Page 16 of Straw and Gold (A Realm of Revelry #2)

Morella

I was going to maim my husband.

Fingers raw and stiff, I chucked the third bobbin of shimmering thread across the tower room where it hit the open door, unspooling across the stone.

“Shit fucking dammit!” I hollered, bolting from my wooden stool to catch the thread before it completely unwound down the stairs.

“Queen Morella?” The voice lingered somewhere below in the stairwell.

“I’m up here!” I called, slumping onto the first step and quickly winding the thread, ready to leave this tower for the night…until tomorrow.

Alista’s head of golden ringlets appeared before me as I sat with three spools of golden thread in my lap and a yawn I covered with the back of my hand.

“Your Majesty!” she cried, gathering her skirts and racing up the steps. “I’ve been searching for you! Why in the name of the Goddess are you up here?”

I rubbed my eyes, silently handing her a bobbin. “You didn’t ask my dear husband where he sequestered me to?”

“King Killian has locked himself away in his study, not to be disturbed.”

“Well,” I began, standing and stretching, handing her the rest of the thread. “Before that we made a bargain which included these. Please take them down to the workers in clothing production so they can do something useful with them.”

She studied the spools, pulling on the thread. “Your Majesty… is this…”

“Golden thread, yes,” I finished.

“Real gold, my queen?”

“Yes, spun from straw.”

She gasped, clutching the spools to her chest. “Then you are a Changelingfae!” She laughed, the sound tinkling and echoing down the stairwell.

“I’d heard the rumors because of your golden wings, but I wasn’t so sure myself and then Captain Fedir insisted he saw you as a golden raven when you arrived at the?—”

“Wait, go back.” I held up my hands, catching her eyes. “You’re telling me I’m a Changelingfae?”

She cocked her head with a sly smile. “You didn’t know? The gold tips of your wings is one thing, but your power to transform an object into another confirms it.”

I glanced at her golden curls. “So, you’re a Changelingfae as well? Do…do we all have gold on our bodies?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed happily. “Yes, every Changelingfae is marked by gold, just as every Ravenfae is marked by feathered wings, correct?”

I nodded, understanding Killian’s questioning about my father.

Changelingfae.

I had no idea. My whole life, I hadn’t met another one. Did my mother know my father was? Did Korven know what I was?

“Excuse me, Alista, I must get back to my room.”

She curtsied as I passed her down the stairs. “Of course, Your Majesty! Please call for me if you need assistance undressing tonight!”

“I won’t, but thank you!” I called back, rushing down the lit halls in a half-run to get to my husband who had some questions to answer.

I burst through our ornately carved bedroom door, making a mental note to study the scenes depicted in the artistry later. “Killian!” I called, searching the room to find it empty. I quickly knocked on his study door, hardly pausing before he bid me to enter.

I rushed through, finding myself in a small chamber complete with a large desk and two chairs sharing a small table next to a fireplace. The rest of the room was lined with immaculately shelved books along every wall, floor to ceiling. It must have been over a thousand volumes.

“Is this the castle library?” I asked, distracted and pulling a thick volume from the shelf labeled, Grasses and Their Phosphorus Levels . Opening the book, I found it filled with regions of Revelry and charts for soil minerals.

“Lebher,” he replied, rising from his desk to join me.

“Sorry?” I looked up from the detailed notes scribbled on the margins of the book.

He tapped the old tome and repeated, “Lebher.” Then he pointed to the door behind me, adding, “Doru.”

“Oh…” Apparently, my lessons in Céaduah had begun. I closed the book and repeated, “Leb- hair .”

He held in a smile, shaking his head and spoke slowly, “Leb- her .”

“Leb her ,” I repeated, adding the guttural sound with the back of my throat.

“Good, Morella.”

I blushed furiously, ticking another compliment onto my hand, albeit a small one.

Noticing my reddened cheeks, he held up four fingers with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, I pointed to the door, repeating, “Doru.”

He nodded, taking the book from me and placing it tidily back into its spot. “Where are your spools of thread?”

“With Alista. I asked her to take them below to the workrooms.”

He smirked thoughtfully. “Time for your first lesson then, Goldling.” He gestured to the chairs by the fire and I took one, settling myself by slipping off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me.

I was no longer tired. I was no longer frustrated with my task of spinning straw into golden thread.

Instead, I was enraptured. My husband sat opposite, taking up all the space in the room, let alone the actual chair.

He leaned forward on his legs, built like trunks of trees.

A shiver ran through me at his undivided attention.

“Ta fìor lebherahlann a' casteil on ùir ann uamh,” he said.

I scrunched my nose. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too advanced for me?”

“I want you to hear Céaduah often. Really let it settle in here.” He tapped his chest over his heart. “The servants will begin to add it to their speech when addressing you. You’ll pick up on it quicker that way.”

I cocked my head to the side, mimicking the look I’d seen my brother pose a thousand times. “Were you always planning to teach me Céaduah?”

He rubbed his scruffy chin. “No.”

“You decided this today,” I stated.

A twitch of his lips. “Yes.”

“After you saw proof that I am part Changelingfae.”

“Ah, so you’ve figured that out.”

“No, I was told. And not by my husband, as I should have been.”

He shrugged. “As I said, you are an intelligent woman, Goldling. You’d have discovered it on your own eventually.” Something sat on his face and he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands at his chest.

I studied his features. This man held many secrets—that I could see—but which were the ones I needed to get what I wanted from him?

“Is Céaduah necessary to know as a ruler of the Citrine Cliffs?” I muttered, my mind spinning.

His face remained still as he answered with a short shake of his head.

“You didn’t plan to teach me, yet when you began our bargain, you added this as an amendment. You cannot tell me your true name; I must discover it for myself.”

His eyes filled with something I couldn’t name. Something I’d seen twice on his face. Once when he first laid eyes on me arriving at our wedding on the arm of Fedir. And once more after I’d spun the first golden thread.

“You’re almost there,” he murmured, waiting in the silence.

I straightened in my chair with a wide grin. “Your true name means something in Céaduah. You need me to learn the language to discover it.”

“There it is, Moh Dhóches.”

“What’s…moh dhóches?”

“You’ll have to learn.”

I huffed, glancing at the fire. “Earlier, what did you say after you sat down? Lebherahlann something something. If lebher means book, what is lebherahlann ?”

“Impressive, Morella. You have a gift for language.”

I bit my lip at compliment number five.

He continued, “‘Lebherahlann means library. I was answering your previous question as to if this room is the castle library. It’s not.”

“Repeat your answer, please.”

“ Ta fìor lebherahlann a' casteil on ùir ann uamh. ”

“The something library…” I repeated the sentence over and over in my head, searching for similar patterns to the common language in Revelry. “Is casteil castle?”

His eyes lit with amusement. “It is.”

I nodded, thinking hard and mumbling to myself. “Give me another meaning. What is ùir ?”

“Soil or ground in this case.”

“The castle library is in the ground?” I attempted.

He laughed in a rich, carefree tenor. “Well done!” He stood, jerking his head toward the door that led to our room. “‘Ta fìor lebherahlann a' casteil on ùir ann uamh.’ In common, ‘The true castle library is below the ground in a cave.’”

“A cave?” I gasped, following him into our room.

“ Ann uamh .”

“Will you take me there?” I asked, reaching behind my back to untie my gown. His hand grabbed my fingers and I turned in surprise.

His eyes narrowed and he let go. “Don’t undress in front of me.” He jerked his head to the screen panels hiding my bed. “I’ve given you a place for privacy.”

Gulping and nodding, I shuffled behind the screen, hidden from my husband and conflicted with how to feel about him.

Did he send me behind the screen so I wouldn’t get the wrong idea of his intentions?

Or did he send me behind the screen because he didn’t want to admit how my undressing would make him react?

Because it didn’t feel like he didn’t want me.

It didn’t feel like his eyes darkened on my figure for any reason other than exactly that.

I undressed quickly, stepping into my crimson nightgown and slipped out from the screen, hurrying to the bathing room without another word.

My teeth clean and my face washed, I plaited my hair into a tidy length that fell over my shoulder and slipped back through the door, practically jumping into my bed and pulling the soft covers up over my body.

I was too nervous to ask for a kiss goodnight.

And far too tired to argue about it.

For now, in the dim glow of the last candle lit in the room, I felt foolish for ever bringing it up at all. The relationship I wanted with my husband was one he seemed determined to resist, so who was I to pressure him?

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep as he left the bathing chamber. The side of my bed creaked with the weight of him and my eyes flew open, finding his face in shadow with the last glow of the candle at his bedside behind him, illuminating the red of his hair.

“Ann pìor, Morella.”

My eyes drifted to his lips. I could guess what that meant.

I sat up, nodding. “Ann pìor, Killian.”

He leaned in to kiss me, this time softer, this time gentle and slow, sending my racing heart into a fit of want and need.

I gripped the bedding in my fists, never touching him, never grabbing onto his bare shoulders and pulling him down onto me where I wanted him.

As our lips parted and he sat back, I tried to guess if it was what he wanted, too.

“Goodnight, Moh Dhóches,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” I repeated, slipping back into my sheets, trembling with excitement, and fear, and lust for my husband who slid into his own bed and blew out the last flicker of light.