Page 91 of Sweetling
20
Allarion tried to pay attention to Lady Aislinn and the council meeting, albeit not very hard. How could he, when his Molly looked so fetching in her new gown beside him? The soft red velvet clung to her generous breasts and nipped waist before draping over her rounded hips—in short, emphasizing every delectable curve and contour of her.
Between devouring her with his gaze and glaring at anyone else trying to do so too, he’d little attention to spare for the meeting.
Molly had grumbled and pouted over being pulled from bed at dawn, but Allarion had insisted. In the early hours, he tracked down Lady Aislinn’s seneschal, a helpful, competent woman named Fia, who’d known of a dressmaker in the city who should be able to accommodate their needs. With Fia’s directions, Allarion fetched his sleepy, satedazaiand whisked her off into the city.
In truth, she’d looked so precious curled up in bed, a pillow hugged to her naked chest in lieu of him. Allarion had known few things more pleasurable than holding his mate while she slept. Not once did his mind wander or grow bored; he watched her gentle breathing, memorizing every lash and freckle. He mused over her dreams and fantasized over all he intended to do with her and her lush, giving body.
Goddesses, he nearly wept thinking about the perfection of her breasts. Many,manyof his fantasies involved those generous globes. His cock stirred with the smallest memory of last night, how she’d cradled his cock with her breasts and claimed him on her tongue.
Sitting through an early morning fitting at the dressmaker’s had been its own special agony.
Eyes still a bit bleary after being hustled out of bed, Molly was perhaps a bit more docile than she normally would have been as the dressmaker fluttered about the pedestal, slipping finished or almost-finished gowns over Molly’s head and pinning.
They had been in luck, a cancellation sitting there waiting as if it’d been made for Molly. Granted, the dressmaker had two of her seamstresses fervently working to open the cups to accommodate his mate’s bust as she took measurements for another three gowns, but within an hour, Molly slipped into the back, out of her shirt and trou, and emerged in the red gown.
Many emotions vied within Allarion at seeing her in that gown, but first among them was pride. The gown was simple but elegant, all clean lines that enhanced Molly’s own beauty and figure. A few details had been added to the swooping neckline and cuffs, but otherwise, the focus was left on the wearer, just as it should be.
Her smile, almost shy but so, so happy, was worth its weight in gold to Allarion. He made sure to pay the dressmaker and seamstresses handsomely, arranging for the other dresses to be completed as quickly as possible and sent to the castle.
When they left the shop, Allarion swore Molly walked a little taller. A comely blush colored her cheeks when people stopped to look at her, but it was a flush of pleasure rather than embarrassment. She carried herself with poise as they ascended the castle steps, every bit the lady any other noblewoman here was, every bit the queen he knew her to be.
His pride at having such a mate swelled; although, he hadn’t quite accounted for the jealousy. He’d never been the sort before, but now, after having finally had a taste of his beautifulazai,his fangs were ready to sink into anyone stupid enough to look at her too long. Like the aggressive unicorn stallions that guarded their mares during the summer heat, Allarion glared at all the other males in the council chamber, daring them to look at Molly with anything more than respectful admiration.
And even then, his jealousy snapped and snarled.
Honestly, it was disconcerting. So between that and stealing glances down Molly’s bodice, Allarion hardly heard much of the meeting at all. Given the council itself had little reaction to Lady Aislinn’s announcements, he was comfortable assuming nothing much of note was said beyond the usual harvest forecasts, news from the capital, and updates on ongoing projects.
It was a testament to Lady Aislinn’s competent leadership that these meetings had grown mundane. His first few had been marked with strife and intrigue—exactly what he’d come to the Darrowlands to avoid. But with her grasping brother dead and her place as heiress secured, Lady Aislinn had assumed her role gracefully and capably.
The meeting adjourned near luncheon, and when Lady Aislinn declared their business closed, the landholders were quick to make for the dining hall. Allarion believed there would also be a banquet tonight and expected to sit again with the heiress and princess at the high table.
In the meantime, it was time for him to right a wrong.
Covering his mate’s hand with his, where it was tucked into his elbow, Allarion leaned down to whisper, “May I take you somewhere?”
Those plush lips quirked up at him in a grin. “Is it back to bed?” she whispered back.
Allarion flushed with desire, fangs aching. The goddesses had truly blessed him.
“Once we return, and the moment dinner is done, you’remine.”
Molly didn’t quite know if she was more disappointed or surprised that it wasn’t to bed they went but back out into the city. She remembered Allarion saying he wished to procure several things for the house while they were in Dundúran, but she recognized their path soon after leaving the curtain wall, her neighborhood passing by as they swayed atop Bellarand’s back.
Arriving at her uncle’s tavern door felt like a dream. She didn’t know what she expected to see from the plastered walls and heavy oak door, but it wasn’t the place looking…exactly the same. Or perhaps a little worse. More cracks appeared in the off-white plaster, and more of the name, once scrolled in fancy lettering atop the door, had chipped away.
A candle burned in the front window, a sure sign that the tavern was open, but the street was fairly quiet, even for early afternoon.
Swinging a leg over Bellarand’s hindquarters, Allarion smoothly dismounted. Molly slid from the unicorn’s back into the waiting arms of her fae, but she hardly felt the descent, nor his gentle hands.
Chewing her lip, it was hard not to think of the last time she was here, packed onto Bellarand thinking she’d been sold off, the neighborhood watching on. Standing here now, beside her fae in their finery, poked at a soreness deep inside her.
Standing out on the street did garner a few curious stares, and more than one stumbled to a stop when they recognized her.
Molly flushed, looking down at her pretty new gown. She still couldn’t quite believe Allarion had managed to do it all in a morning, but she was starting to suspect there was little her fae couldn’t do. Although the tone of red had been different, and it lacked the frills of black lace, the similarity to the dress he purchased in Mullon for his mysterious friend wasn’t lost on her. Slipping into something so wildly different from her usual garb had startled her—especially when she liked what she saw staring back in the mirror.
When they’d entered the council room to stand with the other non-noble landholders, more than a few pairs of eyes had taken note of her transformation. Her velvet armor had Molly brave enough to look Fiona Braithwaite in the eye and bob her head in greeting, but she didn’t bother with more. In her gown, she could at least wrap her mind around, if not fully believe, that she stood there as an equal.
