Chapter 11

11

As dusk fell on their eventful day, Allarion knocked before poking his head into Molly’s chamber to see how she was getting on with all her new things. The trek home had taken far longer than the one to Mullon, as it was done in relative silence. Upon returning home, Molly quickly made herself busy sorting through the foodstuffs purchased, ensuring everything went where it needed to.

She seemed disinclined to chat as they had that morning, and so Allarion left her to her business. Something had changed amidst their shopping. Allarion couldn’t pinpoint when it happened nor why, and he spent the better part of the late afternoon pondering it as he hung the heavy green curtains he’d bought for her solar.

When he returned to the kitchen, hoping to find her in a better mood, he found it smelling of savory things, but she had obviously already organized the foodstuffs, prepared herself a meal, and eaten. The countertops were immaculate, as she always left them in the evenings. Although he’d insisted the house could see to it, Molly had a habit of cleaning.

He found it endearing—until he realized it almost made it seem as though she’d never been there at all.

To ease his troubled spirit, he sought her out. He’d vowed never to enter her space without permission, so his head was the only thing he allowed past the threshold.

His smile of greeting fell from his face to see the state of her room. All of the things they’d purchased had been laid across her bed—there seemed to be some method to the chaos, but he couldn’t find it. What truly troubled him was that nothing, not even the belongings she’d brought from Dundúran, seemed to be stored away properly.

Her clothes erupted in a geyser of fabric from her bags; small items like a hairbrush and mirror had been crowded onto the side table adjoining the bed. The drawers of the armoire and lid of the chest were open, ready to receive her things, but both lay empty.

She…never unpacked.

That troubled knot in his chest tightened.

When his gaze returned to Molly, it was to find her staring warily at him. Frustration had him grinding his back teeth.

He’d no inkling why she looked at him so—this morning, she’d been almost friendly, asking her questions and even joking with him.

Larry indeed.

The memory of her laughter set his soul to longing. Her laughter he craved above almost all else—second only to her happiness. Although…his fangs ached to sink into her sweet flesh nearly as much as his cock into her warm cunt.

That she teased him, laughed at him, had given him such hope. She seemed to warm up to shopping after accepting that he would pay any price for her to receive whatever she wanted.

What changed?

Molly cleared her throat. Her expression had gone mild, hiding that wariness away, but he could still see it in the set of her shoulders.

He forced a pleasant smile. “Have you found everything to your liking still, now that we’re home?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her prim politeness raked down his soul like the sharpest claws.

When she said nothing else, there was naught for him to do but nod and let her be.

Pulling himself back into the corridor, Allarion stood before her door, wishing for something smart or interesting to say—but nothing came. Her sudden shift in mood left him on the back foot.

Was this truly who she was, someone who oscillated between warm and cool? If so, he had to learn to better handle the shifts.

Unsatisfied with that answer but having little else, Allarion stepped away from her door and down two more, to the third bedchamber he’d prepared. Opening the door, he walked into a room as finely furnished as Molly’s, but the air here was stale and cold. Even if she hadn’t added her things to the room, Molly’s bedchamber held a warmth to it, a vitality that this one lacked.

He hoped one day soon to remedy that.

With great care, Allarion hung the gown he’d purchased in the armoire. It joined several others similar in size to it, all awaiting Ravenna. She would prefer to choose her own things, of course, but he knew, after so many traumatic changes, it would be good for her to start anew, with things she could enjoy. Once she’d settled and healed, she could choose her own things, start making decisions for herself.

Until then, Allarion would make the house ready to welcome and support Ravenna until she was strong enough to stand on her own.

That frustration inside him wouldn’t leave, a stitch in his side that reminded him time was running thin. Every day Ravenna was left out there was another chance for her discovery. Amaranthe wasn’t the only enemy—she could be discovered by hostile humans, or worse, orcs. Prone like that, weak and disoriented from the deep sleep, she would be terribly vulnerable.

Everything had gone so well to this point. The land was absorbing his magic, helping siphon off the excess he gathered. The house grew more alive every day, and one day soon, it would be repaired. Although still somewhat empty, it was for all of them, him, Molly, Bellarand, and Ravenna, to fill this home together. Their home and house would be small, but it was theirs. Away from Amaranthe’s influence.

Patience. He just had to have patience. It’d served him well so far. The Twins had guided his path, he was sure of it. That he happened to be in Dundúran that day, that he should happen to see Molly at that very spot…it was far more than coincidence. As goddesses of destruction and rebirth, war and love, sun and moon, the Twins knew all and saw all. Duality was in their nature, and so they blessed worthy fae with an azai, their perfect match to magic, soul, and spirit.

After waiting so long, feeling how the magic of the faelands was turning rancid, Allarion had had little hope of such a match. He could still hardly believe he’d found his azai, his fated one, in a human, nor that she was here, in his home.

He just had to convince her she wanted to be there. To be with him.

There was that frustration, gnawing at him again.

Goddesses, guide me just a little more. How do I win her heart?

He would never let the stores go low again. He would tell her next time when he had to take a long sleep. He would convince Bellarand to apologize…somehow.

Allarion’s head turned at the sound of approaching feet, his brows lifting in surprise to see Molly push open the door to the chamber. She looked about the space, her gaze finally falling on the armoire full of gowns.

A frown cracked her face, and she folded her arms beneath her impressive bust.

His gaze fell to her chest, admiring how the movement pushed up her pretty breasts. So distracted was he with the sight and his aching fangs, he hardly understood her question.

“Is there another bride I should know about?”

With effort, he peeled his attention back to her face, her expression there growing more dangerous by the moment.

“Of course not,” he said.

What a ridiculous thing to ask. He’d made himself very clear that he wanted her, that he intended to wed and mate her.

Has she not heard me?

Or worse…

Does she not believe me?

Closing the armoire door, he strode toward Molly. She watched him come, holding her ground. Desperate for any hope, frustration goading him, Allarion set his forearm on the doorframe to loom above her, caging her in with his larger form.

Her pupils widened and the pulse at her throat jumped.

Yes, he thought, that’s it, sweetling. You aren’t as unaffected as you pretend.

“Then what is all this?” she asked. Her voice clung to her affront, but it’d gone throaty to his ears, and those breasts, goddesses those breasts, they rose ever higher with her deepening breaths.

“I hope one day to welcome a friend to Scarborough. This room is for her, when she comes.”

Molly’s brows rose in two perfect skeptical arches. “A friend, is it? And who is this friend? When can we expect her?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I hope. Her plight is more dire than mine, and it is my wish to offer her a safe haven.”

Those expressive eyes searched him, some of that ferocity banking. He’d caught her curiosity, but he couldn’t reveal more.

“I will tell you when it’s time, sweetling. It’s not my secret alone.”

And…first he needed to know if he could truly win her heart. That she would stay here with him and be his queen. Ravenna’s secret was so dire, Maxim and Aine’s sacrifice so great, that Allarion couldn’t risk them without complete surety. Even from his own reluctant azai .

“I see.” That wariness had returned to her, but she didn’t pull away.

Allarion met her curious gaze, wishing there were no secrets between them—wishing there was nothing between them at all.

Dipping his head even lower, he drew deeply of her scent, filling himself up with it to gird his patience.

“I wouldn’t presume to buy you gowns, Molly. Not yet, at least. One day I hope to know you well enough to do so.”

Surprise replaced all else in her big brown eyes.

Does she truly not understand? Does she not feel how I long for her?

I’m not sure she cares.

Go away, Bellarand.

You’re the one thinking LOUDLY.

Quieting the bond between them, Allarion returned his focus to his azai . She still hadn’t moved out from under his arm, defiant little thing that she was.

“I am curious to see what you create with all that you bought.” Daring her and his luck, he traced a finger up the strap of her stays, feeling the texture of the embroidered vines there. “You are talented with a needle.”

“I’m talented with a lot of things.”

Allarion’s gaze snapped to hers then down, to that plush, pouting mouth.

Goddesses, was she flirting?

“I hope to learn of every one,” he murmured.

Daring a little more, he took the curve of her cheek into his palm, feeling the velveteen textures of her, the soft warmth. Running the pad of his thumb across her skin, he couldn’t help teasing the corner of her mouth.

She allowed it, although she gave him no other signals—she didn’t lean forward nor part her lips in invitation. Allarion doubted she’d permit many more liberties from him, but while he had her, there was something else he wished to discuss.

Finally stepping back, Allarion straightened to hold out his bent arm for her. She peered at it before his face, her gaze questioning.

“If you would be so good, I wish to show you something before you turn in.”

Molly stood there for another long moment, no doubt considering what he might show her. He very much doubted she would guess—but there again, that was his fault.

When she finally nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, Allarion bit back his grin of triumph. Her touch was most welcome, even more so her trust. Even if both were only the barest taste.

He led her back down the corridor to descend the staircase. The house lit their way, banishing the deepest shadows with orbs of yellow light from the oil lamps and mounted sconces. A quiet night had befallen the estate as they spoke in Ravenna’s bedchamber, and Allarion ensured his pace was suitably slow and cautious to ensure his human azai didn’t turn an ankle.

Her safety and comfort came first—which was why he took her down to the cellar.

Well, what looked like the cellar to all who didn’t know how to look.

All afternoon, the memories of how troubled Molly seemed to be by all the goods they purchased nipped at him. Not only that, but the things she’d uttered about not starving again—Allarion would know the history behind all of it, but for now, until she was ready to tell him, he had to infer.

He’d suspected her life before had been one of lack and absence. He noticed that she lived with her uncle, cared for her cousins. There were no parents nor siblings, nor children of her own, though Allarion would have cared for them, too. She didn’t hoard lovers nor trinkets nor the sparkly bits so many others coveted.

His Molly was practical, unassuming. The idea of spending so much money had seemed to truly bother her, and his assurances that she could have anything she wanted inspired tension rather than happiness.

For now, Allarion could only guess as to the roots of her anxieties over this, but he hoped, when she saw the cellar, she would understand and believe when he promised that she’d never go without ever again.

He sensed her confusion growing as they delved down beyond the ground level of the house, descending past the wine cellar to the very lowest, coolest point of the house.

Molly stood tensely beside him, her eyes blown wide in the murkiness of the dark stairwell. He could hear how rapidly her heart beat, and to ease her fears of the dimness, he created a will-o’-wisp of magic. Blue light illuminated the landing, glinting off the large ring door handles.

“The cellar,” she said in a strangely high voice.

“Yes. But also no.”

She looked up at him with those big eyes. He patted her hand in comfort before reaching out to trace a few figures on the circular doors. The figures burned blue against the wood before sinking into the grain. Molly gasped when the left door popped open.

Allarion opened it wide, and with a wave of his hand, created a dozen more will-o’-wisps throughout the cavernous false cellar.

He led his azai inside their house’s hoard.

Chests full of gems; piles of coins; cabinets of fine silver plate and delicate porcelain; copper, bronze, silver, and gold ingots; a collection of irreplaceable silk-thread tapestries; sets of finely tooled filigree; and sets of rings, diadems, torques, necklaces, and bracelets set with precious jewels—all of it and more lined the stone walls of the false cellar.

Leading her further inside, he plucked a few gems from the ground to place in her hand.

Molly stared at the sparkling uncut jewels in her palm, her mouth hanging open.

“My mother is from an ancient line, one that was on the ships that sailed here from the westlands. The House of Meringor has done well for itself. This is but a fraction of my share.”

To bring more in his flight from the faelands would have been too difficult. Thankfully, what he’d managed to bring was more than sufficient. Within a year, he hoped to have the manor repaired and operating in the production of something that would generate revenue for the estate. Orchards, perhaps. He’d learned several tricks from his brothers while he stayed with them—and Eirean humans seemed particularly fond of apples.

He’d brought his hoard via a handy magical sack his great-grandmother had devised. The inside lining had been imbued with so much magic, it created a pocket of pure magic that existed outside the limits of space and reality. He’d stored all sorts of things there over his long life, and it made fleeing Amaranthe one step simpler.

In his first days at the estate, he’d used a great deal of his own magic to expand the bag until it lined the cellar itself. Now, it was a pocket as large as the cellar but vastly more infinite—and only accessible to those who knew how to open it. He liked to think he’d made his great-grandmother proud.

Turning to his azai, he watched as she took in the wealth of their house. He hoped she saw it as a comfort, an assurance that she would be cared for. There was no need to scrimp and haggle. She would never go without. Their stores would never run out.

“I hope this puts your mind at ease, sweetling. I have every intention of taking care of you, of providing the life you want.”

Allarion waited for a response—for a long while. Longer than he thought strictly necessary.

Her eyes kept roving the false cellar, reflecting the blue light of the will-o’-wisps. Those plush lips had parted upon their entry but not closed, as if she still couldn’t believe her eyes.

Finally, Allarion couldn’t bear it. “Molly…” he asked gently, “do you…like it?”

A strange sound emanated from her throat—almost as if she choked. Allarion watched her in alarm, looking for signs of distress.

Her lips parted further, and a high-pitched laugh escaped. It was an unpleasant noise, one that sent a shudder of unease down his spine. He wanted her laughter, but this wasn’t the warm sound of the morning.

Another echoed in the false cellar, and Allarion watched in horror as she dropped the gems to press her hands to her cheeks. Tears began to slide down her face.

“Molly, sweetling—” he groaned.

“All this…” she breathed. “No wonder you could afford to buy me.” Another unnerving laugh split her lips. “Uncle Brom should’ve asked for double.”

Allarion’s chest went cold and tight at her words. He stared at her, trying to glean any meaning from her ramblings and fidgety movements, but Molly had worked herself into a state.

“Molly, you are my azai. I would have paid any price for you.”

Her curls bounced as she shook her head, her eyes glassy and dazed. Did the air in here affect her? The magic?

Frustration roiled through him. Somehow, despite his best intentions, he seemed to have erred again. Twins take him, why could he do nothing right—with his own azai?

Suddenly, she turned on him. She bared her teeth in a sneer, her face an ugly contortion of rage.

“You may have bought me, but you won’t own me! You’ll never own me.”

The cold grip of panic wrapped its fingers around Allarion.

She…

She truly thought…

Horror opened its black maw inside him, sucking at his innards. By all that is good and beautiful, let her not think…

“I didn’t—” It was him who choked, the words clogging in his throat. “I paid your indenture. And a dower. I never—”

Disgust burned his throat. This was what she thought of him? That he considered her as easily bought as the things they procured that very day?

Every odd thing she’d said, every wary glance and awkward silence…it was because of this? Because she thought he’d tried to buy her?

“Indenture?” she repeated. “I’m not indentured.”

They stared at one another, the truth seeming to dawn on them in the same moment.

Brom Dunne had had the better of both of them.

Rage like Allarion had never known licked up his neck. “I would never, never buy someone,” he hissed. “And never my own azai. My fated one, my heart. I cannot—”

He bit back the words, as they grew in volume and ferocity, and the balls of blue light trembled with his anger. It wasn’t her he was angry with, but her uncle.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. His frustration burned alongside his rage—that she would think him capable of such cruelty and degradation, of thinking so little of her and another’s life and dignity. His honor recoiled at the thought.

“How could he…” Another tear rolled down Molly’s face, piercing Allarion’s very soul. Her face contorted again around an angry grimace. “No, of course he did. Just to be cruel. He told me you’d paid a bride price.”

“I did only as I thought proper. I was told you had an indenture, so I paid it.”

That horrified glare fixed on him. “You bought me! ”

“ No, ” he insisted, “I spoke to your elder, the head of your house. It is your kind’s way.” At least, so he’d believed. Or wanted to believe.

“You should’ve talked to me—asked me! Instead, you went behind my back and forced my hand!”

Allarion’s spine stiffened, a curiously nauseous feeling rising in his gullet. “I forced nothing,” he said through numb lips. “You agreed to the handfasting.”

“Because I thought you’d rescind the offer! That you’d take the money away. I didn’t think I had a choice!”

“You came willingly.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded faraway.

“As willingly as a prisoner being led to the gallows,” she spat.

She may as well have sunk a dagger into his chest, the pain of her words radiating out as devastating as a quake, shaking all in its path.

“I won’t apologize for wanting you. You are my azai. ” He’d yet to explain the meaning to her, of course, but only because she’d been so shy, so wary of him.

“What about what I want, Allarion? Did you ever consider I might not want to be in a sentient house guarded by a terrifying unicorn? That maybe I wouldn’t want to be locked away with a fae I don’t know?”

No, he hadn’t. The stark truth of it must have been plain to see on his shocked face, for Molly sneered at him. But Allarion wasn’t ready to quit the field—there had to be a way to salvage this, surely. If only I can make her see…

“I have offered to give you whatever you want. Have I not said that since the beginning? For days now? What was today if not that?”

“You can’t buy me, not again. Those are things, Allarion.”

“They are things you wanted and needed, things I can provide! I offer you everything—a life of comfort, of position. This house, my magic, all of it is yours. You have only to accept it.”

“Do I want any of those things?” she demanded. “You came in with money and used it to get your way. Don’t you dare say I should be grateful for that.”

“You put words in my mouth! I do not want your gratitude, I want your happiness! Why is that such a bad thing?”

“Because you don’t know what will make me happy. You’ve never asked!”

“I’m trying to learn!” he insisted. The blue light of the will-o’-wisps flickered and expanded with his growing agitation. “I want to know everything about you, but you refuse me the smallest chance! You refuse to open your mind to the possibilities!”

“Don’t you dare yell at me! I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask to be here.”

“Is it truly so terrible?” He spread his arms wide. “All this, all for you, and yet I am the villain?”

“This isn’t for me. This is for you and Bellarand and your mysterious friend who may or may not come. None of this is for me, so don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty. I had a life, Allarion. It may not have been much, but it was mine .”

“And now that life could be here. Was that life in the tavern truly so wonderful? Was it really what you wanted?”

“No, but I wanted the chance to find out! And you took that away! ”

To his horror, fresh tears dripped from her eyes, which gazed upon him with all the hurt and betrayal in the world. The cold hand of failure gripped him in a vice, snuffing the heat of his anger into a tight ball of regret.

“Molly…” He couldn’t help it, he reached for her.

“No!” she yelped. “Just leave me alone!”

He watched in despair as she fled the false cellar, leaving him alone in the dying glow of the will-o’-wisps.

Allarion stood perfectly still, the sound of cracking filling his ears. His chest ached with a hollowness, as if everything inside him had followed her out.

A mate in tears, a beginning built on a lie…

His assumptions and predictions had wrought possible ruin—and it was all his own fault. He feared the loss might cost him dearly, a mortal blow he couldn’t weather. If he’d lost, if he couldn’t woo her nor sway her…what more could he do?

He’d promised Hakon but more importantly Molly that if she wanted to leave, she could.

If she did, if he truly lost this fight, he would have to honor that promise. Doing so would cleave him in two.

Allarion may have initially gotten what he wanted, handing over that bag of gold to Brom Dunne, but really, he hadn’t at all.