Page 52 of Fate
She wiped her fingers on a cloth before casting Lucian a brief glance. “I disagree. The girl was at the fete. Whether it was by proper invitation, shewasthere, yes?”
This she directed toward Lucian, her tone taking on the hardened quality that seemed rampant between the family. No room for deceit, for sneaking about with half-truths and omissions. “She was,” Lucian agreed.
No talk of doorsteps. Of guards blocking her entrance because she did not know how to answer his queries—identical ones that seemed of such importance here.
“Which is where your father sent you.” The aunt turned her attention to her brother. “What then, did you expect him to do?”
Oberon stood from his chair, his palms flat upon the table. “Iexpected,” he spat out, full of all the rage that had been brewing since that morning. “A son of this great house to be mated to a woman of quality.”
Firen smoothed her hands down her skirt. Felt the threads flat against her palm, not a one of them twisted by the weaver. She bought her own cloth. Or more often, traded for it. And sometimes there were flaws that meant she could afford more of it and simply be mindful of her cutting.
And there was the bond again. Pulling gently. Not as warm as it had been, but soothing. Reminding her that everything would be all right.
Firen took a sip from the goblet at her seat, and did not register the taste.
Lies, all of it.
There was something deeply wrong within this bloodline. Something sinister that lurked in scowls and dark glances.Something that touched at her mate, but she prayed did not hold him fast. Not like the rest of them.
She looked toward Orma. Sickly and pale, who fiddled with a crust of bread upon her plate and refused to look at any of them. She had thought it such a kindness to send her on to another fete. Thought them friends, if only for a night.
Why had she brought her into this? What had she done that meant she must sit and endure such arguments, when old wounds were picked at and she was more than aware that new ones were about to be inflicted?
Another sip, and it was bitter and rich and hardly pleasant at all.
She’d wanted her mate. That was all. And was it so wrong that she’d envisioned large gatherings full of laughter and stories, much as she’d attended when each of her brothers integrated with their mates?
Her heart ached.
Her head even more so.
Lucian leaned closer to her, his body stiff. But it was enough that he could bring his mouth closer to her ear. “Do not run.” A command. Not a plea, not a request.
Her mouth twisted, and she put down her goblet. She had never thought herself particularly spiteful. Eris, certainly. Over any perceived injustice.
But Firen liked things mended quickly. Liked everyone to be kind and for any harsh words to quickly be covered by tight hugs and promises to be better afterwards.
Why then did she suddenly want to rise from her chair and bolt from the room? But not before she announced to the room that she most certainly was a woman ofquality.That she had not dallied with any outside of her bond. That she’d worked and learned and loved her family well as she waited fortheirson.
And that she hated the lot of them for making her regret it. For making her want... someone else.
Someone that would look at her softly. Would hold her hand and kiss it in front of his parents, just because he liked to touch her. Wanted her to feel treasured and cherished, even if they were with company.
It felt a betrayal of her bond, just to indulge in that momentary fantasy. To find that, she meant it. If only for a fleeting moment.
Where was her loyalty? Her fervent defence of a mate that had beenbornfor her. Fated to her.
She swallowed a miserable lump in her throat, closer to tears than she cared to admit.
“I am sorry.” It was an interruption. One that was as clearly as unwelcome as her presence there. But she’d said it, and they were looking at her. “I went to a fete in good faith, under an invitation that was freely given.” She did not look at Orma, and she wouldn’t. Whatever her reasons, Firen chose to believe they had been kind ones. “I went, and I saw Lucian, and he was mine.” Her throat tightened, and she wished he would take her hand, would give some sign of his approval. Either of her speaking, or of... of her.
But he didn’t.
Which was all right. Other than it wasn’t.
“But that doesn’t mean he isn’t yours as well, and I... I do not know what to do. What you expect to happen now. Because I cannot give him up. Not now that I have found him. But I wish to try. To... to please you. To make this as a transition with as little trouble to anyone as possible.”
More lies. Because they frightened her, and she did not think she would come to care for any of them, but she needed it to be true. Could pretend that it was until it somehow became so by sheer force of will.