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“I cannot lie to you,” Hawthorn replied. “Nor shall I attempt to hide the truth. If you have a question, I’d encourage you to ask it.”
Serena nodded, not looking at him. “When and if you marry, do you suspect you shall continue your pursuits?”
Hawthorn paused. It was a fair question. “It would depend on my partner,” he responded delicately.
“What they wanted? What they were happy with—orwhothey were?”
His second pause was longer. He was not known for his long term lovers. That was not exactly his choice, however, whatever the rest of Faerie might think. Truth be told, he could see himself being content with a singular person… if they could be content with him. He suspected this was a desire shared by many: merely to want and be wanted in equal amounts.
He also suspected that such a luxury was probably beyond him.
“I would prefer monogamy, to be honest,” he admitted, surprised by the words. “Yourself?”
“I’ve had little experience in romance to know precisely what I prefer,” she told him. “But my heart tends towards that way. I suppose it would depend on my partner too… and my reasons for marrying.”
“Naturally.”
She paused again. “If there’s someone else—”
A juggler crashed into a fountain of wine, splashing Serena’s dress. She laughed it off, assuring her there was no harm done, and excused herself from the party to freshen up.
Hawthorn’s eyes found Juliana in the room, finishing off a dance with a man who appeared to be part stag. She excused herself at the end of the dance to slide towards a table of refreshments, eyeing the freshly-iced cakes.
Hawthorn sauntered over towards her. “One day, I would like to find someone who looks at me the way you look at cake.”
Juliana blinked. “No one wants to eatyou.”
“And yet I am so delicious.” He glanced at the tower of desserts. “Made up your mind yet?”
“I—no.”
“Good,” he said, and slipped an arm around her waist.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying to dance. I am succeeding. You are not.”
“We’re… dancing?”
“Can you think of a good reason why we shouldn’t?”
“Several,” she said sharply.
“You can always leave. I won’t—” Suddenly, he realised hewouldbe offended if she left, and the words stuck to his tongue.
Troubling.
“I won’t hold it against you,” he finished instead, and then his fingers drifted unconsciously to the rounded edges of Jules’ strange mortal ears.
She glared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Your ears fascinate me. I can’t help it.”
Jules whisked a tiny dagger out of nowhere. “Help it.”
”I—where were you keeping that?”
“I am never unprepared.”
