Page 67 of Bound

Braum’s voice was tight, yet firm. And Wren could not bring herself to look at Firen, to see if there would be more argument about... about friends and mates and...

She tugged hard at her braid, and Firen sighed deeply. “I’ll check on you later, all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Wren wanted to say that it was fine. That she was fine.

But her words were still locked behind an unwilling throat, and she could only shrug and nod in a semblance of acknowledgement.

And Firen went.

She waited. For him to argue the matter. To assure her that Firen was wrong and the entire thing was preposterous. She wanted that. Needed it.

And yet it did not come.

Instead, there was a weary sigh as he came closer to her stall. “Would you like to ask me something, Wren?” he asked, his voice quiet. Resigned.

Did she?

A whimper caught in her throat. About titles and promises and trust that... that in someone else, in Firen, meant safety and home and family.

And for her...

Meant dread. Humiliation.

Did she want to ask him if it was true? If his friendship was all a ruse. Because... because men didn’t do the things he’d done without coins. Not for a woman they did not want... want that from.

How many times had she asked him to be plain with her? To tell her what he wanted, so she didn’t have to wonder, didn’t have to doubt him.

Why wasn’t he denying it all?

She made herself look at him. To meet his eye and pretend that she was not so near to panicking. She could ask him. Make him say the words.

But it did not make them true.

There were no stools in the stall. And the cobbles needed sweeping—something she might have done if this was to be permanent, if she wanted it to feel a little bit like home. But she felt blind to it all as she sank down against the far wall of the stall itself, wishing he’d go away for a while until she could pretend she was all right.

Until she could bring herself to ask after the oil-vendor, and forget Firen’s insinuations altogether.

“Wren,” Braum entreated, and she closed her eyes, tugging at her braid until it hurt.

He was moving. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. Feel him coming around the corner of the counter, situating himself in a space that suddenly felt small and inadequate for two.

Because it was. This was meant for her, a place to do her business and she did not need Firen’s invitations to the fetes, or Braum’s chastisement about leaving home quickly for his escort and...

She wasn’t going to cry.

She wasn’t.

“Nothing has changed,” Braum reminded her. “Nothing at all.”

Was that an admission? Of either the lies he intended to tell or... or the truth that... that was supposed to mean something to her.

Was supposed to warm her. Make her feel safe and wanted and hopeful for a future she was meant to want.

A proper life within the city walls. With no more Thorn and his grimbles. Where hesper were stabled and kept in herds and she might visit them now and again but...

No more Merryweather, either. She would not like to be kept away from her fields and her hunting even... even if it meant staying with Wren.

A mate would expect that. To live where he was settled. To take her away from what she loved most because... it was her duty, wasn’t it? To yield, to pretend she felt things that... that she didn’t.