“What’s it like…”
We both start at the same time and cut off simultaneously with an awkward chuckle. I hate uncomfortable situations. Most of my exposure to social niceties involves political visits with our subjects. I’ve never been in many situations where I’m able to get to know someone on a personal level. Thea is one of those rare individuals, and lucky for me she has a bubbly personality and didn’t give me much of a choice in becoming friends. Everything was instantly easy with her, we fell right into being the best of friends. I long for that kind of relationship with my mate and desperately wish we could jump past the awkward stages.
“You go ahead,” he says to me.
“So you like to train with your uncle’s soldiers?” I ask him. It’s a lame question, but the only thing I could think of so far. Clearly I can tell he likes to train.
“Oh… yeah… I like it. I’m on a strict training schedule. I spend time with the men training most of the day. Working on perfecting the art of using every weapon I can get my hands on. Thank goodness we heal quickly because I can’t tell you how often I get injured. But it’s all worth it to lead my uncle’s men.” Lead his uncle’s men? What an odd statement. Why would he lead his uncle’s men and not work with the men who serve directly under his parents?
“Shouldn’t you be leading your parents’ army?” I ask him, not wanting to let the oddness of his statement go.
It’s his turn to shift in his seat, and he says, “Well, ever since my parents di…”
He’s cut off by Lord Silas saying, “Marcellus, ask questions of Princess Cecily; get to know her too.” Well, thanks Silas, but we certainly don’t need your help or encouragement.
I have an inkling Lord Silas isn’t being genuine at ensuring we get to know each other, and is more concerned with covering up how Marcellus was about to answer that question. Thanks to the interruption, we’re back to silence. Marcellus is too baffled by his uncle’s actions to talk, his shock is clear in the way his mouth is slightly hanging open.
I can’t help but wonder how he would’ve answered my question. Ever since his parents… what? I'm lost in my thoughts as I stare at his shirt, but when I glance at his face he seems expectant.
“I’m sorry, what was it you asked?” I should focus and pay closer attention to my mate. I’m giving a horrible first impression of myself.
“Your… uh… trip here. How was it?” he repeats himself. It seems I’m not the only one thinking of poor questions. At least I was trying to get to know him. Maybe it takes some time for him to warm up. If not, a lifetime with him will be dull.
“It was good. Quite different from what I’m used to. When traveling with my mother, we typically stop at every shifter village we pass by so we can connect with our people, see if there's anything we can do for them.” I didn’t honestly know what to say to him. Not like I could tell him how odd his uncle has been the whole time.
From the time I was a child, I dreamed of the day I would find my mate. My mother told me story after story of what it would be like. Now finding myself in this situation... I thought I would be excited. I thought I would be ready to accept him into my life. It was supposed to be a magical moment, getting to know your mate, an instant connection of our two souls being drawn together. Everything I anticipated about this moment is turning out to be dreadful. I’m uncomfortable, which is something I'm unfamiliar with, and I’m unsure how to change it. I shouldn’t be disappointed right now, I should be enjoying this time getting to know my mate.Why is this turning out so wrong?
Why is it so hard to think of some questions to get to know my mate? If only I was older and already had more experience. I blurt out my next thought obviously before I even think it through, “Oh, Fates! How old are you? Please don’t be ancient and have a centuries-long age gap with me!”
Processing what I said a little too late, I slap a hand over my mouth as my eyes get wide. The heat radiating from my face causes a bead of sweat to form.Can someone die from embarrassment?A loud burst of laughter pulls me out of my panic, and I see Marcellus bent over laughing while holding a hand to his stomach. “I’m only twenty-eight, but I must say, I was worried you were going to be the ancient one.”
My mortification has me stunned for a moment, and Marcellus places his hand on mine, squeezing it. The touch instantly calms my nerves over my outburst. I laugh with him as I see the pure joy in his eyes that lacks any judgment or offense. “Me, the ancient one? I’m only twenty-five,” I finally say through my laughter.
The awkwardness slowly lifts as our laughter calms, but I’m now left with the same problem as before. I have no idea what to ask him right now to continue the conversation. I tap my finger against the teacup in my hands, but the sound just echoes off the walls. Well, I guess I could ask him about what connects us the most. “So tell me about what happened when your mate ma…”
“Your Highness, would you like another cup of tea?” Lord Silas asks. Apparently, his habit of interrupting isn’t just solely reserved for his nephew.
I glance up at Silas, annoyed by the timing of his inquiry into whether I wanted more tea. He couldn’t choose one of the many moments we weren’t conversing? It’s not like we didn’t enjoy an abundance of silence. “No, thank you. As I was saying, Marcellus, your…”
“Are you sure? How about a pastry? I’m sure Cook has something prepared in the kitchen.” I know Lord Silas has no respect for women, but considering my station, I could punish him for interrupting me. I’m the Crown Heir after all, though I try very hard to restrain my tyrannical traits. Lucky for him.Maybe I should make an exception. No, stay strong in your convictions, Cecily.I do, however, narrow my eyes trying to discourage further interruptions with a scathing glance.
“I’m quite sure, Lord Silas, I will let you know if I need anything,” I say, putting a cold bite into my tone while choosing my words carefully to give him no other opportunities to interrupt me.
What is Lord Silas’ problem? “Perhaps a tour. Marcellus, why don’t you give her a tour?” I glare at Marcellus with frustration bubbling up inside me. And for that matter, why is my mate allowing such disrespect to occur? My guards are both standing at the doorway, their fists and jaws clenched, making an effort to not intervene without my say.
“Would you like me to give you a tour of the castle, Princess Cecily?” Marcellus offers me. His tone makes me think he isn’t quite sure how to handle the situation and is taking the path of least resistance. I know we’ve just met, but my expectations are different from the reality I’m facing. Maybe this is what I get for having imagined how getting to know him would go.
“That would be lovely.” At least if we’re silent the walking will be beneficial in working through my frustration and nervous energy. Marcellus stands up and offers a hand to help me up. When we touch, a warm buzzing sensation circulates underneath my skin. My mother has told me she experiences the proof of the mate bond every instance she and my father touch, even after being together for centuries. The potential this evidence reminds me of serves as a reassurance that we’re meant for each other; right at the moment I start doubting we have anything to build on.
Trust the Fates. I remind myself. Marcellus’ warmth sends a comforting pulse throughout my body, and I realize I don’t want to stop holding his hand. It appears he has no plans of letting me go either, making one side of my lip lift. He catches my smirk, giving me a smile back, although he seems to catch himself quickly, and wipes it from his face.
We walk hand in hand as Marcellus takes me on the grand tour. When Silas said it was small, he wasn’t being humble. And much to my dismay, he followed us on the tour, making sure we didn't spend a moment alone. Not that we would have with my guards ever watchful presence. Someone needs to tell Silas a chaperone is unnecessary. My vote is for Marcellus to be the one to tell him. It’s his uncle, after all.
The tour ends with Marcellus escorting me to my room, deciding we’ve both been put through enough awkwardness for one day. At least that's what I assume his reasoning is, it’s what mine would be. Before he departs, he pauses, indecision crossing his handsome face as he gazes into my eyes. The moment he makes his decision, he gives a slight nod.
He leans in toward me, breath feathering my ear as he whispers, “My uncle doesn’t want you to know, but my room is at the end of this hall. If you need anything, please come and get me.” He offers a smile and holds up one finger to his lips. He brings his hand back down before turning and walking off with his uncle. Watching them walk away, I’m left with a flutter of longing.
Baxter and Frances resume their positions as I walk into my room and close the door behind me, engaging the lock. Even with guards standing on the other side, I don’t trust leaving my door unlocked here. Call me paranoid, but things don’t seem quite right.
