Page 8 of The Unbound Witch

A smile. A real Kirsi smile crossed her face, forcing one of my own.

“No, you don’t.”

Grey cleared his throat. “Well, I do. The wedding is definitely off.”

She flew toward Grey, flicking his ear. “Good thing, since you’re already married. By the way, the oldies downstairs were just feeling each other up, but dinner’s ready. Have fun with that.”

“I can bring you something up?” Grey offered as I wiped the remnants of tears from my face.

“Don’t bother. I don’t need sustenance anymore.”

“Sorry, Kir,” he answered.

She shook her head. “Don’t be. At this point, we can only blame two people. Whoever killed me, and Nikos fucking Moonfield.”

“Dinner is ready, dears,” a smooth feminine voice called up the stairs.

“You don’t know who killed you?” Grey asked, moving toward the door to grip the black metal knob.

She shook her head. “I was in the Trial speaking to a very distant relative, and then I was swept away. Slammed back into a broken, dying body with Raven stooped over the top of me.”

“I wanted to save you. I tried.”

Kirsi lifted a shoulder. “I know.”

My stomach rumbled again, and Grey swung the door open, gesturing for me to go first. He kept his warm hand on the small of my back as we navigated the hall and moved down the narrow, creaking stairs.

“Ah. You have that lovely newly wedded glow,” Victoria said, her wrinkled hands clasped below her chin as she stared at us with flush red cheeks from the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished,” Grey answered, his hand burning a mark onto my back.

Victoria stood. “I need to grab the bread. Seat yourselves.”

Henry leaned over the table to shake Grey’s outstretched hand. “My God, that’s a grip, son. What was it you said you did for work?”

“Ironwork, sir,” he answered, sliding my chair out for me.

I sat, surveying the roast, inhaling the scent of rosemary dusting the potatoes. The handmade table had been carefully crafted. Each stretch of wood planed to perfection with no divots, no rough texture below the polished finish. You could set a marble on that table, and it wouldn’t have moved. It was the nicest item I’d seen in the home.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Henry asked, stealing my attention. “It was my first piece after we were married some fifty years ago.”

“Fifty years?” I gasped.

He nodded, a gleam in his eye as he gazed at his wife entering the room with a basket of bread in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other. Grey shot from his seat, taking the items from the old woman and finding homes for them on the table before reclaiming his seat and wrapping his long arm around the back of my chair.

“Thank you, dear.” Henry lifted his chin to Victoria as she leaned over and pecked his cheek without a thought.

“Such an old coquet.” She giggled.

A flush painted my face as we intruded on their intimate moment. As the old man leaned over to his wife and whispered something that made her laugh.

Grey’s attention flicked to me, and I couldn’t help but look away. I’d wanted that once. Had laid in bed with a man who’d promised it to me as he stroked my body and whispered our future into my ear. Those moments were so fragile between him and me, so fresh and delicate, we’d dared not speak of them loud enough for the goddess to protest.

Lost in an abyss of sorrowful memories, I hadn’t noticed Grey filling my plate. I’d been so hungry when we came down, I’d nearly sat on my own hands to keep them back. But now, it was all I could do to shovel the meal into my mouth, and remember to chew, swallow, repeat.

“Are you alright, dear?” Victoria asked, the wisps of her white hair glowing in the candlelight.

“Yes. Thank you. I—”