair of arched wooden doors at the top of a set of curved shallow steps—a line of horses and carriages had queued to unload their noble passengers.
Bellarand, of course, had no care for protocol or politeness and brought them right to the front step of the castle. Nobody protested, though a few disgruntled rumbles came from the carriages two or three back.
The courtyard went silent as the unicorn stopped. Allarion dismounted with a great swish of his cloak onto the polished white limestone steps.
Molly’s gaze clung to him, her nerves growing to a buzzing hive in her chest. When he reached up for her, her hands trembled as she laid them on his shoulders. Taking her by the waist, he lifted her off Bellarand’s back to stand beside him.
She locked her knees and stared at his chest, afraid if she looked anywhere else—like behind her, at all the noble people staring at them—she’d faint. Or worse, vomit.
Allarion made quick work of pulling off their bags, hefting the straps onto one shoulder before offering her his free arm. Molly grabbed hold, clutching his forearm with her other hand. His gaze turned concerned when he looked down at her, but she could only shake her head.
Not here.
She just needed to get inside.
Allarion regarded her another moment before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. The crowd behind them murmured as they turned to ascend the steps.
Enjoy playing politics,was Bellarand’s farewell, but Molly didn’t dare look back.
Two stairs up, she had to let go with one hand to gather his voluminous cloak before she tripped and broke her nose on the castle steps. She watched her footfalls, each thudding in her head like a thunderclap. Tension gathered behind her left eye, and she had to remind herself to breathe.
She focused so much on her steps that it was almost startling when they came to the top. Molly looked up just in time to see them through the arched threshold of the castle.
Inside was a richly tapestried atrium with a grand staircase leading up to the second level. The sight reminded her of the one back at Scarborough, and she welcomed the distraction of the thought.
They hadn’t gotten more than three steps inside when two staff stepped forward to take their baggage and outerwear. Molly pulled off the cloak by rote but immediately wished it back on. Her neck was cold without the collar, and, much worse, she realized her new dress was hardly better than the uniforms the staff wore.
The woman who took their cloaks bobbed a polite curtsey and hurried off, but the man with their bags couldn’t help a long look at Molly in her white muslin dress.
Allarion took her hand and tucked it back at his elbow, but that only drew her attention to the luxurious fabric of his tunic, with its silver threads, silver buttons, and embroidered cuffs. A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks—she didn’t even look a peahen beside her peacock but a drab little wren.
The feeling only grew stronger as they ascended this second staircase and entered the great hall.
It was a beautiful room, with dark wood beams that resembled the boning of a ship’s hull. Banners of all colors, boasting the heraldry of the many Darrowlands families, hung from them, as well as six circular brass chandeliers studded with flickering candles. Narrow, arched windows set into the thick stone wall allowed in the afternoon light.
That light glittered off the gold and jewels adorning the hundred or so people already gathered in the hall. Satin, silk, and velvet gleamed in the warm light, and more than a few women positively glittered with how the light caught in their jewels and refracted back on the stone walls.
Allarion walked into the room with confidence, practically dragging Molly behind him. She forgot to breathe again when those nearest the entrance turned to mark their arrival.
Many bowed their heads to Allarion, murmuring greetings, but then their curious gazes turned on Molly. None seemed to know what to do about the woman standing beside the fae, and she wished desperately to melt into Allarion’s side and disappear.
She swore the chatter of the crowd quieted as more and more heads turned to behold the new, strange arrivals. Everywhere Molly looked, she found a pair of eyes staring back at her, some shadowed by a frown, others punctuated by imperiously arched brows.
Who is this?those gazes said.Who’s brought this into our midst?
Allarion crossed through the hall, acknowledging those who greeted him but not stopping to strike up a conversation. Molly was grateful, unable to bear so many eyes, and when her fae came to a far wall and decided to take up residence with it at his back, she found a sliver of relief.
Yet, standing there clinging to him made them an easier target of all those gazes. Her stomach sank watching hands come up to cover mouths as heads bent together.
Molly had never been looked at so much. Sure, she was used to getting some attention at the tavern, but to be the focus of so many, to know that the words whispered behind decorated fans and delicate hands were about her and Allarion…
When a servant walked past bearing a tray of goblets, Molly took one just for something to hold onto other than Allarion’s arm. As she took the goblet, she and the serving woman locked gazes. The woman opened her mouth to ask something—aren’t you needed in the kitchen?—when another couple approached.
Molly could hardly hear them introduce themselves over the buzzing in her ears, and the wine in her goblet came dangerously close to sloshing over the rim with how badly her hand trembled. The man and woman executed elegant bows, and she could feel Allarion nod, but Molly stood frozen, cheeks aflame and heart beating right out of her chest.
“And who is this with you, my lord?” asked the woman, her smile all teeth.
Allarion laid his hand on Molly’s where it clutched at his sleeve. “She is Molly Dunne, my betrothed.”
