Page 13 of Fate

The room itself was dark. Unwelcoming. And she squinted about, trying to make sense of where he had brought her. A bedchamber, or a home, or perhaps a kitchen that would soonbeherkitchen once they talked everything through with one another.

Not a kitchen. Not when there was an enormous bed along the far wall. Rather than draperies for warmth in the cold season, it relied on carved wood—making the whole thing appear as an elaborate cupboard meant solely for sleeping. She had seen nothing like it, and it did not look particularly enticing, yet she felt her insides give a sort of squeeze that was not entirely unpleasant.

Their bed?

She went to move through the space, to take an inventory of his belongings and hopefully find some small measure of who this quiet, terse mate of hers might be.

But as she moved, his hold on her hand did not relent, and she turned back to him with her question already at her lips. “Is this room yours?”

It seemed baffling to even think it. Not even in her wildest imaginings had she supposed that her mate might belong in one of the tallest towers in the city. That held importance—distinction. It was little wonder he was confused at the prospect of being mated to a smithy’s daughter.

He looked about the space, his brows drawn close. “This? No. For guests. The window was open. Airing the room, I expect.”

He still did not let go of her hand.

Which might have thrilled her. Might have drawn her in until she was nestled close, except there was the curl of unease that perhaps this wasn’t where they belonged at all.

She glanced about nervously, already inching back toward the window. “Perhaps you are comfortable with trespass, but I am not.” It wasn’t an accusation, exactly. And it was certainly not something she’d ever thought she’d have to say to a mate.

She should have insisted they go to her mother’s kitchen. Get warm by a comfortable fire. Sip tea and get to know each other.

He snorted a little, shaking his head, and finally let go of her hand.

It should have been a relief, as now she could leave, whether or not he followed. But what if he... didn’t? He did not seem to find the bond as enchanting as she did. Did not seem to findherso alluring that she might expect him to come find her. So she stayed, eyes anxiously drifting toward the closed door of the room, certain someone would come to make accusations at any moment.

He moved over toward the bed and sank down, eyeing her up and down. “You can relax. The room might not be mine, but the tower is.” He grimaced. “Will be.” He closed his eyes. “Would have been.”

Firen swallowed. Some of the tension had eased from him now that they were in private, but it seemed only to have settled into her instead. “I do not know what that means.”

He laughed, a low, derisive sort of sound that wasn’t particularly pleasing to hear.

“Do you know why there is a guard at the door for our fetes? Did he tell you?”

Firen did not know why they were talking about such things, not when they could hold the least relevance to their current circumstances. They were bonded. It was done. Foolish men and their foolish enquiries about birth and names and houses, all of that was behind them.

“No,” Firen answered, standing a little taller.

They should be kissing. Holding each other. Maybe even plucking at one another’s clothes if they were amiable to it.

Not standing so far apart while he looked at her as if she was some sort of inconvenience, tucking her away in guest rooms being aired for someone that was certainly not her.

He stood, and even though he was moving toward her and her heart beat a little faster, it was not with anticipation. Notwhen he was looking at her that way. His eyes were too hard, his mouth pressing into a too-firm line.

Firen stood her ground, not from some surge of courage, but because it did not occur to her to do anything else.

His eyes narrowed further.

“There areexpectations,” he continued, as if disappointed when she had done nothing. Said nothing. “Who we are to meet, who we are to take to mate. And I can assure you, that does not include afinecraftsman’s daughter from the fourth district.”

He might not be able to harm, but he could hurt. And he did it without even a hint of remorse through the bond for what he’d inflicted on her.

She took a breath.

Swallowed.

She would not rage at him. But she would not endure insults either. Not on herself and not on her family. Not her home.

“So?”