“Perhaps you could give us a quick tour of the apartment first, and then we’ll make our decisions about rooms and who will freshen up first.”
The woman complied and led them through the hall, cheerfully showcasing each bedroom, even though they were identical, as well as the two bathing chambers. Every room mirrored the parlor’s design with onyx, ivory, and crystal elements. A servant’s entrance was located at the back of the hall for more convenient cleanup and service.
Thom chose the first room closest to the parlor. Brea opted for the room two doors away, and Calyn chose the one right next to hers. Deckard let Evylin decide, so she settled on the room at the far end of the hall, which provided ample separation from the group.
In the following hours, additional staff members arrived to ensure that their visit was graciously accommodated with refreshments and snacks. After all five guests had refreshed themselves, they replenished the bathroom linens, rekindled the fires in the bedrooms and the parlor, and departed with a reassurance that they would remain merely a call away.
Evylin closed the bedroom door after the last servant left and turned to find Deckard standing before the fire, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw. His hair was damp from his bath, and he wore a tunic loose over his trousers, but she could sense the weight in his heart. All throughout their journey to Aulton, which had taken a little under a week, she’d sensed this discontentment radiating from him. She knew it had something to do with his doubts about the Alliance, but she hadn’t pressed him, understanding his need to process in solitude before explaining his heart.
Evylin stepped around the settee to stand behind him and wrap her arms around his waist. Given their height difference, she had to rise onto her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. “You’re pouting, my love,” she whispered teasingly.
A slight sense of gratitude pulsed out of him as he settled his hands over hers. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She ran her thumbs along the bottom of his ribcage. “You don’t need to be. You’re uncertain, and that’s understandable.”
“They’re just so...good. And gracious. Everyone here is happy. Too happy, almost. It can’t be real.”
Evylin peered up at him. “You’re upset because they’re too nice?”
“It’s foolish, I know.”
After a moment of studying him, his brows notably pinched together, she smirked. “You think they’ll ask us to take over Loclight as chancellor and commander?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose that’s a fair assumption, but I fail to see the problem. We’ve already agreed to say no.”
Deckard shifted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her into his side and look down at her. “We did,” he said. “Is that still what you want?”
Evylin held his gaze steadily. She hadn’t abandoned the quest she’d taken up in Whickam Village. She’d made a second vow at Ryen’s graveside: to prove Deckard’s worth to him—to show him he was loved. Their mission and work with the Alliance had taken precedence, but she never forgot. And she was slowly working to earn his unwavering trust as he had with her.
Because that was something Evylin had learned about her husband. No matter how caring and noble he was, he didn’t fully trust her. He loved her, but he feared offering her the darkest parts of his soul.
Reaching up to kiss his cheek, Evylin said, “I want what you want.”
Deckard smirked in disbelief.
She tugged on the hem of his tunic. “Jonn,” she said gently, “you said it yourself: The Alliance is good. They won’t press us into service.”
He stared at the fire abjectly, his thumb tracing circles on her bicep.
Evylin narrowed her gaze, trying to understand the disappointment within him. Why should their goodness worry him? If he truly wanted to be free of the responsibility that came with the position—which she wasn’t convinced of—then shouldn’t he take their honorable nature as a boon?
The absurdity of the truth hit Evylin, and she chuckled. “Oh, Jonn.”
“What?” he asked, clearly surprised by her affectionate mirth.
She gave him a wry grin. “You don’t want them to be good because, if they are, you’ll feel bad saying no.”
Deckard pressed his lips together, a self-derisive humor easing the discomfort within him. “I don’t like you,” he bantered.
“Mm, but you love me.”
“That I do.”
Deckard leaned down and kissed her, but she pulled away before he could make it any more passionate. “Now,” she said brightly, “stop worrying. We’re in an impossible palace surrounded by our friends and what’s sure to be a feast like no other. Whatever the Alliance asks of us, we’ll tackle those challenges later. For now, can you enjoy being here? With me? With our friends?”
Though there was a tinge of hesitation from him, Deckard smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
