Page 42 of The Dark Mage

F ael ran his long, graceful fingers through his dark hair, which had grown wavier in the humid morning air. His hazel eyes lingered on Ren’wyn across the fire at breakfast, as though she were the meal being se rved.

The way he watched her made her squirm, smile, and blush all at once.

The last nine days had been torment—stolen kisses in the forest, heated glances across the fire, and the aching desire for privacy, longing for a chance to finally be alone toge ther.

Fael turned to E srin.

“Ren’wyn and I are going into town today,” he said casually. “We both need new clothes, and she’s running low on some herbs. It can’t wait.”

Ren’wyn looked up, surprised—and touched. He’d noticed not only the camp’s dwindling supplies but her personal needs as well. While she could have groaned at the annoyance of being a woman reliant on such things, she was grateful Fael had been so obser vant.

Esrin waved a hand dismissively. “Go ahead—just be car eful.”

As they rose from the circle, Ren’wyn felt Esrin’s eyes trailing after Fael, jealousy burning beneath his feigned nonchal ance.

“We might not be back before dark,” Fael added. “Ren’wyn needs to be measured and have her clothes tailored, possibly overnight. We’ll grab a room at the inn.”

Ren’wyn’s face flushed at the implica tion.

Esrin’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes flicked between them. “That’s fine,” he said lig htly.

Fael nodded, then steered Ren’wyn toward her tent to gather her th ings.

They set off toward town as the morning sun warmed the woods. Fael held her hand tightly, a playful smile curling his lips and growing wider the farther they got from camp.

“How are you holding up?” he a sked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, exhaling in contentment. “It’s strange being around people a gain.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, his voice dry. “Privacy in camp leaves… something to be des ired.”

She tried not to think about all the things she would do to him if they finally had pri vacy.

The village was about an hour’s hike—half through the woods along a deer trail, half along the main road. Birdsong and the hum of insects filled the morning air, further lightening Ren’wyn’s h eart.

“I’m finding the work enjoyable,” she admitted as they walked. “I’m even getting used to having companions. They’re good people. I appreciate their skills, and I hope I’ll eventually call them friends. But… I don’t think they know what to make of Esrin, you, an d me.”

Fael huffed a laugh. “No. I don’t think the y do.”

After a pause, he continued, “I’m enjoying the work too. I’ve missed having sparring partners. Leta’s an excellent fighter. Miguel isn’t far behind her, and the others are shaping up to be pretty tale nted.”

“You’re a natural leader,” she said, smi ling.

But Fael’s expression dark ened.

“I’m not a le ader.”

His tone was so final it practically stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t press—today was too good to spoil with uncomfortable topics—but she tucked the thought away for l ater.

“It’s a warm day,” she said, breathing deeply, trying to shake off the mo ment.

Fael ran his callused fingers across her knuckles, his smile returning—slow and warm. Her chest squeezed almost painfully in response, and the sun led them on as she fought not to skip with how bubbly she remained in his com pany.

Their first stop was the apothe cary.

Fael admitted he’d noticed her running low on a particular herb when he saw her mixing her tea for cramps last month. He even blushed as he confessed he knew her period would start next week.

Ren’wyn blinked at him, surprised—and very grat eful.

The shop smelled familiar: lavender, thyme, and mint—the same comforting blend as Axel’s in Delmor—followed by the sharper tang of cedar shavings and gi nger.

If only we could go back to that time. When she glanced at Fael, his eyes mirrored the same lon ging.

She quickly found what she needed, paying for the camp’s supplies with the pouch Esrin had given her. Then, she searched for the herb for her own tea.

The apothecary, a cheerful older man, raised his brows. “That one’s out of season,” he remarked as he handed her the jar. “What are you ma king?”

A chance to talk about plants! Ren’wyn couldn’t help lifting onto her toes in excite ment.

The apothecary nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve got something that might work even better. Fewer ingredients. One of them’s a bit unusual.” He reached for another jar and set it before her.

Ren’wyn opened it, inhaling deeply. The scent was rich and herbal—complex but soothing. A delighted smile broke across her face.

“Well?” the apothecary a sked.

“I’ll take it,” she said with a grin.

They bought both herbs, and Ren’wyn made a note to try the new tonic this m onth.

Their next stop was for clo thes.

Fael desperately needed new pants—one pair was caked with dirt and beyond saving, and the other was torn at the knee.

The seamstress measured him, clicking her tongue, then returned with a few pairs in his size.

Ren’wyn decided she wanted a dress in the Territory style for Riva and Anduan, along with two new pairs of leggings and tunics. When the seamstress measured her, she grim aced.

“I don’t have anything in your size,” she admitted, “but I can alter a few pieces in the back. They’ll be ready by mor ning.”

Ren’wyn smiled—not because of the dresses but from the prospect of staying overn ight.

“Morning works for us,” she said easily. “My husband and I will be back then.”

Oddly enough, referring to Fael as her husband made the shopkeeper visibly r elax.

After their fitting, they wandered the streets of the charming little town. The red-brick buildings had tiled roofs, and dark-haired, dark-eyed people moved among the shops and stalls, dressed in brightly colored clot hing.

They passed a tea shop where a woman near the door beckoned them in side.

The shop was small but cozy, filled with wrought-iron tables and wire-backed chairs. They took a seat across from one another and ordered a pot of tea.

It arrived steaming, along with two porcelain cups, a small pitcher of cream, and a dish of sugar cubes. Fael requested two pastries from the display in the front wi ndow.

The tea was rich and hot, and the pastries melted on Ren’wyn’s tongue, sweet with honey and cinnamon. She leaned back in her chair, sighing in satisfaction at the simple pleasure of good food and com pany.

“I’m glad new clothes make you so happy,” Fael said, amusement softening his features. “I usually think of fittings as a nuisance—but at least one of us enjoy s it.”

Ren’wyn snickered and leaned forward, throwing caution to the wind.

“I do love new dresses,” she said huskily. “But if you think I didn’t hope for clothes to be altered overnight just to get you to fulfill your promise at the inn down the road—then you don’t know me very well.”

Fael’s eyes darkened with recognition, his pupils dilating with desire. She watched his breathing quicken, his hands gripping the edge of the t able.

“If you hadn’t asked for extra alterations,” he murmured, his voice low, “I would have. I’m a man of my promises, after all.”

The waitress returned, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Just the bill,” Fael said without taking his eyes off Ren ’wyn.

He left a generous tip and stood, offering her his hand. She hesitated between a shiver and a smile and settled for both.

Fael led her out of the shop at a pace that barely qualified as walking. Ren’wyn had to jog to keep up as they wove through the str eets.

When she saw the sign for the inn, her stomach flipped over. Fael slowed at the steps, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his tousled hair.

He walked through the doors confidently, her hand still in his.

“My wife and I need a room for the evening,” Fael said to the innkeeper. “If you have a corner room available, I’ll pay double—and rent the one next t o it.”

Ren’wyn’s eyes widened in surp rise.

The innkeeper blinked, startled. “Of course. You’re welcome to the back corner room.” His gaze lingered on Fael’s face, and something in his expression shifted. He winked. “Have fun. If you get hungry, supper’s in two h ours.”

Fael nodded, unfazed, and passed over the m oney.

The innkeeper handed him a brass key marked 12 . Fael led Ren’wyn up the stairs, walking slowly as they passed another guest. But the moment they turned the last corner, he pulled her forward urge ntly.

Ren’wyn noticed his hands trembling as he unlocked the door.

He paused, his hand resting on the knob, and took a long, deep breath—one that settled him. A breath she felt in every corner of her body.

Behind the door was a cozy room with soft yellow walls and white curtains that fluttered in the late afternoon br eeze.

Letting go of her hand, Fael crossed the room to the window, closed it, and drew the curtains shut.

Ren’wyn remained in the doorway, suddenly insecure—unsure where to move or what to say, feeling a little bit like an i diot.

“Close the door, Ren’wyn,” Fael said, his voice r ough.

The sound of it made her knees weak.

She swung the door shut slowly, turning the lock with still-trembling fin gers.

When she turned back, Fael had crossed the room silently, and he covered her shoulders with his large p alms.

“I didn’t know it then,” he said, his scent and warmth sweeping over her, his voice gravelly.

“But I’ve wanted you since that day on the riverbank—since my power flowed through you to devour those guards.

The way your magic called to mine. Your darkness.

Your strength. Since then, my desire for you has only grown—with every breath, every second of every day. ”

Ren’wyn’s breath faltered, the air around her suddenly too thin to properly fill her l ungs.