Page 13 of Straw and Gold (A Realm of Revelry #2)

Morella

“I swear to the Goddesses of the Veil, if I have to tour one more sitting room, I’m going to scream.”

Fedir huffed and gestured around the seventh hall we’d been to in the last four hours. “I don’t know what to tell you, Queen Morella. Castles have a lot of sitting rooms.”

I puffed a breath and chewed my lip. “Let’s go back to the wool dying vats you showed me yesterday. I’d love to hear more about the flowers they use for color. And I’ve told you at least ten times—just call me Morella.”

“And risk your husband overhearing? Not likely,” Fedir said, sinking down into a saffron chair and folding his fingers at his chest.

“As if he’d care,” I mumbled, remembering that morning when I’d seen him for a whole five minutes at breakfast before he excused himself again.

“He’d care.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “What makes you think he’d care?

There’s no evidence he cares at all.” I gestured around the empty room.

“In fact, he’s the opposite of caring. He’s completely apathetic to his wife’s wanderings four days into our marriage.

If he cared, he’d have made an effort to see me for more than an hour since we wed. ”

Fedir rubbed the stubble on his chin with golden fingers. “What do you know about Killian and why a Forestfae is king in the land of the Changelingfae?”

Taken aback at the question, I fell into the oversized couch of pale blue satin.

This particular sitting room hosted another large fireplace, another writing desk, another shelf of books in a language I didn’t know, and another large window looking north to the emerald hillsides dotted with little white sheep.

“I know he was born in Moonstone Wood,” I answered slowly. “I know he became king of the Citrine Cliffs at just twenty-two, and I know that just a few months after he took the throne, he bargained with my mother for my hand in marriage.”

“Interesting,” Fedir muttered, pulling on his chair to sit across from me. “This was all you knew and yet you still came?”

I gestured to myself and the delicate crown Alista insisted I wear, frustrated at how badly this whole marriage had gone so far. “Obviously.”

He sat back with a light chuckle. “Here’s what I can tell you because obviously , you're dying to know.”

I shifted slightly, crossing my own arms and trying not to look too eager for any little sliver of information about the man I’d married, whose magic I desperately needed.

“King Killian ascended the throne as was ordained by Céad, Goddess of the Changelingfae. As I’m sure you are well aware, she has no children—no heir—and set out to find one about thirteen years ago.”

Oh, fuck. This was real information. Real history of my husband’s life.

Grinning at my not-so-subtle reaction, he continued, “Killian had immense power among the Forestfae. Enough so that Fiola told Céad he would make a great king and very possibly, a greater heir.”

“Can an heir to a Goddess be of a different faekind?”

“No.”

We both jumped, turning to the voice in the doorway. Killian glared furiously at Fedir who stood and sauntered toward the door.

“Just filling in some gaps during the tour,” he said with a shrug.

“You needn’t,” Killian responded curtly.

“Are you still so sure about that, Your Majesty?” Fedir jerked his head in my direction where I straightened on the sofa. He patted my husband’s shoulder and left without another word.

I rose and met Killian at the doorway, accepting my body’s reaction to seeing him there, commanding space with his red waves tied back and eyes of sparkling blue watching me carefully.

“Hello, husband,” I greeted, just inches from him. “How fare the farms?”

His stoney stare held mine in a challenge to look away.

Well, I wasn’t fucking going to.

“Fine,” he finally said. “And how fares the castle?”

Matching his response with a playful lilt, I repeated, “Fine.”

“You’ve seen it all, then?”

I thought for a moment, my mind wandering through the many halls, rooms, and courtyards. “The westward tower,” I blurted. “I’ve not seen it yet.”

His brows furrowed as if he wrestled with his next words. “Would you like to?”

“Yes!” I answered, beaming at his offer.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips and he turned, jerking his head in the tower’s direction.

Giddy with hope, I followed, catching up to his side and biting my tongue from asking all the questions I wanted answered.

What exactly entailed checking on the farms?

Were there any problems to address?

What was his favorite book in the castle?

What would his beard feel like against the skin on my thigh?

Goddessdamn me, I just wanted to know.

What did it feel like, being ravished by a man who actually knew what he was doing?

Something told me Killian would know exactly what he was doing.

And then I’d be fucked in more ways than one.

If my husband didn’t intend to have such a relationship with me, the last thing I needed was to have him just once or twice and forever remember what that was like.

Focus, Morella, focus.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured softly as we rounded a corner.

“Y-you do?”

“You’re thinking you’ve made a mistake.”

Wrong.

“You’re thinking that this castle is not for you. This king you married is not for you.”

Wrong and more wrong.

We approached an arched doorway leading to worn stone stairs that wound upwards, disappearing into the tower.

He took a candle from the lit sconce and led our ascent.

“You’re thinking that the three month amendment to our contract is looking more and more like a Goddessblessing and a way out of this marriage. ”

He fell into silence. The only sound was the flickering of the small flame and our footsteps up the stone spiral. We soon came to a small landing and old wooden door that I doubted saw much use.

Trying not to puff my breath from climbing the stairs, I finally spoke. “None of those things have crossed my mind.”

Frowning, he pulled a long copper key from his pocket.

Sliding it into the keyhole, the mechanism clicked and the door hinged inward in a resounding groan.

He offered me the candle and I took it, stepping into the dark room that boasted a single sliver of an open window facing west. The lowering sun gilded the room in a dim orange glow.

Stepping further into the tower room, I held the candle aloft, lighting another covered in dust along the stone wall.

He stepped in behind me and shut the door.

The room didn’t hold much. In fact, it appeared to be used more as storage than anything. A few trinkets lay in an old trunk and some wooden chairs were stacked near the door. A bed of straw lay under the window and an old spinning wheel was laced with cobwebs nearby.

“Why didn’t you break the contract?”

The question filtered through the small circular room, still unanswered from the first time he’d asked it.

I turned to face him. “I told you. I didn’t want to.”

His mask of stone wavered. “What do you want from me, Morella?” he asked slowly.

Everything.

All of it.

All of you .

“Is it so hard to believe I want to be your wife? Why do you resist this marriage every step of the way?”

“Because from what I’ve observed, you’re intelligent. Intelligent women don’t show up in a foreign kingdom after thirteen years and marry a foreign king unless they have a goal in mind.”

Well, shit. He had me there.

I stepped closer, drawn to his voice. “Did you just compliment me again? That makes a miraculous two times.”

“You’re counting?”

“On one hand.”

He laughed, shaking his head. Folding his arms at his chest and drawing my eye to his considerable biceps, he continued, “Alright. I’ll play along until I find the real reason you’re here. You want to be queen? What do you have to offer the Changlingfae as their ruler?”

“Well…” I began, “I’m intelligent, as you said?—”

“Yes, we’ve covered that.”

“And,” I replied with a smirk, “I’m knowledgeable in your trade.”

“Which is?”

“Wool. Fine clothing. Fedir gave me a tour of the fabric stores underneath the castle and the vats of dye. This kingdom is known for its wool production, and offering the softest, yet pliable wool in all of Revelry.”

Again that almost smile hinted on his lips. “And how are you knowledgeable in wool production?”

“Well, I…I am a very good spinner.”

He quirked a brow and I felt the need to go on. “I mean to say, my spinning is accurate and quick.”

His silence continued.

“I-I can spin anything, really.”

“Anything?” he repeated with a tilt of his head.

“I’m sure I could.”

I thought of the goats I had sheared one year, spinning their long coats and of the mohari beast who had lost his way in the Brackish Wood. His fibers had made Korven a fine scarf that winter.

“Could you spin straw?” he asked with a shrug.

Taken aback, I huffed quickly, “It’s likely I could.”

A slow smile spread on his lips. “There is straw here, Morella. There is a spinning wheel.”

“Oh,” I murmured, turning to see that those exact two things were indeed there in that tower room, waiting for me to prove myself.

“Well, I don’t know if this spinning wheel is in the right shape to?—”

“Humor me.”

I peered at him over my shoulder. This was his test. Fuck, if I’d fail it.

Approaching the spinning wheel, I shoved my sleeves up my arms, inspecting each moving part. The wheel turned with ease and the bobbin was intact, albeit covered in dust. I blew away as much as I could and sat at the stool, pumping at the treadle and adjusting the maidens to my liking.

My husband watched me with rapt curiosity, likely expecting me to come up with more excuses for why it was impossible to spin straw.

Spin straw into what ?