Chapter 20

"I've come to discover," I began one morning, after finishing the eggs and morsel of ham on my plate, "that you rather enjoy savoury foods," I glanced at Tamlin, who was on his third, thick slice of ham. It had been two days since he had returned, and the second day of Lucien and Elain failing to show for breakfast. The day before, Tamlin had unexpected business to attend to for most of the day, and I watched with disappointment as he all but grumbled and stomped out of the house, taking his leave. Now, it seemed he was taking his time at breakfast, the warmth of the sun streaming through the windows, dancing just on the crown of his head.    "I suppose..." He grunted once he finished his ham, and when he caught my gaze as he reached for his glass, he paused. "Why?"    "There's never something sweet," I sighed, grabbing my own glass.    Tamlin slid back in his chair, blinking incredulously. "Like a desert?"    "Or jam," I shrugged. "For your toast. I would expect the Spring Court to be filled with sweet things."    "Do you enjoy sweet things?"    I set down my glass with a thud, and with a teasing smile, cocked my head. "I do miss cheesecake."    As soon as breakfast was done, I could not sit still or think of remaining indoors as the sun began to rise and the dew evaporated from the grass. When I felt the heat of the rays through the windows, on my skin, I would pin up my hair and hurry outside.    Sitting idle allowed my worry for Ma to fester, and I could do nothing about it. The only place I could lose myself while waiting for her to be found, was in the stables, and it was there that I raced off to, enjoying the quiet and peace of the empty field before the horses' smell came to me.    I came upon Aren's stall, pleased to see his head still resting out of the window, nostrils flaring over the growth of flowers underneath. It was strange, really, that this horse found his peace and salvation in the bed of flowers, while their scent brought me only despair and distress.    I opened his stall door, and his head perked. He nickered in greeting, turning and walking to me.    "Hey boy," I held his nose as he sniffed at me, then pulled his head up so his chin hovered over the hairs of my head. I stepped closer, toward his chest, running my thumb along his scar. "How have you been holding up?"    When I ran my hand along his flank, it came away dusty, and I glanced toward a pile of brushes just outside his stall. I felt him comfortable enough for me to take a brush to his side, and made my way toward them. I showed him the brush and he lowered his head, waiting as I began to comb through the dust buildup in his rough fur. At least he had been eating, his bones weren't showing and the muscles, though they didn't feel as fierce as Vela's, were still strong from whatever life he lived before being stuck in Tamlin's stables.    "Where did you come from?" I asked softly.    "How long?"    Aren's head perked up before mine did, both of us turning towards the High Lord, watching us over the stall door.    "You disappeared after breakfast," He said quietly, his lips pulled into a pleasant smile as he watched me.    "I missed him," I stated simply, patting Aren's side.    Tamlin's eyes flashed with brightness as he stared at me steadily—an unbreaking gaze that had me shifting and glancing away shyly.    "How long?" He asked again.    I raised my brows at him from around Aren's shoulder, and his lips pulled back even more before he elaborated.    "Aren was uncomfortable with everyone, as well as myself—how long has he been yours?"    "Mine? He's not—"    "I think he is," There was a softness, an amusement to his voice, and I lowered the brush, stepping from around Aren, toward the door.    "What do you mean?"    "I think he's chosen you, and now, he should be yours."    I scanned his face, admiring his eyes of young, blooming green, cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth of the sun and his golden hair, like the strands of wheat in farmer's fields. He looked so soft.    "You're giving me one of your horses?" I asked, unsure.    "He was never my horse," He smiled, such brightness in his eyes I never recalled seeing before.    "But he's yours now."    I turned to look at Aren, who let out a gust of air as he watched me in return. I took in his shaggy coat, black hair with glints of deep, orange-red. His unkempt mane of walnut brown. And the pink scar, bright and stark, like the roses he held his nose in every morning.    Tamlin opened the door and walked in, ignoring the horse's snorts. He passed me and laid a hand on Aren's shoulder. "She is yours, Aren," He muttered.    Aren's nose bobbed in return, his breath a steady stream against my shoulder.    My lips pulled into a smile.