Page 96 of Sweetling
“She’s only really requested you,”Molly had reminded him that morning.
That didn’t dissuade Allarion from wanting Molly to be there, but she insisted she needed to return to her uncle’s tavern.
“They need me.”
What her uncle needed was a swift kick to the posterior, but even Allarion understood that sentiment, while perhaps shared, wasn’t helpful. Still, it’d been with sharp teeth that he held his tongue as they padded around an argument.
Allarion meant to make things right by bringing her back to her family—he’d taken her from them under questionable pretenses, and while Molly had chosen to stay with him, he suspected that, for his own peace of mind as well as the strength of their bond, she needed to make that choice again, outside of his sphere of influence. And what was more, he had to provide the situation for her to choose fairly.
None of that was particularly easy to swallow.
Walking into the tavern the previous night to find her serving drunk patrons, a scene all too familiar, had enraged him. Not because she didn’t have to or even because he resented her family for taking her time. No, what Allarion hated was the vision of Molly without him.
Molly waiting tables in the tavern was one who hadn’t had him in her life. It wasbefore. And…as a small part of him feared, could be the future if she chose to remain in Dundúran.
He didn’t truly believe she would, at least, not the rational part of him, nor even the sentimental part. Both had pressed his suit and claim in the late hours, feasting on her cunt until she couldn’t bear it any longer. Crass as it was, he enjoyed a feral sort of pride knowing no other could make her feel so good.Hewas the owner of her pleasure.
In the light of day, though, doubts crept in. Again, his rational side knew that she would have to choose, and the odds were good she’d choose him. Her cousins were something that could be accommodated—even brought to Scarborough when he was sure it was safe, if she so wished.
It was the side of him that remembered how it felt to watch a friend die, to feel the stab of betrayal by the Queen he’d sworn loyalty to, that sparked his resentment most. It was an ugly feeling, especially to have at the expense of children, but it couldn’t be helped. It was there. All Allarion could do was not let it rule him.
So he walked into the solar to meet Princess Isolde, alone and frowning a little.
If she noticed his tumultuous thoughts, the princess was too well mannered to show it. She rose from her seat on the sedan, a perfect smile adorning her lips. Her light brown hair, nearly auburn, had been brushed back behind a crescent cloth headdress that was fashionable with human women currently. For a princess, her gown appeared somewhat plain, a simple affair of dove gray and dusky pink, although up close, the subtle but exquisite embroidery and beading was evident. Much like its wearer, the simplicity of the gown belied its richness.
She’d grown a little from when Allarion saw her at the wedding of Lady Aislinn and Hakon. On the threshold between girlhood and womanhood, she was all long limbs and rounded cheeks. She reminded him very much of Ravenna at that age, a little too desperate to grow up.
“Your Grace,” he greeted, taking the hand she offered and bowing to kiss the back.
“Good morning to you, master fae. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“It’s a fool who squanders an audience with the crown princess, and I am no fool.”
The princess’s smile widened. “No, but you are trained in flattery.”
Allarion bobbed his head in assent. “Indeed, Your Grace. My house is an illustrious one, ancient as the highland cliffs. Manners are a requirement to my mother, the scion of our house.”
“She sounds formidable,” Princess Isolde quipped. “We have that in common, you see.”
“Formidable mothers are a force unto themselves.”
The princess hummed in agreement before gesturing at a chair positioned opposite the sedan. Once she’d resumed her place, Allarion sat gently on the edge of the cushion.
“I enjoy talking with you, master fae. I hope we may visit more while you’re here in the city.”
Allarion nodded, unsure quite where the princess led. “I enjoy speaking with you, too, Your Grace.”
“I hope you continue to.” Her smile faltered and, gaze dropping to her lap, the princess pulled a sealed letter from her pocket. “I asked for this meeting to convey a request from my father, King Marius.”
Without meeting his eye, Princess Isolde held out the letter. Allarion considered it as he reached to take it from her. He quirked a brow in question, but the princess could only nod at the letter.
“Please read it.”
Suspicion slithered through his veins as Allarion broke the wax seal. The symbol pressed into the red wax was of spread eagle wings set before a round oak shield, the symbols of Pyrros and Eirea, respectively. The paper was of the highest quality, soft between his fingers, and the writing itself was of a precise, meticulous hand. Even before reading, curiosity pricked Allarion to wonder if this was the king’s own hand or the neater writing of a scribe.
It mattered less as Allarion read the king’srequest.
To Allarion Meringor,
