Page 20 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter nineteen

P aint is a type of magic, all of its own. One day I hope to be able to do it justice. In the meantime, exploring its potential is wonderful.

I pick up the thin brush I’m experimenting with. I want to try more blues. Maybe I can do a sky as my first proper picture? That would be lovely. I’ve always enjoyed watching the clouds.

Behind me, the door to the art studio quietly opens. Tendrils of Selwyn’s magic flutter across my skin. Soft and warm.

My pulse quickens. I put the brush down, turn to face my husband, and drop into a curtsy.

Selwyn frowns. “There is no need for formalities between us.”

“Sorry,” I drop my head. Damn it, I thought a bit of formality might ease things between us. Seems I was wrong, as usual.

He says nothing. Instead, he drifts silently across the room. I sense the movement far more than I hear it. He walks like a predator, all silent grace.

I keep my gaze firmly on my toes. I have no idea what he wants from me. In general, as well as at this precise moment. I have no clue as to how to behave. The best I can do is to be as unobtrusive as possible. Quiet and biddable. It was what I was taught.

I’ve been fretting about his outburst in the stone circle. I still can’t make head nor tail of it. The only thing I understand is that I am a terrible consort. So, I need to try harder. Be better. Do better.

“Paint me.”

Selwyn is reclining on the chaise longue.

My mouth drops open, and my eyebrows rise. Paint him? Oh my, what a request. This is the very last thing I was expecting.

He flashes me a wolfish grin, and my stomach does something strange. He knows exactly how much he has flustered me, and he likes it. Which makes me like it too. I want nothing more than to please him.

I take a deep breath. “May I draw you instead? I’m much better with pencils.”

Selwyn’s grin intensifies. “It would be an honour to be drawn by you again.”

Heat races along my cheeks. I’d forgotten that he saw the slightly porny picture I drew of him before our wedding. I’m so glad he doesn’t seem the least bit offended by it.

I nod jerkily and then fumble through taking the canvas down and putting a large sketchbook on the easel instead. Selwyn waits patiently while I scramble around finding my pencils.

I suck in another deep breath. I’m as ready as I will ever be. It’s time to begin.

I look at Selwyn sitting decadently on the chaise longue as if he hasn’t a care in the world. He is a frightening enigma. My husband. Mage to my vessel. The only person I have ever been intimate with. But if I put all of that aside, and view him purely as an art subject… he is stunning.

His long brown hair has a rich, burnished chestnut gleam to it. His limbs are long and shapely. He is wearing a billowing white shirt and ornate waistcoat again. His trousers are expertly tailored and show the definition of his thighs. His knee-high boots are somehow very princely.

The clothes are great, but it is definitely the man within them that is truly striking. I really don’t think I’m capable of capturing his essence. The sheer presence of him.

I can draw the antlers. The pointed ears. The high cheekbones and the cat-slited pupils. I even think I can do his eyes. But I can’t draw him. This piece of paper will never hold what it feels like to stand before him.

The pencil moves across the paper. I want to try. Having him right here, is going to be far better than drawing him from memory.

A near-silence falls. Graphite across parchment is the only sound.

“How did you learn to draw?” Selwyn says.

“I just kept experimenting. Lots of trial and error,” I say. “Mostly error.” My mind feels calm, as it often does when I am drawing.

“You didn’t have any lessons?” Selwyn sounds surprised.

I squint as I focus on the curve of his jaw. “No. Vessels don’t need to know how to draw.”

“What do vessels need to know?”

I snort. “How to be obedient and how to gracefully spread their legs.”

Selwyn inhales a little sharply. “Your childhood sounds delightful. ”

My pencil pauses. Oh damn it. I was distracted by drawing and said far too much. My gaze flicks to his. I lick my lips.

“I had a happy childhood,” I say.

Selwyn raises an eyebrow. My heart thumps.

“I grew up in a beautiful home!” I blurt. “In the country, with large grounds. After lessons, I could roam freely.”

Selwyn stares at me for a moment. Then he nods, as if he believes me. My pencil starts to move again. Peace returns to my mind.

“What did you do when you roamed?”

I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I pretended I had a dog. For many years it was my greatest dream.”

Selwyn’s brows curve downwards. Yeah, that does sound tragic. I need to tell him something more uplifting.

“I made an old shed my own, and nursed injured birds and other wildlife.”

The pencil flows as memories come flooding back. The years feel like yesterday, and I can almost feel that long ago sun on my skin.

“Once the gamekeeper brought me an injured fawn. I was so pleased because he was a gruff man and I was so proud to have earnt his respect.”

Selwyn nods sagely. “You were scared of the gamekeeper?”

I purse my lips. Selwyn hasn’t quite put his head back in the same position after nodding. He catches my expression and shifts slightly, realigning himself correctly.

I smile and get back to work. Oh, he asked me a question. What was it? Was I scared of the gamekeeper?

I snort. “I’m scared of everyone.”

Selwyn frowns, but is careful not to move. “Why? ”

I shrug helplessly, and concentrate on capturing his chin. As I focus on the lines of his face, a realisation dawns. I don’t think Selwyn is very old. It’s not merely fey physiology. It is genuine youth. I think he might only be a couple of years older than me. Not that I’m ever going to ask.

As my pencil flies across the paper, I can feel the weight of his attention on me. It is making me want to squirm. But drawing is helping. It is a focus and a distraction.

“Did your mother beat you?” he asks suddenly, and utterly unexpectedly. “When you were young?”

I blink. “Only when I made a mistake.”

Selwyn moves abruptly. Flowing off the chaise longue and gliding up to me. His fingers rest under my chin and stop me from dropping my gaze.

“Do you wish for her to leave court?” His eyes are blazing.

I swallow. “No… no. She is the ambassador. The alliance. The whole purpose of our marriage,” I babble.

Selwyn’s eyes search mine. Deep and probing. He sighs and releases my chin. My gaze stays fixed on his.

“Very well. I will ensure her path never crosses yours.”

My heart skips. I haven’t seen Mother since the wedding, and I strongly suspect that now I have served my purpose, she has no more interest in me. But the thought of a guarantee that I will never see her again is making me giddy.

“Thank you,” I nearly breathe. Then I remember not to thank a fey. “I am grateful,” I say instead.

A stricken look crosses Selwyn’s face. A flash and then quickly gone .

I can’t look away from him. I’m not even sure if I want to. I feel as if I am caught in a spell, but he isn’t using any of his potent magic. Whatever this is, it is entirely organic.

“It’s not me…” Selwyn pauses and starts again. “It is not me and my nature that scares you? You are like this with everyone?”

There is a strange, pleading look in his eyes. A desperate hope.

I lick my lips. I nod. “Yes,” I croak.

Selwyn closes his eyes. His shoulders sag as if he is immensely relieved. He turns and takes up his position on the chaise longue, returning to it with uncanny accuracy.

“Finish your art,” he declares regally. “I wish to see the finished piece.”

My pencil dances across the page again. The light in here is lovely. Selwyn is a fantastic subject. Drawing him is a joy.

My stomach feels strange, and I feel buoyed, almost bubbly. Selwyn is interested in my drawings. He is interested in me, even though I am incredibly boring. He is going to keep Mother away.

Is this what hope feels like? True, genuine, feasible hope?

I still don’t know why he was so upset in the stone circle. I may never know. But I think he has forgiven me. So maybe it is okay.

He seems willing to work at this marriage, as am I. And that is everything. Because if we both try, surely the end result won’t be too hideous?

I flash him a smile as I draw.

He startles as if struck, then a warm smile stretches across his face in return. My heart flutters in response.

Everything is going to be okay.