Page 23 of Fate

That did not count as snooping. On that, she was decided.

There was even a looking glass. One of the finest she’d ever seen. Not rippled and pitted like the one stationed over her mother’s trunk in her bedroom. Smooth and so clear that she leaned forward to peer at herself more closely. Even pulled open a few laces to look at her chest where she felt the bond moststrongly, trying to see if anything had changed now that it was present.

But no. It was just skin and a scar where a hot ember from the forge had spat out and burned her when she was little.

She took down her hair. The circlet that she would return to Da tomorrow. She did not go so far as to make use of Lucian’s comb, so she settled on running her fingers through it as best she could.

They were going to sleep. Lucian had said so. They would sleep and sort out the rest in the morning. And if she’d been bolder, she would have taken her dress off entirely, insistent on making use of a large bed and a private moment to the fullest. But that seemed... presumptuous.

So she settled on undoing the outer layer of her dress, the thin shift beneath a suitable nightdress until she could fetch her trunk.

Firen shivered as she paused with her hand on the latch separating the bathing room from the rest of the sleeping chamber. She felt all at odds with herself. The bond working its way to warm her blood and send tendrils of anticipation for acts she had so looked forward to had craved. And then there was the rest. Uncertain and yes, even a little unhappy with the man that was her mate, no matter how she tried to smooth over that fact with understanding.

They had made no plans beyond spending the night in his room. He’d asked if she needed nourishment, but could not quite hide his relief when she’d assured him she’d eaten plenty at the first fete.

Not that she must clarify which one, as he’d been there to see her shunning from the second.

She opened the door, impatient with herself. She’d do as she pleased, and nothing that she didn’t. Nothing would be wrong with... withmatingwith him, if she wanted to. If he wanted to.

Did he want to?

He’d changed. Gone were the formal robes, exchanged for a pair of loose-fitting trousers that tied about his waist. He wore no shirt. He should wear a shirt. Well. He shouldn’t. Not when he was slim and fine to her eye, and she wondered if she should have removed her shift as well. So he might be the one to stare and his pulse to flare and to wonder if they might and if they should, and she was still a little cross with him, despite it all.

But she hadn’t. And she wondered if she had come back too soon except that he’d moved away from the wardrobe and was pulling back the coverings on the right side of the bed.

Firen took a deep, full breath, and he glanced at her.

His wings were as black as the robes he’d worn, and they stood in such contrast to the paleness of his skin. Often wings and hair were similar in nature, but not in his. All contradictions, her mate.

“You may take that side,” Lucian declared, pointing to the bed. Then hesitated, glaring down at the coverlet. Not made from scraps of old trimmings, quilted into usefulness. But a swathe of dark green that had seen no other purpose than to cover this bed. His bed.

Not theirs.

Her stomach gave an uncomfortable pull, even as the bond warmed. It could be theirs. If she went over there. Touched him as she was meant to. Smoothed her hands over skin that had clearly never known hard labour, and yet held a strength that seemed inherent in their kind.

“Unless you’d rather this one.”

It was an offer begrudgingly made, but given all the same.

It made it easier to approach. She did not go to him, not as the bond insisted. But went to the side initially offered and mimicked his act of pulling back the bedding. The coverlet was thicker than she’d thought, and there were linens of crisp whitebeneath. A bother to wash, Mama would say, clicking her tongue and fretting how they’d fit in the washbasin come laundry day.

But Firen could not deny how soft they were when she ran her hand down the bottommost layer. It made her almost giddy as she slipped beneath the bedding, tucking her wings low so she could situate herself more comfortably. The mattress itself was welcoming, and easing her tension and promising her a restful night when she could relax enough to sleep.

“It is only a bed,” Lucian groused, lowering the light but not dousing it entirely. “You needn’t smile so.”

His disposition did nothing to quell her appreciation. He left the drapes open at the bottom of the bed to allow in the heat from the hearth, but she watched as he moved the ones at the side of the bed until they almost shut entirely.

Should she have done that?

Before she could decide, or even ask him, he came around and saw to it himself.

“Thank you,” she murmured, curling her toes and watching them barely show any movement at all.

He did not answer, but he wasn’t scowling, so that was something.

And she was still smiling.

She could not have expected the thrill when he got in beside her. How their squabbling dimmed. Talk of families and disappointments seemed foolish and unimportant.