Page 8 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

Toeing the line of treason

Delaney

S omething about my room feels different before I even open my eyes, like the crackling of a lightning storm compressed into my chamber.

Fully unfurling from sleep, I stay sunk into the soft down of my mattress, clutching my thin sheet. I strain my ears, trying to pick out what it is against the normal summer morning sounds.

Amongst the twitter of birds, a deep breath sighs nearby, making my eyes widen and my body snap forward at once, sitting up in my ebony four poster bed. Clutching my silk sheet to my chest, I gape at the source of the noise.

“About time,” Val says, an informal black shirt melded to his broad shoulders. The cheeky smile he wears speaks to him not being truly bothered by how long he’s been in here. Waiting. Watching me sleep. For…

How long?

I gape at him, my surprised and suspicious eyes sliding across the room, looking for any other unexpected wake up call visitors.

Val sits at my breakfast table, barefoot and comfortable, as if this exactly where he belongs, a full spread of fragrant and steaming food in front of him.

Perfectly at home. How long did it take to set this all up quietly enough to not wake me?

It wasn’t the tinkling of porcelain, or the shift of items, that roused me from sleep.

Not even the delectable scent of bacon and orange cranberry muffins.

I suppose that electricity was just… him.

The imposing, dominating presence of my husband.

The burrowing stare of those black eyes—so rare I’ve only ever seen the shade on one other before him, making my heart do a painful little lurch every time I gaze too deeply.

Too reminiscent of a person whose name I haven’t allowed myself to utter in too many years.

Not since the last time I spoke it into a mirror.

I do want to get lost to Val’s faceted black eyes. No matter how it hurts.

“I am in dire need of coffee.” Val speaks as if I’m not sitting in my bed, nearly naked—save for the thickness of my shock. His voice sounds a little crackly, a little strange. Not the first time it’s happened, but I am at a loss for what causes it.

Same with the way he’s constantly rubbing some secret item in his pocket; a nervous habit that has become increasingly more consistent. Even when I’ve tried not to notice, a part of me wants to ask what it is that brings him such comfort.

Not so wise to voice curiosities about a person you’re actively trying to not peer at too closely though. I’m worried that if I ask, it will just lead to more conversation.

Val pours steaming brown liquid from a fancy frosted glass carafe, lifting it high to let it pour in an exaggerated and loud waterfall. He goes to set the pot back down, but pauses. “Would you like some, ocellus ?”

Unsure of how to respond, I give a shallow nod, still trying to wrap my head around the situation in my grogginess. I’m getting the inkling that my husband was meticulous in his being here when I woke, leaving me too disoriented to give a proper reaction.

“Why do you call me that?” I blurt, unable to keep that precise curiosity stuffed in any longer.

I’ve heard him refer to me by the moniker a handful of times when I haven’t been able to evade him. It’s from the ancient language of the deos , but not a regularly used word mixed in the common tongue. Its meaning is just at the back of my throat, but I can’t quite taste it.

With a satisfied smile, Val pours me coffee into a mug, his plan working all too well. “Because it fits you perfectly. With every single translation.”

Surmise to say my husband has no intention to inform me on what said translations happen to be.

Enjoying himself far too much, Val deposits a spoonful of brown sugar into his own drink. Another. And another.

Oh, and just one more.

The urge to laugh is strong, but I strangle my humor down like a jack-in-the-box before it can escape in a cloud of endearment, one I’d never be able to collect and cage again.

Val doesn’t look like the type of man to be harboring a sweet tooth; not with that tall stature, wide shoulders, strong jaw, and serious mouth.

Almost commenting on the trait, I force myself to hold steady to the trepidation hand-delivered to me from my dead sister.

The only one keeping me rooted in reality.

The more rational decision, rather than allowing myself to have any fuzzy feelings towards my forever bonded spouse. Obviously.

I settle on a drawn out, “What are you doing here?”

“We are going to breakfast together.” Val says it so nonchalantly, factually, heaping food onto the plate opposite the table from him—serving me .

“Breakfast together?” I ask, disbelieving at his audacity at telling me what we are going to do.

My sheet is slipping from my loosening grasp.

“Yes.” One simple word holds such a tone of seriousness, leaving no room for argument. The air of a man accustomed to getting his way. “Every day, starting today. As most married couples do.”

He indicates his head to the empty chair, voice gentler. “Come, ocellus , join me. Please.”

It’s the manners and softness that get me. That gentle please that encourages me to drop my blanket and unfold myself from my bed. Definitely the manners, not his lingering air of command. Or the mystery nickname.

Val sweeps to his feet, collects a black and silver robe embroidered with a barn owl (that I have never seen before in my life), and strides over to me. My husband makes an astoundingly clear statement.

I suppose I can assume that Val is finished giving me space.

Something cracked between us yesterday, my carefully constructed composure falling away to thin the precarious veil I placed between us. Val is clearly as aware of the change as I am. Even more, he seems to very much be leaning into it.

Suspicion trains on him as he holds up the garment with a kind smile.

Against my better judgement, I allow Val to slip the robe over my arms, for the first time accepting the colors and owl symbol meant for my sister. Maybe it will be easier, taking it now rather than waiting until the last moment, when we make it to The Citadel.

When everyone truly is watching.

When he’s finished, I tie the sash as his huge hands affectionately cup my shoulders. He bends forward, hot breath skimming against my ear. “My intention is to behave as a gentleman for you this morning. Best to have you more properly covered in order to do so.”

This morning? Does that mean he doesn’t intend to be a gentleman at every one of his predetermined breakfasts?

My cheeks heat as I turn to face my husband, but he’s already making his way back to the table.

Val serves his own plate while I’m still grappling with my feet to move. He pours an alarming amount of maple syrup over everything. Nothing spared from the thick, sugary pool. Not even the scrambled eggs. The utter normalcy of it pulls me towards him.

He’s always so quiet. Intense. Bordering on grumpy. It’s easy to forget that he’s an actual person with needs and preferences and most likely an entire personality hidden under that exterior.

I grimace at his plate of pure sugar. “You’re going to lose your teeth.”

With a disturbingly pleasant laugh, Val shows me the perfect set in question.

“I assure you, my teeth are in fantastic health. But I am truly touched by your concern.” For emphasis, Val brings his long fingers to rest against the spot over his heart, veins popping in his hands, playfulness lighting his black eyes and tilting his lips.

Not so grumpy now.

I plop down on the empty chair, forcing myself to look away from his hands.

Honestly, peering into Val’s face isn’t any less disconcerting.

Not being distracted by a less than ideal conversation like yesterday’s, it’s easier to focus on his features in the soft morning light that’s glinting off the black diamond triangle on his ear.

The piercings weren’t required for our wedding ritual.

I knew that going in. Only an hour before the wedding, a maid came to me.

Told me that my future husband would like for us to offer our own tokens of affection, if I was so inclined.

A choice all our own. And I readily agreed.

Those black diamonds complement his odd black eyes perfectly.

And the two silver hoop piercings on either side of his full lower lip.

This is a terrible idea.

Even in my quiet solitude with my parents, I found opportunities for brief male companionship in the form of groundskeepers and a few of my father’s acquaintances. But those encounters were all weak. Watery. Hurried and unfeeling. And that was just how I wanted it.

I should probably ask Val to leave, still having no more answers than I did when I first began distancing myself despite my efforts to reach Rainah in the spirlinary yesterday.

What delusions drove me into believing it would work, I cannot say.

I’ve attempted conversing with the dead through mirrors before and I’ve never once been successful.

Perhaps if I can’t get answers from Rainah, maybe actually spending time with my husband might give me some form of insight to her warning. I’ll take anything at all to give me direction at this point.

Besides, the food does smell divine, and my stomach grumbles loud at the thought.

Chancing a peek at Val again while he’s lost to his meal, he looks incredibly worn down. Deep, dark circles shadow under his eyes. Stress pulls at their corners. Much more so than yesterday when he cornered me outside of the spirlinary .

Deos . But he is a very pretty man, even exhausted. Sharp and masculine. Extreme.

It hurts to look at him.

With a devilish smirk, he raises his head. Cocks a brow at how I’m openly staring. Entirely too inviting.

“You look tired,” I say as a hasty explanation .

His smile softens. “I generally don’t sleep much.” This takes me by surprise. He had no issue falling asleep with me tucked against his body.