29 Tarts (2/2)

”But the person who wrote you, you may not like them,” he said softly.

I know, she wrote.

”And if you don't? What will you do then?”

The shade said it should be you, she wrote.

”Hmm,” he hummed, ”How much time do you have?”

A few weeks, she answered, I'll be fine until then.

”Then I'll tell you then. The treaty will be finalized, so it still meets our agreement. If you don't like the answer then you can do this binding with me to save your life, alright?”

You don't know what it is, she wrote.

”It doesn't matter,” he replied. ”I know without it, you'll die. Regardless of how we feel about each other, it is my duty to protect my wife.”

The sincerity of his words made her smile despite herself, still, something still troubled her. Why didn't you stop Elixabete, she wrote.

He rubbed his face, ”It wasn't that I didn't want to stop her, Isilla, it was just that I wasn't sure what to do. She was with child, I didn't want to hurt her and despite how I may have looked, I was very surprised. You didn't ask about that.”

You said that you had never been with a woman, she wrote.

He smiled, ”And you believed me?”

Were you lying, she asked.

He shook his head, ”No.”

Do you not like women? Is that why you said you could never love me? Then why did you kiss me in the dream and in my bedroom the other night, she asked ignoring her nerves.

His wide eyes stared back at her, her words catching him off guard. He released a long breath and propped his chin in his palm for a moment before speaking again. ”I find you a very agreeable match but perhaps you will understand better if I show you. May I kiss you?”

Her turn for shook, she could only nod slowly. How can I say no to my husband's kiss, she thought as he crossed the couch, pulling her into his arms.

”Close your eyes,” he said.

Eyes closed, his lips touched hers.

He held her tighter as the touch moved from the light meeting of lips to something deeper, his tongue slipping past her lips to meet with hers. He kissed her deeply, possessively, his hands pulling her closer, tilting her head up to meet his.

He lowered her, the sensation of the movement secondary to the feel of his mouth on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she had in the dream but this time, the shoulders under them were real.

He pulled his hand from her behind her neck, covering her eyes and letting her settle on the arm rest as his lips trailed along her cheek to her neck. She gasped at the touch of them. Along her body she could feel his shadows rolling over her, reaching under her heavy skirts and sleeves, feeling her skin. She sighed and shivered at their touch, her body reacting on it's own.

Arren stopped at her ear, ”Open your eyes, little bird.”

She gasped and tightened her hands on his shirt. Above her, only darkness, a thick mass of shadows so deep that they hid the ceiling and swallowed the light.

”It is not a question of desire or ability,” his voice thick and low in her ear, he spoke quickly, his shadows still moving along her skin. ”I am entirely capable of feeling and making love but what I cannot do is control this in your arms.”

He pulled her closer his voice still low but gentle, ”And because I cannot control it, I can't be sure it won't hurt you.”

He breathed against her skin and the shadows disappeared, the light returning as he pulled away from her. ”You know who I am,you've heard all the stories I'm sure. I don't know how they tell it where you're from but I lost control of my magic because I was scared and angry and I pulled a thousand people into a darkness they could never come back from. I never want to do that again.”

That's why he stopped himself on our wedding night, she thought.

People have been telling that story for my entire life. How old are you, she asked.

”I'm twenty-eight. I did that when I was five. I can't let it happen again,” he said.

You were just a child, she wrote.

”And I'm not now,” he replied.

He stood, turning away from her, his voice cold and formal, ”Please, enjoy the tarts. I will leave you now, we've discussed what we needed. We understand each other's positions better.”

She leaned, reaching across the couch and grabbed his hand. He looked down at it, lifting it slightly before she released it and picked up her book.

Don't go. Play the picture game with me for a little while, she wrote.

He smiled and sat, ”Alright.”

She picked up a tart, a tiny pie with thick fruit filling. As she bit, the filling spilled, falling to her chin. Arren handed her a napkin, a strange expression on his face, one that she couldn't read.

”Careful,” he said softly.

I should be, she thought, her heart fluttering as he began to draw the first picture.