Page 103 of Bound
The stubborn parts of her insisted that was all his own choosing. She had not asked him to join her, nor would she have minded if he’d foregone visiting her entirely.
It wasn’t as true as it used to be, and that bothered her.
“You are,” she agreed. “But I’m finished now, which means you can be walking and answering instead.”
Braum’s mouth twisted ever so slightly—not a smile, and not a grimace. Some horrid in between. “I am not certain there is anything that requires my response. You have an appointment with your father. You would prefer I not be involved.”
Her stomach twisted. “You make it sound so harsh.”
Which meant she had been so. Honesty did not have to mean curt. It did not have to mean brash.
She’d somehow accomplished both.
“Wren,” Braum countered with a hint of a sigh. “I would love to introduce you to my family. For them to come to know you, and for you to know them.” Her eyes widened, and she could not deny the alarm that swelled at the mere prospect. “However, to suggest it would be unfair to both of us.” Her steps faltered. “To you, because you would look much as you do now. I don’t want your fear, no matter how misplaced.”
Her throat burned.
“And it would be unfair to me, because...” He glanced at her, waiting for her to begin walking again. She would, eventually. But her limbs were not interested at the moment. “I had always imagined bringing my mate home with me. Watching Kessa scoop her up, my mother to smile at us both. My father to ply her with questions of any interest in the sea so he might bring the both of us on one of his voyages after all.”
She ducked her head. “They are fine people, Wren. And when someday you meet, it will be because you want to. I’ll respect that you don’t want me to meet your father. Not today, and perhaps not ever.”
Wren tugged at her braid, hard. “I didn’t say ever,” she reminded him, her words too soft and inadequate to her own ears. His fingers curled about hers, pushing upward so the tension was no longer on her scalp.
“I’ll not meet him today, then. Because if you change your mind now, it will be out of some sort of guilt. And I’ll not have that. You do what you want. Ask for what you want. I will do my best to oblige you.”
She chewed at her lip, feeling rather wretched all the same. “This isn’t fair to you,” she admitted at last. “You should have a good mate, Braum. You deserve one, truly. One that... that can feel that way about you. So you could take her home and she could be...” Her throat tightened so hard she wasn’t sure she could finish. But she did. Choked and hoarse as it was. “Normal.”
He wasn’t angry. He did not grouse and scowl at her nonsense.
His fingers tightened about hers, and he brought them down from her hair and he simply... held them.
“That wasn’t meant for me,” he said at last. “And you will not hear a complaint from me. Not in the whole of our lives.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You think me insincere? What if I had been paired with that friend of yours?” A stone settled in her stomach. “You think she would have been willing to live in a cottage in the grove? So I would have moved to the city. Been stuck with all the people and all the noise.”
He made a great show of twisting his expression into one of distaste, but she could not stop her thoughts from lingering on Firen beside him. They would have been a striking pair. Dark and light—Braum’s seriousness in counterpoint to Firen’s light-hearted demeanour.
She’d always known that mating business was unfair. A cruel trick of Harquil biology. It had cheated her family, and now it was going to cheat Braum as well.
“You would have done it. If it made her happy, you’d have moved and never complained.”
Her heart hurt. Her throat too. But she did start moving, with enough speed that she was able to pull her hand away from his without much effort at all.
“Wren,” Braum called, sounding confused. Perhaps even concerned.
“That is what you do, Braum,” Wren reminded him. “You accept things as they are. A mate was chosen for you, against your will, and with little consideration for who might truly be suited to you. Who would welcome you. And so you accept what little scraps I have to offer rather than accepting that maybe it was all wrong. All a mistake. That you deserve far more than I will ever be able to give to you.”
She wasn’t crying, but she was going to start if she wasn’t careful.
He’d believe her, someday. He’d realise it was all a mistake, and he’d go and she’d...
She’d carry on. She would. Mama had. She hadn’t dissolved into hysterics when Da left. She’d hugged Wren close and told her she was loved and always would be, and they didn’t need to fret. Everything would be all right.
She’d say the same to Merryweather. And it would be true enough, even if... even if it hurt a bit. For a while.
“I’ll let you decide many things, Wren,” Braum countered, his tone as firm as she had ever heard it. “Where you want to live and who you want to live with. But when it comes to what I want and what I deserve, I’ll thank you to leave that to my own choosing.”
He wasn’t looking at her, his attention on the ground between them, a tight line between his brows as he finally did glare. She’d bungled the whole day. For all her talk of wanting a peaceful market day, she seemed to be charging into the dramatics before it even had a chance to begin, and she was sorry for it.
She fiddled with the strap on her pack—the one he’d offered to carry for her, and she’d refused. She refused quite a bit of his offers, didn’t she? Trying not to be beholden, trying to keep him at a proper distance, lest he get any ideas.