“That is enough,” Grimult assured her, snagging her arm when she shifted to look and see and bringing her toward him. Fingers found hers, pressing and massaging, and she had to bite her lip to hold back the appreciative noise that threatened to escape at his attentions. He always knew how to help her, even if she was not brave enough to give it voice.
They had so much to talk about, and despite their earlier determination that all could wait until tomorrow, she could still feel the concerns bubbling up, threatening to broach subjects best left until later.
“Have you investigated whether there are provisions for tea?” he asked, rising from his seat after pressing a kiss to her knuckles, urging her to take his place in the chair.
Penryn sighed, shaking her head. Her intention was not to have him tend to such tasks—she had been prepared to learn all such things for herself, and a part of her thrilled at the idea of offering him something fixed by her own hand, in a home that was not quite hers, but close enough.
But perhaps he wished to reciprocate in some way for her care of his wings, and she could well understand that desire— to give, rather than simply accept so many favours that the scales could never be evened.
“I was mostly concerned with how to be free of this dress with no one to help me with the fastenings,” she admitted, blushing when he looked back at her sharply before his eyes swept over the large room, halting when he spied the knife she had dropped upon hearing his knock. “The blade is dull,” she offered, whether it was an effort to soothe him or a complaint, she was not entirely certain.
He turned his back to her, and if she knew anything with relative confidence, it was that he did not like to look at her directly when she had inadvertently trespassed on his sense of modesty.
Was he imagining her undressed? She bit her lip, wondering at the strange feeling in her belly at such a thought. Her own embarrassment was there, but something else as well, something she could not quite name.
“I will assist you,” he said at last, bringing down a kettle from an iron hook hanging on the wall. There was a basin stationed in the counter, and to her great surprise, it had similar taps to the ones in her little bathing room at the Keep. She did not have the slightest idea how they might have fashioned such intricate pipe-work all the way in this solitary little place, but evidently they had done so, and she stood, eager to show Grimult how they worked.
If he was shocked by it, he gave no great indication, only stared and proffered the kettle to catch the stream filling it to the desired capacity before placing it on another hook on the hearth, a long arm swinging to settle over the flames. Penryn was slightly disappointed by his lack of reaction and turned the handle back to stop the flow. “I think the house we found had something similar,” she tried, watching him carefully. There was something odd in his silence, and she did not know where she had gone wrong. “But I suppose time made it so it could not work any longer.”
Grimult would not look at her, confirming her suspicion that something was wrong. “Grim,” she murmured, grabbing hold of his arm when he came back near her, pulling free two clay mugs and positioning them just so. “What did I say wrong?”
She did not want to quarrel, not on their first night—not ever. The times discord had been between them, her stomach hard churned in unhappiness, a tight coil in her chest insisting that she put things to rights with him as quickly as possible, regardless of how it must be accomplished.
“You did not,” he assured her. She could see something tense in his jaw, and she reached out to touch it, to soothe the hardening corners of him until he relaxed, could share freely with her and not keep things so tightly bound inside. She realised how hypocritical that was, as she was the one who had been forced to keep so many truths from him, for his protection or not.
“I did something,” she argued, her hand drifting from his face and settling on his chest. She took a deep breath, wondering if now would be a poor time for a kiss.
Likely it was, most especially since she did not know that it would be well received, and she did not think she could handle that particular rejection.
It was Grimult’s turn to sigh, and to her great relief, he brought her into his arms, pulling her tightly. She would happily stay there forever, she was certain. To be so enveloped, so safe, to finally feel as if she belonged somewhere...
All that time wondering. So much resentment and envy when she saw glimpses of affection when she was brought out for events, little more than a prop. Never to engage, never to experience.
All that fell away, when Grim was holding her.
“They are an advanced people,” Grimult confessed at last, although the admission was not what she expected. “More than I had thought possible. It worries me that theirs has grown where ours has not.”
He made to pull back, doubtlessly in pursuit of the tea he had wanted for them, but she was not quite ready to let him go, her hands knotting at the back of his tunic, keeping him there, if just for a little longer.
“They have a different way,” Penryn allowed. “But it does not mean it is better.”
His hand at the back of her head, smoothing and pressing gently, and she thought she might cry at the sweetness of it. “I did not say better,” he reminded her. “I said that it
