Page 11 of A Winter Romance
Aryn propped himself up, dark eyes half-closed. On one side of his head, his sleep-ruffled hair curled wildly, and on the other side, it lay flat, sticking upwards. The sight made Sero’s chest flutter and made him want to crawl back into bed with him. Aryn yawned and sat up, and the furs slid down his body, revealing a slender torso and small, dark, pebbled nipples. Unconsciously, Sero licked his lips, mind drifting to what they’d gotten up to the previous night.
“Stew,” Sero said, coming back to himself. “Nothing fancy. I made it from a mixture of dried hunks of fish, boxear mushrooms, and herbs I had stored. Just thought you might like something hot.”
Aryn gazed at the stew longingly before crawling out of the bed. He seemed to hesitate when he realised he wore nothing, but then he glanced at Sero, who sat naked. He crept forward, sitting on the mat by the fire. He ran his hands over his hair as if trying to tame it into place. A futile endeavour.
Reaching into his bag, Sero pulled out a couple of rolls and handed them to Aryn. He picked up a ladle and earthenware bowl from a wooden shelf by the wall of the cave. He spooned out some soup and handed it to Aryn.
“Mmmm. This is good,” Aryn moaned. “You’re a really good baker.”
“Well, making stews isn’t baking.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. Bread, loaves, cakes—that’s baking. Stew isn’t baking. It’s cooking,” Sero said, shocked that Aryn didn’t know something so basic.
“Oh. Sorry.” Aryn’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t have much experience with any of that. I’ve never baked…or cooked anything.”
“Really?” Sero said. In Ores, unless someone was a child, they knew a little about how to cook or bake. Even his youngling sisters had helped him bake. It was normal and part of learning how to look after oneself.
“In my family, we had servants who cooked. We never learned ourselves.”
Servants. Sero knew that people in Castle Evermore had servants. He’d even met some of them. But he didn’t usually have anything to do with those who had servants. He and Aryn lived very different lives.
“This must be strange for you.” Sero gestured to the cave.
“It’s different,” Aryn said between spoonfuls of the soup. “Takes some getting used to.”
Did Aryn look down on his cave? Sero knew it was simple. Basic. Nothing like anyone with servants would have. Sero sat up straighter. But he was proud of who he was. “What is it that you do in Bordertown?”
“I’m a perfume alchemist.”
“A what?”
“A perfume alchemist. My family owns Greweth Perfumeries.” Aryn looked at Sero expectantly, as if waiting for Sero to say something.
Sero stared blankly back, no idea what Aryn expected him to say.
“Oh. Sorry.” Aryn laughed, frowning. “I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t heard of it. We make perfumes. Greweth is our family name. My great-great-grandparents started it. My parents run it now. It’s famous in Bordertown, and throughout many of the kingdoms.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was clear to Sero that even if the sex had been amazing, they were complete opposites. Nothing in common whatsoever. Which was perfect. They didn’t need anything in common if it was just sex. Soon Aryn would leave and this would all be a pleasant memory. It was exactly what Sero needed to get over Ketho.
“That’s why I was travelling to Castle Evermore,” Aryn said. “I wanted to present the royal family with some perfumes so they could endorse them, but the horse took my bags and my perfumes with it.”
Aryn had gone to Castle Evermore to meet with the royal family. One more example of just how different the two were.
“You like making perfumes?”
“Yes,” Aryn said, but Sero noticed he shrugged as he said it. “It runs in the blood. All my siblings—I’m the youngest of seven—are great perfume alchemists. I’m sure in time, I will be as well.” He swirled his spoon in the soup.
Aryn didn’t sound like he enjoyed being a perfume alchemist. Then again, what would Sero know about Aryn and his life?
ChapterTen
Sero gazed out through the cave entrance as Aryn ate his soup. White snow lay beyond, illuminated by the soft winter light. It was calm now, but he could feel an energy in the air, a charge buzzing at the back of his awareness. His ability to predict the weather was one he’d acquired as a result of his nymph heritage.
It would snow again soon. Better not risk going to Ores today. If it were just him, it would be no problem. Even if he was with his father or any human from Ores, they’d be fine. But Aryn would struggle.
