The book, it turns out, is a textbook on the anatomy of a kraken and how it’s evolved with the introduction of humans to the bloodlines. I flip through a few pages, mildly curious, before I close the book and carefully slide it back into its place. It wasn’t a kraken who won me in the auction.
I’m more interested in dragons.
The sheer number of books quickly overwhelms me, so when I find what appears to be a children’s storybook section, I grab a stack of the books and haul them back to the main sitting area.
There, I find Sol wading through a stack of paperwork nearly as tall as he is. I blink at the thick vellum scrolls and sheaves. “What’s all this?”
“Correspondence.” He hisses with displeasure. “Harvest reports, which are slightly less upsetting.” Sol glances at me. “They’re very curious about you. Once things…ease…we’ll have to entertain.”
Things being this mating frenzy that makes him so aggressive. I worry my bottom lip. “Will things change with us when that eases?”
He gives me a long look. “No.”
I set my books on the low table between us, careful not to disrupt the papers. I kind of want to sit next to him, but surely that’s not necessary? We might be married, but we’re hardly…
“What are you doing, Briar?”
I stop in the middle of inching toward the empty couch. “Sitting down?”
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. I don’t know what my expression is doing, but Sol eventually says, “Would you like to sit with me?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie. After everything we’ve done, I don’t know why this feels too intimate. But when I open my mouth, the truth emerges. “Yes.”
Sol shifts over, though the couch is plenty large enough for both of us. It’s obviously made for two dragons to sit on, with plenty of pillows instead of two larger back cushions like I’m used to. I feel like a child burrowing into them, arranging them around me in a little nest for maximum reading comfort. After I’m settled, Sol relaxes back and slides his tail partially around me.
I pick up the first book and settle down to read, though I’m achingly aware of how close he is. He watches me for a few seconds and then almost reluctantly turns back to his stack of correspondence and reports.
The book is fascinating. It doesn’t quite follow the same story structure that I’m used to, feeling more like a poem than a story, but a lot of older human stories were passed around in poem form, so I suppose that’s not so unfamiliar. What is familiar is that it’s a teaching story the same way so many children’s books seem to be.
I work through three of the books while Sol dramatically decreases his pile. Aldis appears at regular intervals to whisk away the completed work.
It’s…cozy.
I’ve never done this before, this casual sharing of space with no expectations and no tension. Growing up, my parents were of the mind that if one person is cleaning or working or doing something, then everyone needs to be doing it as well. And my mother was always cleaning. It wasn’t until later, when I found myself in my own unhappy marriage, that I realized she used it as a kind of escape. It wasn’t enough of an escape for me.
I frown down at my book, the words no longer comprehensible through no fault of the spell. “Sol?”
“Hmm?”
I frown harder. “What am I supposed to do?”
He finally looks at me, appearing to give me all his attention. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this all day.” I motion at myself, reclining and comfy and far too relaxed. Lazy, an insidious voice whispers in the back of my mind. If you don’t prove your worth, he’ll know you’re really worthless.
Sol hesitates. “Do you want to do something else?” He glances at the paperwork. “I really should get this done today, but if you want, we can spend some time outside the keep tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I close my book and struggle to sit up, the cushions hampering the movement until he wraps his tail around my waist and helps. I shiver. “Am I supposed to spend seven years just lazing about?”
His attention narrows on me. “You’ve been here a week, Briar.”
“Yes, but—”
His tail flexes around my waist. “When was the last day you spent in leisure without worrying about lazing about?”
Heat flushes through me, and I can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or shame or something infinitely more complicated. “That’s not the point.”
“I would like you to answer the question.”
I really, truly don’t want to. I see where he’s going with this, and he might be right, but it feels like he cracked open my ribs and is staring at my still-beating heart. Too vulnerable. Too honest. I can’t hold his gaze. “I don’t remember.”