I gave him a mutinous look and opened my mouth to argue.
“I’ll give you space in my workroom.”
I clamped my mouth shut. “Access to Bastian’s mysterious workroom. Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
The corner of his eye tensed, like he was trying not to wince, but he led me into the hall and unlocked one of the few rooms in our suite that I hadn’t yet seen.
Light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting drifting motes of dust and…
And a fucking mess.
A grandfather clock missing its pendulum. Cracked vases and bowls. A teapot with no spout. Canvases stacked against the wall, their images jarred by rips. Various blades without hilts and hilts with no weapons. Glass-fronted cabinets filled with broken mechanisms and cogs. Stacks of books so tattered, I feared touching them would make the whole pile crumble to unreadable fragments.
Clearing his throat, Bastian brushed past me and gathered assorted tools and a pair of goggles from the large central table. It had been so piled high with stuff I hadn’t even realised it was a separate surface from the side boards and shelves around it.
On the table sat a collection of cogs and gems and the jumbled insides of a broken orrery. The subtle hum of magic whispered over my skin.
“This is…”
As he cleared the table, Bastian’s shoulders hunched, like he was bracing himself.
“Not what I expected from your workroom.” I gave the space another inspection. It was hard to tell how large it was with so much clutter.
He made a soft sound and scooped the broken orrery onto a velvet-lined tray.
I craned over his arm as he carried it away. “Are you… fixing that?”
“Trying to,” he muttered.
The fragments of vase I’d found in his suite in Riverton Palace. My fence’s off-hand comment about him buying broken things from her. “You’re fixing it all, aren’t you?”
Brow low, mouth tight, he turned and glanced over the collection. He wrinkled his nose and sent a shadow to swipe dust off the grandfather clock’s face. “Trying to. But there are more broken things than I can keep up with.”
“Has it crossed your mind that they aren’t all your responsibility?”
He ignored my comment, still focused on the assembled items. “Besides, I don’t have time. Not for hobbies and tinkering, anyway.”
I bit back a laugh—not at him, but of disbelief. “Bastian Marwood’s hobby is collecting broken things and trying to fix them.”
He picked up a piece of vase and peered at it. “Just seems a shame to see it all thrown away. So when I find it, I rescue it.” He scoffed and screwed his eyes shut, dropping the pottery shard back in the pile. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“No.” I touched his back. “It’s… somewhat ambitious—over-ambitious, even. Kind of sweet. But not ridiculous.”
He gave me a long look, as though waiting for me to add something. When I didn’t, he nodded with a soft sound and ushered me to a chair he’d uncovered.
I could feel his discomfort. He didn’t let other people in here, and I wasn’t about to mock him for such a noble pursuit… even if it was doomed.
So when he brought me a stack of books and a pot of tea, I smiled and set to work.
The next few days went much the same. I lived in this contradiction, trapped between exhaustion and nightmares about my last appointment. I wanted to eat everything, like my body needed the energy, but certain food textures reminded me of the appointment, forcing me to leave the meal uneaten. Bastian hovered nearby, only letting me out of his sight to sleep, wash, and go to the toilet. Thank the gods for that, at least.
It felt like the time I’d spent in his rooms in Lunden, but I wasn’t in nearly such a bad place. Maybe he feared I might fall into that pit. At least I could function and spent my time reading through books and scrolls, searching for reference to the Circle of Ash. （Not the most catchy name, but who was I to question ancient fae spellcrafters?）
I tried to persuade Bastian to go back to work. Instead, he brought his work to our rooms, and invited Rose and Faolán for dinner, Ella for lunch, Perry for a late breakfast. Our suite went from a private space to one for entertainment, and having visitors made the place feel homely. Bastian didn’t even comment when I added little touches like potted plants and cushions on the settee.
One night, Perry and Ella came for dinner. After several hints that she wanted to catch up with me without the far-too-attentive fae—hints that were ignored—Ella eventually raised her eyebrow at Bastian over her glass. “Is there a reason you won’t leave us alone with Kat? Something you don’t want her to say?”
He blinked and straightened, and inwardly I winced. “No, I just…” His expression tightened, shadowing his eyes. “You know she died. I’m merely—”
“Only for a moment.” I sat forward and wiggled my fingers. “See? Still alive.”
Bastian clenched his jaw and inclined his head, then left the room.
His silence cut deeper than his words. He was trying to care for me. Perhaps he hadn’t realised just how tightly he was holding on.
“Are you really all right?” Ella surveyed me.
“Still a little tired, but otherwise…” I spread my arms and smiled like I wasn’t haunted by nightmares where my heart stopped and left an echoing silence that I couldn’t escape. When I held out my glass for a top-up, she placed the bottle of fae wine out of reach. I gave Perry a beseeching look, but she shook her head. Traitors, the pair of them.
“And you two…” Ella arched an eyebrow at the door Bastian had disappeared through. “Have you resumed things again?”
I scowled and upturned my glass, catching the very last drop on my tongue for a disappointingly brief flash of fruity sharpness. “It’s… complicated.”
“Hmm.” Perry swirled her wine glass, its fullness mocking me. “But you said he apologised while you were away.”
“He did.” I frowned at the glass.
“And I’ve heard rings hold special meaning to fae.” Ella eyed the slight bulge in my glove where the enchanted ring sat on my finger.
“I don’t think it applies to all rings.” And even if it did, what was the point of possessing something if you weren’t going to claim it? Despite every lingering look and almost kiss, Bastian had left me thoroughly unclaimed.
“You’ve forgiven him, though.” Perry gave me a long look. “And he doesn’t seem angry at you about the marriage thing.”
I shrugged. “I apologised. And I think he’s forgiven me.”
“So, what’s the sticking point?”
How was I meant to explain that while I wanted him, something still felt wrong between us?
Ella narrowed her eyes. “Why are you sitting here with us rather than fucking him until you both die in a haze of exhausted bliss?”
I huffed a laugh and toyed with one of the fine seams of my glove, trying very hard not to imagine how much sex that would require.
Perry screwed up her face. “You want them to fuck themselves to death?”
“I don’t want it.” Ella spread her hands. “Though as deaths go, it’s definitely not the worst. I just… well, it would be better than whatever this is.” She gestured from me to the door. “Because the tension between you two is…” She exhaled, cheeks puffing out. “It’s heady. Every time I leave the room, I feel the need for a cold shower.”