19. Adelbert

Chapter nineteen

Adelbert

After I meet Florence in front of the painting of my ancestor, led there by that insufferable cat who is always in her presence, I return to my study.

Florence raised some very interesting observations earlier. My research and what occurred to me about our bond could give me a final connection that ties everything together. If my assumptions are correct, it could mean that the future of elves and our magic will be directly affected.

Sitting down at my desk, I try to jot down some of my thoughts, only to be stopped when my phone vibrates with an incoming call.

I inhale deeply and twist my neck until the joints pop.

" Vater ," I answer and silently brace myself for whatever is coming.

"Adelbert, have you reinforced your wards lately?" my father asks. I internally pat myself on the shoulder for the forethought of strengthening the wards when Florence arrived, and reinforcing them daily. For my own peace of mind, I need to keep her safe from everyone, especially Nithard Alberad.

"Yes, I have," I acknowledge, keeping my back straight in case he can hear my poor posture through the phone and can berate me for that too.

"I have not detected you crossing back into my wards around Alberad. Upon inspection, I found the wards placed around your home would not allow me access."

I fight my hardest to keep a grin off my face nor to let this small victory become apparent in my voice.

"Is there something you needed from me, Vater ?"

"There is one month left until your presentation. It would be beneficial to you to share it with me before the others. I would not want you to humiliate the Alberad name with any lacking skills, be it content or presentation based," my father needlessly reminds me yet again.

"I—"

"Do not interrupt me, boy. I have another meeting to attend today, therefore, I shall return tomorrow to hear your presentation," Nithard Alberad states succinctly, his tone inviting no argument.

Reaching deep within the well of patience I always need when dealing with my father, I say, "I thank you for the offer. However, there is no need for that, Vater . I would prefer to keep my research private until the day of the presentation."

"I do not understand you," he hisses.

"Apologies, Vater . I do not mean to offend you," I say as calmly as I can manage.

"Well, you did. Now, do not embarrass me. I will see you next month."

My father hangs up and I slump back in my chair.

Not needing to dwell on that conversation, I get up and pace the length of my study. The litter of discarded items scattered across the floor mock me in my failure to control them. But I ignore them, stepping around them as I redirect my thoughts to Florence.

As I stood with Florence in that hallway, I was completely entranced by her as she shared her thoughts with me. The way she views the world, the way she chooses to see the positive in situations—even in me—befuddles my mind.

When Florence first arrived at my home, I allowed myself to enjoy her company, her humor and light, before I realized how temporary her presence here would be and that it would benefit neither of us to form any kinds of attachments when they will only be dispelled as soon as the bond is gone.

The last couple of weeks have been strained between us. Over dinner one night, I explained to Florence why I am against the concept of fated mates and that I think it is unfair to have our choices in something so personal taken from us. Since then, she has given me a wider berth than usual. She has remained polite but our conversations remain depthless, so unlike her initial weeks in my home.

Have we really been living together for almost two months?

I stop pacing and gaze out the window toward the spot that Florence favors. The rain seems to have finally stopped and a ray of sunshine pierces through the low clouds, illuminating a bright patch of grass across the clearing. I pick up the fallen globe from the floor and spin the world on its axis as I evaluate the odd sensation in my chest.

I find that I am missing the easiness of the companionship Florence and I shared until my confession brought an end to it. I have attempted to restore some semblance of it through our nightly dinners, but Florence seems set on remaining polite but distant, not quite her usual effervescent self.

I place the globe back on the shelf and rub at my temples. The fated bond is chafing against my consciousness, wanting me to make her comfortable and, I could even venture to say, "happy" here. Never before have I had such a need for another person's happiness as I do hers.

Surely it is the fated bond forcing these thoughts. Right?

My eyebrows draw down to a point of discomfort when it occurs to me that Florence has stopped her incessant humming.

Am I the cause of that?

This is unacceptable. I pride myself on how well I read others, even without accessing their emotions. How could I have been so blind to Florence's deteriorating emotional state?

I rub at the discomfort in my chest, and a plan comes together, determined to get Florence to her initial level of vivacity again.

Tonight, when I prepare J?gerschnitzel for us, I'll pair it with wine and Sp?tzle . Maybe change the setting too. That might aid in bringing back some of her spirit.

After a few more failed attempts to concentrate on my work—too preoccupied with planning dinner—I close the study door behind me and start hunting for supplies for what I have planned.

I sense Florence out in the garden, quite possibly taking advantage of the clear sky after this morning's downpour, and head to the seldomly used dining room to gather everything I need. I finish setting up outside before entering the kitchen to start preparing the meal.

Usually, Florence is here when I start cooking. Her company is a more or less pleasant balm that quiets some of the constant worries and stresses that occupy my thoughts. However, tonight I start cooking earlier than usual and don't expect her to be in the kitchen.

I prepare the egg noodles, side dishes, a mushroom sauce, and a bottle of white wine.

"Something smells amazing," Florence says as she enters the kitchen, a wide grin adorning her face and the cat following close on her heels.

Florence walks to the table where we always enjoy dinner together and pulls out her chair.

"Don't sit!" The words fly out of my mouth far harsher than I intended them to be and Florence's shock is so acute that it penetrates my shields I have up against her emotions. Her shock soon morphs to hurt and her smile becomes brittle.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I can just get Sir Purrington's dinner and then I'll be out of your way."

The cat ceases rubbing himself against Florence's legs and stands completely still in front of her. His gaze is fixed on me and his tail flicks with agitation, and what I assume to be judgment too.

I put down the bowl I'm holding and scrub a hand over my face.

"Please don't leave." This time my voice has an edge of desperation clinging to the exasperation I feel toward myself. I don't manage to look up at Florence, letting my head hang forward as I await her disappointment to hit me next.

It never comes, though.

A hint of curiosity pokes at me and I lift my head to find Florence staring at me with a puzzled expression. She gathers her hair and brings it over one shoulder, toying with the ends in a familiar habit.

"I have to say, I'm a little confused about what I should and shouldn't do at this moment," Florence finally says after an awkward stretch of silence.

I take a deep breath in and release it, along with my tension, on a slow breath out.

"I prepared a dinner setting for us on the Terrasse —the back patio."

Florence's relief and excitement hit me. Somehow my shields had stayed down when her shock slammed into me, and I quickly put them back in place in order for me to respect her privacy. I do not want to inadvertently take advantage of emotions she has not readily shared with me.

"That sounds absolutely lovely. How can I help?" Florence asks me as a radiant smile beams from her, our misunderstanding already a thing of the past.

I admire that particular quality in Florence so much. Her ability to take a negative and discard it so easily. To assume the best of a person, even when he has proven he is selfish and self-absorbed. She is so resilient and thus far I have not appreciated her sacrifice for living with me for such an extended period.

"Please. If you could perhaps grab the wine and the glasses, then I'll take care of the rest."

Florence steps forward and collects her items before silently returning to her position, waiting for me to provide further instructions.

I gather everything onto a tray and lead the way to the Terrasse , an odd sensation of butterflies rioting in my stomach. Florence follows a couple of paces behind me and I turn just in time to see her jaw go slack as she takes in the table setting with the sunset in the background.

The golden light limns her in the most perfect way, highlighting her delicate features.

Florence looks positively radiant. Stunning .

I have not allowed myself to truly appreciate her beauty in a long time, afraid it could lead to unwelcome emotions, but I do not think I can manage remaining impartial much longer.