Marriage of the Fae Ch. 05

I push down on one of the bruises and watch him wince in the mirror. Does he feel it too, through the bond? Considering that, I press in again, harder, frowning at the pain.

"Noelle?" Rhys' hand wraps around my wrist.

"Can you feel that?" I murmur.

"The bruise? Vaguely. Stop hurting yourself." He tugs lightly.

I pull my hand away, curling my arm against my bare chest. I turn around to him, tipping my head back to look him in the eye. I'm not a particularly short person, but Rhys has got to be six foot ten at the very least, and facing him like this makes me feel like a child.

I stand my ground. Rhys looks back at me silently. "My half of the deal was that I would help you understand how to treat me," I say finally. "And I can't really do that without being blunt about it."

Rhys nods.

"You've shown me that you don't know how to control your own strength." That's putting it nicely. "So if this is going to work, then new rule—if you don't know for certain that you can't touch me without putting new bruises on me, then don't. Fucking. Touch me."

For a split second, Rhys looks like he's about to retort, then stops. "Understood," he says. I let out a soft breath of relief at his acquiescence.

"Good," I say. I have no way of knowing whether this is good at all, or just another lull in the cycle we seem to be stuck in, going around and around between the Rhys who makes sweet, apologetic promises and the fierce, beautiful, terrible Rhys who seems he couldn't care less.

He doesn't move as I go to the closet. Beside it, the whitegrass notebook still sits atop the dresser, and I run my fingertips over it as I walk past.

"Do you like it?"

"Hm?"

"Your paper. You never got the chance to really look at it."

I run my hand over a few hanging dresses before settling on a dandelion-colored one that catches my eye. I pull it on over my head and tie the thin ribbon that sits under my breasts. "It's beautiful paper, but is there really much I can do with it? I don't have any magic."

"Wouldn't hurt to experiment." He strides over and picks up the book, and I stare rather stupidly at the light flex of his bicep. "Want to try it now?"

A knock comes from outside the door.

**************

Jerome

A few moments pass before Prince Rhys opens the door, dressed only in linen pants. Noelle stands behind him, looking tired but not particularly upset. Perhaps they've begun to get along?

The prince motions for me to enter before he notices Princess Siobhan walking in behind me. His face hardens. "You're here for Noelle?" he says. He moves to pull a purple tunic on over his head.

"I heard tell that Eila wants to see you," the princess says. "Jerome thought it would be best for me to teach Noelle a few things before you leave."

"Of course."

I close the door behind us. Princess Siobhan's hands seem to shake as she pulls the vial of trench potion from her hip pocket. "Whenever you're both ready," she says. "Noelle?"

The young woman nods and steps forward to take a drop of the trench potion on her tongue. Her face screws up in revulsion as she swallows. Prince Rhys is next, letting a drop fall into his mouth and grimacing in annoyance. "That's that," he says. "See you in a blink, Noelle." He barely glances at Princess Siobhan before turning to leave, which seems to bother the princess not in the least. I follow him out the door.

I find myself seated on a garden bench beside the prince, staring out at the dark shapes of the scattered trees, each one as tall as thirty Fae men or more. Prince Rhys toys with the ornamental tassels hanging on the low collar of his shirt, taking one between his fingers and batting at the air. It's rare times like these when he acts more a boy than a man, and it's refreshing in a way. His usual sullen ways, quick to anger, can ever so occasionally give way to this bumbling, thoughtful persona. Perhaps he's shown more of this side to Noelle as of late? Has he given her less reason to fear him?

"Red Gem is going to be shades and shades less forgiving of a human's follies than Grass or Opal," the prince says finally.

"I know, Prince Rhys," I say.

"Siobhan will not be able to change her to a courtier in an evening. They will already meet us with prejudice the moment we step into their province."

"Noelle seems to be a bright young woman. She will learn quickly. Your diplomacy will fill in the gaps."

He twists the tassel so the silken strings bunch up over his fingers. "We'll need to see if Opal can spare Siobhan for the time. She'll need to be there for Noelle, damn her."

I chance a bit of lip. "She'll do you both good. The Opal Clan princess is the only person who's ever dared to challenge you."

To my surprise, Prince Rhys laughs. "That may not be true for long."

Perhaps I was right. "Noelle?"

He yanks at the tassel between his fingers. "Is it unwise to bring her to Red Gem?"

"Not wise exactly, but not stupid either. And all things considered, do you have a choice?"

"My mother doesn't seem to think so. Odds are, the Council and rulers of the Red Gem Clan are quite excited to meet Noelle...or whatever equivalent adjective may apply to those bastards."

If I didn't know better, I'd find his attitude toward Red Gem hypocritical. In truth, as abrasive as the prince is, the harsh nature of Red Gem is one above the rest, even among noble Fae. He is, of course, right to hold some concern.

In the dark of the evening, Prince Rhys' silhouette is turned out toward the copse of looming trees ahead of us. "Did Siobhan tell you what she would be teaching Noelle?"

"Somewhat." I nod. "Some etiquette here and there, how one greets a Council and Clan rulers. Rules she might not think of. Princess Siobhan mentioned discussing with her how those of other clans might react to a human." The judgment Noelle has received from Grass and Opal might as well be welcoming arms and the benefit of the doubt compared to what she'll find in other clans. Outside our neighboring provinces with skin in this particular game, others will have little concern for maintaining cordiality toward Prince Rhys' wife.

I can just see the prince's eyes narrow in the dim light of the low moon. "Perhaps I'll keep her inside," he says. He drops the tassel he's been worrying and presses his fingers into the center of his chest. "Cursed bond, the potion is wearing off already. I suppose we should make our way back."

I accompany Prince Rhys back to the inner rooms of the palace, where we find Noelle and Princess Siobhan waiting just inside the door. The human woman's face visibly relaxes once Rhys is nearby. I can only imagine the discomfort caused them by being apart, exacerbated by the newness of the bond and the weakness of one half of the pair. A Fae couple would find the initial separation discomfort fading by now, the pain only occurring with significant distance. I'm not sure the pain associated with this unorthodox bond will ever fade. It's a frightening thought, for the sake of both of them.

The prince stares down Princess Siobhan. "Eila requested your presence when we travel to Red Gem," he begins.

"I am aware," she replies. "I have already spoken to Aodh and the Opal Council about my leaving, they will confer and give me final word by tomorrow morning." Never have I heard the two of them so stiff with each other.

Noelle finally cuts into the ensuing silence, her voice small. "Thank you for the lesson tonight, Princess Siobhan," she says.

The princess's brow knits. "Of course," she says. "I will see you all soon."

Without another backward glance, she escorts herself from the room.

**************

Noelle

"Write something." Rhys sits in front of me on the bed, his cross-legged stance almost too childish for him. Between us is the whitegrass notebook, open to a page. I hover over it with a pen.

"Anything?"

Rhys steals a berry from my breakfast plate. "Something for Jerome," he says with mock solemnity.

I smirk and touch the pen to the paper. The sheet feels thin as tissue under the nib. "Will I tear it?" I ask.

"Of course not. You're quite weak, compared to the average Fae who would be using this. Write."

"Right." I think for a moment, then scrawl, Hello Jerome. When will we leave for Red Gem?

"Assuming you, as a human, are not actually able to send whitegrass missives, I can answer that myself: we leave tomorrow, mid-morning," Rhys tells me. "Now pull the paper out. Gently."

"Don't doubt my prowess," I tell him, pulling out the paper. It tears easily at the edge, sliding out of the book.

Rhys snorts and takes my hands in his, placing them down on both sides of the paper. "Now, as I told you before, you typically would not need to write anything down. But I thought you might be able to visualize it better if you did." He presses down on my hands. "Push into the paper, and think about what you wrote. Think about the words, and their meaning. Think about putting them into the paper."

I press down and think hard. A part of me feels incredibly silly; it goes unsaid that I don't have any sort of magical ability. Another part wonders if Rhys isn't just making fun of me. Part of me is fascinated to try though, like when you pick up an instrument and want to try it out, even though you've never had a music lesson in your life.

"Well, nothing is happening," Rhys says finally. Since we went to bed last night he's been keeping to his side of our agreement. Before I dozed off next to him, he offered to teach me how to use the whitegrass paper in the morning.

"Not surprising," I tell him, pulling my hands away. The paper sits quietly, unchanged.

"Want me to give it a try?" Rhys asks. He presses the tips of his fingers into the paper and frowns. A moment later, the words I wrote on the page fade under an identical message, this one appearing shimmery and almost embossed. "There's the thought." Rhys lifts the paper and holds it out in front of him. He pushes it out ever so slightly, and a moment later it's fading into the air, like it's being pushed into an invisible mailbox. I watch with wide eyes.

"My intent was to send it to Jerome," Rhys says. "Let's see if it takes."

A minute later he leans across me to pick up a sheet of paper from the bedside table that wasn't there before. On it is Jerome's message, the time of our departure written in an elegant cursive. "Amazing," I say earnestly. I pull the rest of the notebook toward me, not wanting Rhys to get carried away and use any more of my paper. Inability to use it be damned, I feel a bit possessive of my magic notebook.

"Don't worry, it's yours," Rhys says, as if reading my thoughts. "Who knows, maybe you'll develop magic if you get enough Fae in you." He winks and I try not to smack him, but the thought itself is intriguing. Could I develop magic if I'm bonded to Rhys long enough? If we stay so connected? It sounds like a long shot. Besides, I can't want magic and want to go home at the same time, and lord knows I should be focusing on the latter. Wanting magic means wanting Rhys, and the Fae, and acknowledging that I may be stuck here for at least the foreseeable future, given that this isn't some shitty coma dream.

If I haven't done all that already.