Chapter 20

20

Allarion tried to pay attention to Lady Aislinn and the council meeting, albeit not very hard. How could he, when his Molly looked so fetching in her new gown beside him? The soft red velvet clung to her generous breasts and nipped waist before draping over her rounded hips—in short, emphasizing every delectable curve and contour of her.

Between devouring her with his gaze and glaring at anyone else trying to do so too, he’d little attention to spare for the meeting.

Molly had grumbled and pouted over being pulled from bed at dawn, but Allarion had insisted. In the early hours, he tracked down Lady Aislinn’s seneschal, a helpful, competent woman named Fia, who’d known of a dressmaker in the city who should be able to accommodate their needs. With Fia’s directions, Allarion fetched his sleepy, sated azai and whisked her off into the city.

In truth, she’d looked so precious curled up in bed, a pillow hugged to her naked chest in lieu of him. Allarion had known few things more pleasurable than holding his mate while she slept. Not once did his mind wander or grow bored; he watched her gentle breathing, memorizing every lash and freckle. He mused over her dreams and fantasized over all he intended to do with her and her lush, giving body.

Goddesses, he nearly wept thinking about the perfection of her breasts. Many, many of his fantasies involved those generous globes. His cock stirred with the smallest memory of last night, how she’d cradled his cock with her breasts and claimed him on her tongue.

Sitting through an early morning fitting at the dressmaker’s had been its own special agony.

Eyes still a bit bleary after being hustled out of bed, Molly was perhaps a bit more docile than she normally would have been as the dressmaker fluttered about the pedestal, slipping finished or almost-finished gowns over Molly’s head and pinning.

They had been in luck, a cancellation sitting there waiting as if it’d been made for Molly. Granted, the dressmaker had two of her seamstresses fervently working to open the cups to accommodate his mate’s bust as she took measurements for another three gowns, but within an hour, Molly slipped into the back, out of her shirt and trou, and emerged in the red gown.

Many emotions vied within Allarion at seeing her in that gown, but first among them was pride. The gown was simple but elegant, all clean lines that enhanced Molly’s own beauty and figure. A few details had been added to the swooping neckline and cuffs, but otherwise, the focus was left on the wearer, just as it should be.

Her smile, almost shy but so, so happy, was worth its weight in gold to Allarion. He made sure to pay the dressmaker and seamstresses handsomely, arranging for the other dresses to be completed as quickly as possible and sent to the castle.

When they left the shop, Allarion swore Molly walked a little taller. A comely blush colored her cheeks when people stopped to look at her, but it was a flush of pleasure rather than embarrassment. She carried herself with poise as they ascended the castle steps, every bit the lady any other noblewoman here was, every bit the queen he knew her to be.

His pride at having such a mate swelled; although, he hadn’t quite accounted for the jealousy. He’d never been the sort before, but now, after having finally had a taste of his beautiful azai, his fangs were ready to sink into anyone stupid enough to look at her too long. Like the aggressive unicorn stallions that guarded their mares during the summer heat, Allarion glared at all the other males in the council chamber, daring them to look at Molly with anything more than respectful admiration.

And even then, his jealousy snapped and snarled.

Honestly, it was disconcerting. So between that and stealing glances down Molly’s bodice, Allarion hardly heard much of the meeting at all. Given the council itself had little reaction to Lady Aislinn’s announcements, he was comfortable assuming nothing much of note was said beyond the usual harvest forecasts, news from the capital, and updates on ongoing projects.

It was a testament to Lady Aislinn’s competent leadership that these meetings had grown mundane. His first few had been marked with strife and intrigue—exactly what he’d come to the Darrowlands to avoid. But with her grasping brother dead and her place as heiress secured, Lady Aislinn had assumed her role gracefully and capably.

The meeting adjourned near luncheon, and when Lady Aislinn declared their business closed, the landholders were quick to make for the dining hall. Allarion believed there would also be a banquet tonight and expected to sit again with the heiress and princess at the high table.

In the meantime, it was time for him to right a wrong.

Covering his mate’s hand with his, where it was tucked into his elbow, Allarion leaned down to whisper, “May I take you somewhere?”

Those plush lips quirked up at him in a grin. “Is it back to bed?” she whispered back.

Allarion flushed with desire, fangs aching. The goddesses had truly blessed him.

“Once we return, and the moment dinner is done, you’re mine. ”

Molly didn’t quite know if she was more disappointed or surprised that it wasn’t to bed they went but back out into the city. She remembered Allarion saying he wished to procure several things for the house while they were in Dundúran, but she recognized their path soon after leaving the curtain wall, her neighborhood passing by as they swayed atop Bellarand’s back.

Arriving at her uncle’s tavern door felt like a dream. She didn’t know what she expected to see from the plastered walls and heavy oak door, but it wasn’t the place looking…exactly the same. Or perhaps a little worse. More cracks appeared in the off-white plaster, and more of the name, once scrolled in fancy lettering atop the door, had chipped away.

A candle burned in the front window, a sure sign that the tavern was open, but the street was fairly quiet, even for early afternoon.

Swinging a leg over Bellarand’s hindquarters, Allarion smoothly dismounted. Molly slid from the unicorn’s back into the waiting arms of her fae, but she hardly felt the descent, nor his gentle hands.

Chewing her lip, it was hard not to think of the last time she was here, packed onto Bellarand thinking she’d been sold off, the neighborhood watching on. Standing here now, beside her fae in their finery, poked at a soreness deep inside her.

Standing out on the street did garner a few curious stares, and more than one stumbled to a stop when they recognized her.

Molly flushed, looking down at her pretty new gown. She still couldn’t quite believe Allarion had managed to do it all in a morning, but she was starting to suspect there was little her fae couldn’t do. Although the tone of red had been different, and it lacked the frills of black lace, the similarity to the dress he purchased in Mullon for his mysterious friend wasn’t lost on her. Slipping into something so wildly different from her usual garb had startled her—especially when she liked what she saw staring back in the mirror.

When they’d entered the council room to stand with the other non-noble landholders, more than a few pairs of eyes had taken note of her transformation. Her velvet armor had Molly brave enough to look Fiona Braithwaite in the eye and bob her head in greeting, but she didn’t bother with more. In her gown, she could at least wrap her mind around, if not fully believe, that she stood there as an equal.

That she belonged there.

Standing in the street outside her uncle’s tavern, in her new dress, Molly had the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of not belonging. It wasn’t something she’d experienced with the tavern; despite Brom’s insidious comments that she should be grateful for him taking her in, despite how rundown the place often was, Molly still felt attached to it. Like it was somehow her place.

She’d certainly worked hard enough for it to be.

Looking at it now…a prick of sadness stung her. For the state of the place. For ever leaving, yet for coming back, too.

Allarion seemed to know what she’d say even before she murmured, “I’d better go in by myself.”

His mouth was an unhappy, downturned line, but after a moment, he nodded. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Do your shopping.” She tried to smile through her apprehension. “You have my permission to buy any rug you see fit for the atrium and conservatory.”

One of his brows ticked up, and he respected her attempt to avoid the tension by joking himself. “Now that is a concession. I won’t abuse this trust.”

“Just nothing too yellow. Or too pink.”

A small smile, almost sad, touched his lips. “Of course, my love.”

“Remember to haggle,” she said, straightening the already perfect drape of his cloak. Knowing he was on the cusp of leaving her alone, just as she’d asked, had a desperate need to keep him there bubbling up. “They’ll expect you to haggle. If you don’t, they’ll be insulted.”

“I think they’ll be happier for the full price in the end.”

Molly opened her mouth to argue, but then Bellarand bobbed his head in impatience.

Come along, two-leggeds. If I stand here any longer, I’ll start attracting pigeons.

She grinned despite herself, tipping her head back to receive Allarion’s parting kiss. “I’ll return by nightfall.”

“All right,” she breathed, and bit her cheek to keep from saying any more and keeping him. She tucked her hands into the folds of her gown to stop from clutching to him, too, just to be safe.

He regained his seat atop Bellarand, and with a final wave, the two of them headed off into the heart of the city—no doubt to the delight of every shopkeeper there.

Bellarand’s clipping hoof-falls on the cobblestones had almost faded by the time Molly made herself turn and face the tavern.

Sucking in a breath, she put one foot in front of the other. The front door swung open with a small push, squeaking on its hinges just how it always did. The yeasty smell of beer hit her in the face, followed by the tang of stale, spilt ale and the spice of dripping candlewax.

Her nose twitched at the muzzy dustiness of the air, sunlight slanting in from the windows full of particles hanging lazily in the air.

Molly stood just inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim murkiness of the tavern interior.

A gasp echoed through the space.

“It’s Molly!”

She recognized the squeals and quickly threw her arms open wide. One little body, then two, ran into her waiting embrace, and Molly laughed and cried as she drew her cousins close and rocked them. Kisses fell on her cheeks as little hands grasped at her neck and shoulders.

“You’re here!” Rory and Oona exclaimed.

They pulled her by the hands further into the tavern.

Brom stood stock still behind the bar, his overgrown beard twitching in surprise to see her. Nora was on the other side, portioning out some stew into a bowl for one of the handful of patrons wiling away their afternoon in the tavern. From out back came hurried feet, and Merry appeared, a smile cracking her usually dreamy face.

“Molly!”

Merry started for her, but then Nora’s voice whipped across the tavern. “Merry, take this first. We’ve got customers.”

Ducking her head, Merry went to Nora to collect the bowl and headed for the far side of the tavern. Molly watched with a frown as Merry, barely fourteen, deposited the bowl at the table of three rough-looking men. She scurried away as quickly as she could, hurrying for Molly and the girls.

It was then Molly noticed that Merry—all the girls, actually—wore aprons, some of them Molly’s own old ones.

Merry threw her skinny arms around her, and while she hugged her tight, Molly’s temper sparked in her chest.

What was going on?

Oona pulled at her velvet skirts. “This is nice ,” she marveled.

“It’s too nice,” noted Nora, drifting over but not embracing Molly. “Where’d you get it?”

Molly didn’t answer, instead looking at all the girls in their aprons. Nora and Oona had their hair tucked behind linen caps, and all of their sleeves and skirts were stained. Rory had a clumsy patch on the elbow of her jacket, and Molly knew Oona wore hand-me-down socks from Merry because she’d darned them herself. Worse, they all seemed…if not quite gaunt, then skinny.

“Are you all working here?” she murmured. A pit of devastation sucked at the bottom of her stomach.

Nora’s cheeks flamed, but she covered it with a scoff and roll of her eyes.

“Papa needed the help,” said Merry in a little voice.

“Well,” boomed Brom, finally coming out from behind the bar, “let’s see you, then.”

Molly didn’t accept his greeting, neither going to embrace him nor shake his hand. She stood her ground, frowning up at the uncle who’d made her think Allarion was her buyer.

Brom planted his fist on his hip instead, using his other hand to throw a bar cloth over his shoulder and circle his meaty pointer finger through the air. “That fae keeps you looking nice. C’mon then, give us a twirl in your fancy dress.”

She did no such thing. Her cheeks flushed so red, they probably matched her gown, as she took a good look at Brom and the tavern. Her uncle too seemed as though he’d lost some of the roundness to his cheeks. His beard had lost its shape, grown scraggly and wild, and his eyebrows were too long. Stains smirched his tunic, and she could smell the stale sweat on him from steps away.

It was the same bar behind him, the same tables and chairs. Nothing had been fixed or replaced. The tabletops had a greasy shine to them, and crumbs collected in the cracks of the floorboards. The only thing that’d changed was the layer of dust that’d accumulated where Molly had once been sure to clean.

“What in all the hells is going on here?” Molly seethed.

Brom shrugged and waved an arm at the nearly empty tavern. “You know it’s never busy this time of day.”

“No.” Getting in close, she poked a finger into Brom’s soft gut. “Where is that fucking money?”

Brom’s face flushed red, but he made a show of trying to laugh. “Fates, all the fancy ladies talk like that or are you showin’ them how?”

“Why are the girls in rags?” she hissed.

Nora’s face darkened, and the younger girls looked away in embarrassment.

“Just because you’re fine folk now,” Nora sneered.

“That’s awful poor of you, Moll. You come from here, same as them.”

“Don’t you dare!” she screeched. “Allarion’s money was supposed to take care of the girls! Why are they working here? They should be in school.”

Brom held up his hands, making Molly want to shriek again. He had a way of doing that, of making it seem like she was being the unreasonable one. The sight of his shrug, his feigned helplessness in the face of her supposed tirade, had her seeing red.

If he thought this was her in a tirade, he’d forgotten—

“Look, Moll, we’re happy to see you, but we’ve got work to do. If you’re going to stay, keep out of the way.”

There were exactly four patrons in the tavern, all of whom were nursing their ales and stew while trying to pretend they weren’t hanging on every word.

Brom lumbered back behind the bar, and Molly pursued him.

“You were supposed to use that money to fix the tavern. To send Merry to academy!”

Her uncle shot her a grumpy look as he began cleaning out a tankard. “Knighthoods are expensive, all right? We got Bryan sponsored—he went off to Gleanná a fortnight ago. I gave him what little was leftover. He’ll need it in the capital.”

Molly blinked, the believable explanation catching her off guard.

“You promised…”

“Money only goes so far, Moll. We’ve been doing the best we can without you.”

With another glare, Nora went off to wipe down tables, abandoning Molly at the bar. Her deflated anger left the crust of her indignation to crumble.

Looking back at her littlest cousins, though, Molly couldn’t quite believe the easy excuse. She was happy for Bryan—he’d wanted to train for a knighthood since he was a boy of three. Training and earning your spurs of course cost a good deal, which was why most knights were sponsored by their well-to-do families. It wouldn’t be easy for a young man from the poor side of Dundúran, especially one considered old for squiring. But all of what Allarion had given Brom…?

Forcing a smile, Molly returned to the girls and drew them to the back, where the staircase up to the living quarters stood. Sitting on the steps, she pulled them in close to kiss each on the cheek.

“Enough of that,” she said. “Tell me everything that’s happened.”

It took a bit of coaxing, but soon the girls were talking over each other, telling her all about their recent lessons in school, any neighborhood gossip they’d heard, and their more colorful experiences so far of working in the tavern.

Molly listened to it all, a gnawing fury eating at her gut. She herself had been young when Brom put her to work in the tavern, but that was different. She was different. Hearing of shy, brilliant Merry having to clean up after drunk men rather than studying, of boisterous Rory being yelled at by patrons to hurry up, of little Oona washing tankards in scalding hot water—it devastated her.

The girls covered their unhappiness well, but Molly saw the signs. They were tired, discouraged. They should have been studying at school in the day and playing with their friends from the neighborhood in the evening. Many others in the neighborhood worked hard to support their families, but all understood the importance of education. The late Lady Róisín Darrow had established schools throughout the city for all of Dundúran’s children.

On quiet nights at Scarborough, Molly sometimes tried to better her reading and writing, making up for what she should’ve learned as a girl. That wasn’t supposed to be her cousins’ fates, too.

She spoke with the girls for over an hour but learned nothing specific that would shed light on where the money had truly gone. As the shadows lengthened with the afternoon, more patrons began to wander in, and Brom called for the girls to come help Nora.

Molly bit back her arguments, a sick feeling settling in her belly watching them get to work.

This is wrong. She had to do something. Allarion probably wouldn’t like it, but she couldn’t leave her cousins to fend for themselves like this.

A plan began to form in her mind, and when Nora next passed by, fetching something from the back, Molly tried to grab her. The girl was slippery and wriggled out of her grip.

“Don’t,” Nora hissed, “my rags might get you dirty.”

Molly ignored the jab, even if it hit its target on the head, and reached to take Nora’s hand. “Is it true, Nora? Is the money all gone?”

She rolled her eyes. “Papa drank an awful lot right after you left. Bought himself some nice boots and there were a lot of…” Her cheeks pinkened and her gaze skittered away. “A lot of ladies coming by at night.”

Molly just held in the keening wail of anger that wanted to erupt from her throat. Brom had squandered the money on whores and booze . It was such an unimaginative, cliché thing, but Molly found it far more believable than all the money being used on Bryan.

Pulling out of Molly’s grip, Nora sneered, “Maybe your fae man didn’t pay as much for you as you thought.”

Molly understood now that that was far from the case—Allarion truly would have paid any price. She’d seen the sack of coins with her own eyes.

She thought it would’ve been enough.

It should have been enough.

Molly waited to feel that familiar burn of temper—Brom certainly deserved the true heat of her ire for this. Yet, Nora’s waspishness only threw sand on the bonfire of her anger. An aching sadness was all she could muster, for really, this was her own fault, too.

She’d left the girls. She should’ve known better—Brom couldn’t be trusted to do what was best for them. He couldn’t run the tavern on his own; that was painfully obvious by the state of it. The girls were far too young to be helping him, and this was a dangerous place for girls.

Molly still resented being exposed to it so young, but she’d done it so Nora and the others wouldn’t have to.

That sacrifice had been for nothing. Her bride price had been for nothing.

“Ya know, if you really wanted to help your family, you could pitch in!” Brom called down the hall.

Stepping away, Nora said, “Just go. You’ve already left, anyway.”

“Nora…”

Her cousin hurried back to the bar to take more orders.

It took Molly only another moment to decide. Pushing up from the steps, she walked into the main room to a cheer. People called out her name in surprise and pleasure, some of the regulars coming up to pat her arms and wish her well.

Soon, the front door was thrown open. “Hey, Molly’s back!” someone shouted into the street, and more people, both regular patrons and curious neighbors, came to have a look.

Molly untied the too-big apron from Oona’s waist and instead tied it round her own. She caught Rory and Merry, too, and told them, “Go on up and read. I’ll take care of tonight.”

“But you don’t work here anymore,” Rory reminded her.

“I know. But I haven’t forgotten.” She pinched Rory’s nose, making the girl laugh.

She made sure all three had bowls of stew for their dinner before sending them up. Nora cut her unreadable glances, but Molly didn’t approach her again. The damage was done, and she’d have to show Nora she meant to help.

As night fell, more and more people filled the tavern. Every table and chair boasted an occupant, straining the old floorboards. Having more people venturing inside—and therefore more coins changing hands—perked Brom up, and by evening time, he was a jollier version of himself, shedding the gloomy frown for a toothy grin as he poured drinks.

Molly loaded trays with drinks and wove through the tavern delivering them. Her body remembered just what to do, years of practice lending her confidence in her gait and balance.

The familiar cadence of a busy tavern, of dropping off full tankards and picking up empties, of smiling for the patrons and flirting for tips, was easy to slip into. For a while, it didn’t feel like she’d been gone for months. For a while, she was the old Molly.

“It’s never this full anymore,” Nora remarked as they both stopped at the bar to hand over empty tankards. There wasn’t too much malice in her voice this time, but her mouth pursed when Molly slid a handful of tipped coins across the bar to her.

She glared at them a moment before grabbing them up to squirrel away in her pocket.

Nora hurried off before Molly could say anything.

Then there wasn’t time to say anything as more neighbors came with well-wishes. Between answering questions about her fae betrothed and his strange steed and taking orders, Molly hardly noticed the evening passing. Well, her feet started to notice, aching in that way they usually did by the end of the day.

And she was quickly reminded of the charms of working a tavern when a patron, already deep into his cups, stumbled, splashing Molly with ale. Her apron caught most of it, but a dark splotch bloomed across the red velvet near her hip.

Molly ground her back teeth, dabbing at the stain to reduce its spread, as the tavern tittered in amusement to see her fine gown besmirched. She was soon forgotten entirely when Brom led them in a rowdy rendition of a favorite shanty, and Molly was left to dodge more sloshing cups.

She was making her way carefully to the far side of the bar, watching her movements so carefully, that at first she didn’t hear how the noise suddenly fell. Not until she next looked up did she realize that Allarion stood at the threshold of the tavern, all eyes turned toward him.

His dark gaze ran over Molly slowly before turning to regard the others. He entered slowly, his cloak sweeping the floor behind him.

As he approached, Molly angled her tray to hide the stain.

“Molly, what do you do?” he asked, and although his voice was low, everyone in the tavern heard.

“Just…helping out for the night.”

A frown began to mar his brow, and his keen eyes shifted over her to lock onto the bar.

Molly laid her hand on his chest. “Let me just finish out the night.”

When he lowered his gaze to her again, Molly tried to convey what she could in a look; although, she feared all he saw was her embarrassment at being caught playing barmaid.

“As you will.” His acceptance came easily, but something about it had Molly’s insides twisting with an oily sort of guilt.

She made him comfortable at his usual table, and the tavern resumed its chatter around them, although it never regained its full fervor. Under Allarion’s cool gaze, everyone, including Molly, watched what they said and did.

Molly knew there’d be plenty of explaining to do soon enough.