14. Adelbert

Chapter fourteen

Adelbert

Last night, Florence and I ate dinner in a rather companionable manner. She was able to explain what she needed for her embroidery and I immediately put in an order with Pixie Parcels. Florence also told me more about her business and showed me a few of her sold pieces, per my request, and I find her to be an exceptionally talented artist.

I have never bought my own art, but I like the idea of one of her designs gracing the walls of my house.

I am also curious to see how she'll portray the Black Forest. I wonder if she will be able to capture its true character. If anyone could do it, though, it would be Florence.

After dinner, we went off to our separate wings and I allowed myself some rest. My eyes felt too heavy to properly concentrate on the detailed texts I still need to comb through.

When I tried to relax for a split second, my hand drifted to my cock, visions of Florence in all kinds of positions flashing beneath my tired eyelids. Florence spread out on my bed, pushed up against a wall, laid out on the kitchen table, on her knees in my study… I just about ran to the shower to wash away my filthy thoughts under a stream of icy water.

I know the fated bond is pushing us together, and most of these thoughts probably stem from that, but the emotions the bond evokes in me are leaving me unsettled.

My whole life I've prided myself on my elvish nature and being able to control myself. However, with this woman forced to be in close proximity to me, I find myself facing new kinds of challenges.

Today, I woke at dawn as per usual, and retrieved the delivery left by the front door. I've warded my home so the pixies can enter the grounds, but not the house itself. I am very careful with who I allow access to my home. The possibility of my father showing up here whenever it suited him makes my skin tighten.

I enter the kitchen with the packages and place them on the table. Then, I set the kettle to boil for Florence's tea while I unpack the contents of the delivery, all while my mind races through theories and connecting dots.

I collect Florence's fabric, a selection of thread, an embroidery hoop, small sewing scissors, and an array of embroidery needles and place them on a tray on the kitchen table. The fact that she can take these separate items and create such elaborate pieces that mimic nature so closely absolutely fascinates me. I also prepared a small basket for her to carry everything should she want to spend time outside again.

The teapot I ordered is unbearably dainty with cornflowers painted on it. I spent an inordinate amount of time scrolling through options before settling on this one. It reminded me of Florence and I thought she might like it.

I rinse the pot out, place an oolong tea bag inside, then fill it with boiled water, letting the tea steep while I brew some coffee for myself. After my coffee is done, I remove the tea bag from the teapot and place it on the enchanted cup warmer I also ordered, unsure of the time Florence will wake and wanting the tea to remain warm for her.

Opening the box that the Hefezopf is in, I am hit by the aroma of the fresh yeasty bread. I breathe in the scent, and memories of baking in this kitchen with my grandmother flicker through my mind, bringing an easy smile to my face.

I mentally thank the pixies, and their knowledge of where to get the best baked goods and keep them fresh throughout the delivery period, as I cut a couple of slices of the braided bread.

I butter Florence's slices, and prepare two small jars of jam for her to choose from—apricot and fig, not strawberry. Then, I grab a cup and saucer, and place everything in front of her seat on the table.

I give the arrangement a final glance and contemplate leaving a note, but ultimately decide against it. The collection is pretty self-explanatory.

Feeling pleased with myself that Florence would be delighted with this presentation, I grab my mug of coffee and head to my office and close the door behind me, ready for today to be the day I find answers.

I make a concerted effort not to stare out the window or look up too much, having noticed Florence glide across the clearing a time or two.

Today she is wearing a long yellow dress and it pains me to admit to myself that I recognize she must have embroidered flowers along its hem. They are too similar to the flowers on her jeans yesterday to be a coincidence.

Does she do that to all her clothes?

Stretching my neck, I lean back in my chair and finally let my gaze linger on the sight outside my window. The clouds hang low across the valley today, threatening with a thunderstorm in spots. I cannot see Florence but I can sense her on the western side of the clearing.

It is odd to have someone in my vicinity at all times. For years, I have lived alone–days filled with studying, experimenting, practicing. Now, my thoughts are divided, oscillating between my work and Florence.

I have not given this much thought before now, for I do not spend much time outdoors, but Florence's skin seems rather delicate under the power of a summer sun. On the off chance that she has not taken proper precautions, I gather my power and cast an extra layer to the wards around the house. It will not be able to withstand the sun's rays fully, but it could lessen the effects of sunburn on Florence's exposed shoulders.

Tonight, I will put in a new order for the strongest sunscreen I can find on Pixie Parcels.

Frustrated that I have not done enough to ensure her physical comfort, I get up with a humph and stomp through the quiet house. The sound of my shoes clomping along the wooden floors annoys me even more. She has only been here two days but her constant humming has somehow altered the once-comforting silence of my house.

"Florence!" I call once I'm outside.

"Over here!" Florence raises an arm high above her head and waves at me from where she's sitting against one of the marked trees on the boundary line, embroidery piece in her other hand. A wide grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up when she sees me. Something tightens and loosens within me at all once, confirming one more theory I had.

"It is not healthy to be outside this much. I hope you have taken some precautions to guard against the strong effects of the sun," I say once I'm close enough, crossing my arms.

Her big smile wanes.

"It's okay. I've got sunscreen on." Her tone is friendly, though it has lost that brilliance it had mere moments ago, and I mentally curse myself for fucking up again.

You could have been a bit nicer about it, couldn't you? Insensitive twat.

"That is good," I acknowledge. "I have also reinforced the wards. It should lessen some of the harshness from the sun. But do take care of yourself. I expect a summer shower or two to be heading this way today."

"Thank you. That is very thoughtful of you. I am just trying to get an outline done of the valley. If it starts to rain I'll head inside."

I nod and feel strangely unsure of what to do next. The feeling is rather unwelcome and makes my skin itch.

"Have you eaten?" I blurt out ineloquently.

For fuck's sake, what's wrong with you?

"Yes. Thank you for the pastry and the tea. The teapot is so quaint! It kept the tea at a perfect temperature. And all the embroidery supplies. I wanted to thank you the moment I found them but didn't want to disturb you in your study. Can you tell me the total? I'll be sure to transfer the money to you as soon as I'm inside with my phone," Florence asks with utter sincerity, her blue eyes wide as an innocent doe as she looks up at me.

"I do not require your money. You are my guest. It is a gift," I state gruffly. My lips turn down in distaste. The thought of taking her money grates at me.

Florence opens her mouth to reply just as I glance at my watch.

"Did you have lunch?" I ask before she can protest the gift, realizing breakfast was a very long time ago and she probably has not had anything since.

"I—not yet." This time, Florence's smile falls flat, and I do my utmost to reinforce my mental walls so that I do not read her emotions.

It is such an invasion of privacy and I despise it when other elves try to do it to me. Learning to mask emotions from a young age has been the only way to cope around them, especially my father.

I remember when I was at school and one of the professors tried to catch my friends out for something they did—which they definitely did do, though I was not going to let them take the fall for having a little fun. He asked them a series of questions and not only listened to their answers but read their physical cues and emotions, too. I knew whatever he found would get back to my father and I would be berated for it, no matter if it was my fault or not, so I intervened and manipulated their emotions until the professor was thrown off.

After that, I secretly coached my closest friends on how to put up mental barriers to guard themselves from future interrogations. It gave them the perfect excuse to get up to more trouble—something Jasper, Jamie, and Everett took full advantage of, to the rest of the group's delight.

Perhaps I have become so adept at concealing my emotions over the years that I have started concealing them from myself as well.

"Are you hungry?" I ask Florence.

"I can help myself," she says with weak confidence in the statement and her eyes not quite making contact with mine.

"Would you, though?" I raise a brow at her.

Florence bites her lip, and the desire to reach forward and free her lip from its abuse is almost visceral.

Maybe I could ease the sting by sucking it into my mouth, and…

Without a word, Florence leans forward and packs all her supplies into her basket. My fingers reach forward to help but I catch myself in time, shoving my hands in my pockets instead.

Satisfied that she's almost done, I stride toward the house, leaving all my uncouth thoughts behind and surreptitiously adjusting my hardening length. I come up short when I see the new arrival sitting in front of the door. Florence recognizes it before I do and speeds past me.

"Sir Purrington! What are you doing here? Did you walk all the way?" She crouches down and speaks to the cat as if it is possible for it to answer her questions.

I glare at the creature, completely dumbfounded as to its presence at my home.

"What is it doing here?" I ask no one in particular.

"Maybe he missed me and was ready for a new adventure. Weren't you, Sir Purrington?" Florence answers me but keeps her focus on the cat, stroking over his fur as it rubs against her legs. "Yes, you were. Are you hungry?"

The cat perks up like it somehow understood that question and walks itself over to the door. When I don't hasten to open it, the cat stares at me with its strangely alert eyes until I maneuver myself around Florence and turn the knob.

Florence heads inside with the cat on her heels, its tail high in the air as it swaggers past me while I hold the door open, still unsure of what just happened.

This day could not possibly get any stranger.