Chapter 6

6

The day, however, brought no celestial inspiration—nor even a peek of Molly. He found himself perpetually drifting to the residential wing of the house, where the finished bedchambers were, multiple times a day. Only to find that her door was still shut and locked. None of the fine particles he left on the floor had been disturbed, proving no one had emerged.

She hadn’t even opened the door to inspect the corridor.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Allarion couldn’t resist. He rapped his knuckles against the oak paneling, wishing for even a morsel of her attention.

“Molly? Are you all right?” he called after his polite knock.

After a long, tense pause—

“I’m fine, ” she called back, even if…Allarion didn’t think she sounded so. He vaguely remembered the half-orc Orek warning the other halflings and manticores gathered in the growing otherly village that fine was the most dangerous thing a human woman could say. A multifaceted word, it meant many things, none of which were obvious to an unsuspecting male.

Allarion prided himself on being a fairly fluent interpreter of the female language—he had older sisters, past lovers, many sisters-in-arms, and had watched Ravenna grow from girl to youth to woman. Still, as he stood outside Molly’s locked door, he couldn’t help feeling a sensation not unlike drowning.

At the very least, he wished she’d emerge long enough to let him show her the kitchen he’d stocked full in preparation. He hadn’t known her tastes, so he’d purchased a bit of everything, allowing the kind merchants in the nearby market town to guide him.

The idea of preparing her a meal—even though he never had before—piqued his hope.

He tried once more. “Would you like me to—?”

“I want you to go away!”

Allarion blinked at the closed door. “Are you well?”

A snort, dripping with derision, echoed from the other side. “I’m fine. ”

I don’t think she’s fine, Bellarand offered unhelpfully.

Allarion scowled over his shoulder at the unicorn. Beasts of burden belong outside.

Bellarand blew a puff of hot breath in his face. Good thing I’m not burdened by much.

Turning back to the door, Allarion laid his hand on its face. A tendril of his magic worked under the door—he didn’t mean to intrude, just to ensure she was as fine as she claimed. He couldn’t see with his magic extended, only really sense. The house creaked in question, as if it too waited to learn how their new mistress fared.

Easy, easy, he told it. We must wait for her to become comfortable.

The shudders rattled, as if the house sighed with impatience.

Through the tendril, Allarion sensed she lay in the bed, a lump under the mountain of blankets he’d left there. It gave him some encouragement—at least she hadn’t tried to make a rope of bedding to climb out the bay windows. He’d have sensed her, of course, and the house would have told him, but still. That wouldn’t have been an auspicious start to their courtship.

When nothing further came from her room, Allarion departed, Bellarand clopping behind him.

She has a strong will, Bellarand noted, that’s desirable in a female.

Allarion agreed—a strong-willed matriarch was exactly what a house needed to succeed. He just had to be patient. It wasn’t for males to rush females—they were the ones who decided when a courtship was to happen. He knew in the human kingdoms that things might be different, but he intended to treat his human azai with just as much respect and reverence as he would a fae woman.

Their union would be all the sweeter for his waiting, he was sure.

That night and the following morning brought no further interaction with his new azai, but Allarion didn’t despair. It was early days yet, and while he already missed her smiles and scent, he could be patient. No matter how his fangs ached and lips wished to taste her again. He could be patient.

He spent his day on the roof, repairing slate shingles. The residential wing’s roof had taken him many days to repair and it had been in better condition than the south wing. He’d kept steady business with the market town an hour’s ride from the estate, needing a constant supply of timber, shingles, tiles, nails, and fabrics.

It was from his vantage point on the roof that he watched a cart bounce up the drive. The perimeter ward had alerted him to the presence of coming guests, and he let them pass without issue—even if annoyance prickled under his skin at their uninvited presence.

Once the two halflings came to a stop at the front of the house, Allarion leapt down from the roof to greet them. The horse pulling their cart startled and Orek twitched, slapping his hand over his heart.

“Good day to you,” Allarion said, nodding at the two half-orcs.

Orek, who had mated a horse trainer named Sorcha and begun this small migration of otherly folk to the Darrowlands, offered a wary nod but Hakon, the new lord consort of the Darrowlands, was looking up at the roof from where he’d leapt, tracing his quick path down to the ground. He shook his head absently.

“What occasion brings the lord consort to my door?”

Hakon finally looked at him and sighed. “You know why, Allarion.”

“You’ve come to congratulate me.”

“No.”

A visible shudder ran through both large males, and they turned to watch warily as Bellarand emerged from the forest. The unicorn made a show of slowly, deliberately circling their horse and cart.

They are very rude for males quaking in their boots.

Bellarand, try to behave.

Why?

Allarion waited to give an answer, considering the men. They hadn’t come down off their cart. There were no congratulatory slaps on his shoulder or handshakes as he’d seen given to Hakon when he wed Lady Aislinn.

His annoyance bled through his tone. “Why are you here?”

“Mayor Doherty came to Aislinn yesterday,” Hakon explained. “He was worried that you forced the hand of a barmaid, Molly Dunne.”

His face cracked with a frown, and the house behind him creaked with foreboding.

“You think I’ve stolen the woman.”

So what if I had?

He wanted her more fiercely than he had anything before, even keeping Ravenna safe. He had yet to find a limit to what he’d do for her.

Allarion would have liked to ask Molly directly, of course, but he respected tradition. And, he couldn’t believe her uncle would force her. Her coming to him, going through with the handfasting, had to mean she wanted this, at least in some small way.

Orek held up his big hands. “We aren’t accusing you of anything, Allarion. We just wanted to get to the bottom of this and assure Lady Aislinn and the mayor.”

“Everything we did was legal. The mayor performed the handfast himself. It was all by human tradition, and she came willingly.”

“Willingly and enthusiastically are two different things,” Hakon said.

Allarion turned a withering glare on the lord consort. He liked the halfling, they were friends, but the reminder was an arrow to Allarion’s pride. He was painfully aware of the difference—and the lack of enthusiasm Molly had thus far shown. His mind filled with the image of her closed, locked door.

Bellarand pawed the earth, feeling Allarion’s growing frustration.

Shall I run them off?

I’m not sure we have to start a war yet.

Oh, please? It will be fun.

You already have your war with the squirrels and badgers.

The house creaked again and then—a new noise. Allarion looked up as a third-floor window opened, and out leaned Molly herself.

“Hello!” she called down.

All of them stared at her in surprise.

“Are you Molly Dunne?” Orek eventually called out.

“Yes! I’m sorry for the confusion and for worrying the mayor. He’s kind for thinking of me, but I came willingly.”

Willingly.

Allarion stared up at his new bride, her hair a little mussed from the down pillows of her bed. Even from the ground, he could see the strain around her eyes, the tightness of her smile.

She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t being truthful, either.

His wounded pride took another kick. Twins take him, he just needed more time. She would see—she would come to love this place as much as he did. He just needed a chance.

“You swore you wouldn’t interfere,” Allarion reminded Hakon, too low for Molly to hear.

“I did,” Hakon agreed, “but Orek didn’t. He drove us here, and he’s the one asking the questions.”

Allarion grinned, despite himself. “Indeed.”

He allowed his anger to deflate, his magic seeping back down into the ground. These were his friends, and in truth, it spoke well of them that they would care to check on Molly’s welfare. He hoped it meant he could rely on such consideration in the future, but for now, he didn’t need their meddling.

Looking back up at Molly and her forced smile, he said, loud enough for her to hear, “Our beginning was unorthodox, but I intend to woo her properly. This I promise—to her, with both of you as witness.”

Molly’s smile faltered as she stared down at him, her big eyes gone even wider with surprise.

Better she understood his intentions fully and upfront.

“But did you need to spirit her away to do it?” asked Orek.

Allarion smiled back at him, showing his fangs. “I seem to recall your orcish ancestors having something of a similar tradition?”

She’d gone mad. That was the only reason she could think of as she smiled and waved from her window while the two half-orcs made their farewells and she let them go—without her in tow.

Maybe the fae’s magic was so potent, especially here in his creaking house and dark forest, that she was already being influenced by it. That was the only thing that made sense, really, or offered any explanation for why she didn’t take her chance at escape.

The deeper truth, though, was that Molly feared two nights wouldn’t be enough. What would the fae do if she cried foul to the lord consort and his friend? What would he do if they brought her back, humiliating an ancient being and disrupting whatever his strange plans were?

Molly feared it’d be far worse than demanding the money back from her uncle.

And Brom…he’d beat her blue if the fae came calling for his money.

As Molly watched the two halflings retreat down the drive, she told herself just a few more days. He’d so far let her be, ensconced in the relative safety of her room. She doubted a lock would do much good against him if he truly meant her harm, but for now, she could hunker down in her chamber. Even if the apprehension had her wanting to tear through the rations she’d packed for something to do and the comfort of a full stomach.

Give it a few more days. Let him grow sick of me.

Maybe then Brom would have spent or squirreled away the money and there’d be nothing to return anyhow.

I’m not going back there, Molly decided. No one said she had to go back to Dundúran. So, maybe she gave it a few days and then, when he’d indeed lost whatever notion attracted him to her, she’d call off the handfast, as was her right.

The fae’s promise echoed in her ears.

Before departing, the lord consort had asked, “And if she rescinds the handfast? Will you let her go?”

The fae had looked up at her, in her window, when he said, “Yes. On my honor, she may leave whenever she wishes.”

Molly had stared down at those inhuman eyes, dark even from three stories away, and wondered if she could believe it. Surely, he wouldn’t go to such trouble, such expense, just to let her walk away.

She didn’t know if she could believe his earlier promise, either, that he meant to woo her properly. It all seemed absurd, ridiculousness of the highest order. Nobody made a fuss over her, including Molly herself. This all had to be some elaborate plot, some scheme to get…something from her.

Molly had no wealth nor title, and where her skills lay weren’t with housekeeping nor carpentry, as a house like this required. So that only left one thing.

Once again, her tits seemed to have gotten her into a bit of trouble. The question was whether she used them to get herself out again.

As she gazed down at the fae again, her heart beat a rapid rhythm in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could risk it—her opponent was an ancient being, powerful and wily. Best to bide a little more time and make her escape before anything else happened.

Still, she couldn’t pull her attention away as the fae continued to stand by the front of the house, peering up at her.

As she watched, her breath left her in a rush when he bowed low to her.

A sign of respect? Or was he mocking her somehow?

Molly pulled herself back into her room and closed the window, latching it tight.

The room was quiet again, a stillness to it she didn’t trust.

There was something off about this house.

She’d felt it as they rode up the other night. Even through the darkness, illuminated only by eerie blue light burning in the lamps lining the drive, Molly felt as if the house… anticipated their arrival. It loomed above the forest like some great bird of prey, ghostly in the light of the will-o’-wisp glow. It creaked and shuddered though no wind blew, and she swore as he walked her through the empty, dilapidated corridors that doors had opened and closed on their own.

Even in her bedchamber, there were things she just couldn’t explain. Although she’d forced herself to stay awake late into the first night, clutching the knife she’d secreted in one of her bags and not afraid to throw it at a fae as she’d done to her own uncle, Molly eventually succumbed to the sheer exhaustion of the day. It was only a few hours, but when she woke again, the doors of the lacquered armoire in one corner had been flung wide and the drawers pulled out, and the ornate chest at the foot of the bed had its lid open.

As if… waiting for her to put her things in them. To make the room her own.

Molly had paced around the room that morning, wondering how the fae had gotten in without her hearing. She’d become a light sleeper over the years, necessary when unwanted intruders came bumping around in the night.

Nothing looked disturbed. There was no dust to unsettle, the room immaculately clean, so she had no true way to know. Still, it didn’t feel like he’d been inside her bedchamber.

Molly did a circuit around the room, checking the windows and doors and nooks and crannies to ensure nothing had changed. Satisfied it hadn’t, she went to sit on the bed again.

It was a thing of beauty, this bed. Softer than any she’d ever touched, let alone slept on, and four times the size of her small one back at the tavern. The thick coverlet was somehow both airy and warm, and the down pillows cradled her head, inviting her into their softness. Despite herself, the second night, she’d slept like a lamb, too comfortable to worry about opening drawers and trunk lids.

Unable to resist the softness and without much else to do, she lay down. Molly wasn’t one to lollygag, but it’d been an age since she’d last had the chance to laze about and rest. So she’d take the opportunity but stay on her guard.

She half expected the fae to come knocking on her door again, demanding to know why she’d lied to the halflings—Molly wanted to know herself.

But he didn’t come knocking.

And it wasn’t truly as much of a mystery to her as she wanted to believe.

The deepest of truths was, even holed up in her sumptuous bedchamber, Molly got a bit of a thrill from all this. It was…an adventure. One she wasn’t quite ready to end. What waited for her back in Dundúran? Nothing but an angry uncle and gossiping neighbors.

Oh, she still intended to play it safe. Stay in her room, ensure the fae got bored of her, and then break off the handfast.

In the meantime, she’d sleep on the softest bed in the kingdom and form her plan. She had her wits about her, her trove of coins she’d saved, her trusty knife, and her big pair of tits—more than a lot of women could say. Give her a few days and she’d figure something out.

When she did emerge, the fae wouldn’t know what hit him. He’d find his time and his coin wasted.

Not her problem.

Laying back on the soft bed, Molly got comfortable and began to think.

Could the unicorn be bribed? With carrots, maybe?