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Cecelia shrugged. “Sometimes I worry about going from one world to another all the time. I almost think it would be better for me to give up my wings and come here. We could live a quiet life.”
“You will do no such thing,” Marcus said as he barreled into the room. He walked over and kissed Cecelia on the forehead. His lips were soft, and he ran a hand down her hair before he crossed to the sideboard and began to fill a plate with his breakfast. “In fact,” he went on to say, “I would give up the title before I would allow you to do something that ridiculous.”
“You would do that for me?” Cecelia asked.
“That and more,” he said, and he pulled his chair as close to hers as it could go. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. His knee touched hers, the heat of it seeping through his trousers to warm her leg.
His mother sniffled across the table and dabbed at her eyes.
“I can’t imagine you without wings,” Marcus said. “Preposterous.”
“We already have enough magic between us, Marcus,” Cecelia said with a laugh.
“As long as we don’t have magic between us,” Marcus clarified. He motioned from her to him and back. “As in keeping us apart. I would give up this world in order for you to keep your magic.”
“You mean more to me.”
“Oh, I can almost see it now,” his mother said. “For his birthday, you’ll give him your wings in a box. And for your birthday, he’ll give you his ring.”
Cecelia looked down at the ring that his father had given him. The family crest. “That wouldn’t do either of us any good, would it?” she said with a laugh.
“So I suggest you adapt to going back and forth. Particularly now that you’re both going to be seated on the bench.”
“I still can’t get over that,” Cecelia said with a sigh.
“Does it intimidate you at all?” Lady Ramsdale asked.
Cecelia shook her head. “Not really. Maybe
we can do some good. I don’t think anyone young has ever been in leadership. Not that I can remember.”
“You two will do wonderfully. Perhaps someday, humans who marry fae will be able to go back and forth at will. Even without sneaking into a painting.”
“Marriage equality is the first thing on my agenda. I aim to rewrite the Unpardonable Errors.”
Marcus looked deep into her eyes. “I plan to help you.”
“We’ll do it together.”
Marcus certainly hoped so. “Where is your father?” Marcus asked.
Cecelia shrugged. “I suppose he hasn’t risen yet. I’m not certain.”
“I thought I would wake up to find you tethered to his side for the next fortnight.”
Cecelia giggled. “So did I, honestly.”
Beneath the table, Marcus laid a hand on her knee, and she looked up at him, scolding him with her glance. But he didn’t even look at her. He continued to eat with his right hand, while the tip of his left index finger drew circles on her knee.
Cecelia worried she would grow as bright as an overripe tomato. She laid a hand on his and squeezed. But when she did, he looked down at her. His eyes held a promise. One she dearly hoped he would fulfill. Soon.
His mother jerked her from his gaze when she cleared her throat and said, “The two of you do know where babes come from, correct?”
Marcus choked on his eggs. “Mother!” he cried.
She held her hands up as though in surrender. “I’m just asking.” She laughed to herself. “Do I need to remind you that babes typically take nine months to grow before they’re born, and that the ton counts those months the way they count the money under their mattresses?”
Marcus didn’t say anything. But his cheeks were rosy, and his neck and the tips of his ears were just as colorful.
