A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic, #1)(84)

Wrapping a silken robe around my nightgown, I tiptoe down the stairs. I knew the house was too small for any kind of attendants. I also knew that Eldas said he enjoyed cooking. But there’s something entrancing about actually seeing the man working in the kitchen.

He’s in a simple cotton tunic, thin and humbly made. It has a wide neck and exposes his strong collarbones. Of course, it’s long sleeved, but he’s once more rolled the sleeves up. A canvas apron has been tied around his narrow waist, colored by stains old and new alike. It hides the tight-fitting black trousers underneath. Inky strands of hair have freed themselves from the knot he’s placed half his tresses in to frame his jaw and neck. The other half of his hair moves in sheets of midnight.

I rest my chin in my palm and watch him move. He’s graceful, unhesitant, and easy. Comfortable, I realize at once. This is the look of a man in his element. His brow isn’t weighted by the iron crown, but rather furrowed slightly with focus. Eldas’s eyes are intent and intense. But he wears a small smile on his lips as though every turn of the spoon and flip of the spatula delights him.

It’s almost impossible to imagine that this is the same severe man I first met in the temple all those weeks ago. And he’s your husband, I remind myself. That prompts me to take yet another look at him in yet another way.

He’s as agonizingly handsome as I’ve always known him to be…as I’ve rarely allowed myself to appreciate. His attractiveness has disarmed me on many an occasion. But permitting myself to appreciate it as a wife would has my thighs tensing.

Some women would kill to be you. To have all this, I scold myself. And you want to run away.

It’s as if he senses my turmoil. Because he looks at me with those stunning blue eyes, startled to find me. I try and plaster on a smile and nonchalantly continue down the stairs, as though I weren’t just shamelessly admiring him.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he repeats. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well. The past queens were right; this place is surprisingly refreshing after the redwood throne.” I neglect to mention the dull throb in my head. The last thing I want is for him to suggest we skip the wine tonight, given how delicious it was. “And you?”

“Excellently.” He smiles.

I glance at the couch. I have my doubts about that. Sure, it would be fine for a boy. But there’s no way he can spread out there. “You can have the bed tonight. We can swap.”

“Luella—”

“It’s only fair.”

Eldas has a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I am the king; I think I decide what’s fair.”

“I think you’re wrong. The queen should have a say as well.”

“If she insists, I’d be a fool to fight her.”

“Glad you’ve finally realized.” I assume the same seat as last night, admiring the spread he’s prepared. “You weren’t joking about enjoying cooking.”

“It’s not much.”

“Humility doesn’t suit you.” I flash him a teasing grin and begin to dig in. There are rashers of bacon, fried eggs, hunks of sourdough grilled on the skillet, and every thing tastes better than the last.

“Slow down, no one is going to take it from you,” he says.

“I can’t help but notice you piling your plate just as heavy.”

Eldas merely grins.

When we’re finished, Eldas loads the dishes into a deep sink and sends me upstairs to dress. I try and move as quickly as possible. My mother always insisted that whoever cooked in the house didn’t clean. But I’m too late. By the time I’m back downstairs in my own shirt and trousers he’s drying his hands on his apron, a slightly smug satisfaction alight in his eyes.

“Cooking and now cleaning?” I arch my brows. “Are you really the same Eldas as in the castle?”

“Here I am free of the castle and free of its burdens. This place is an escape for me as well.” He stands a little straighter, as if no longer crushed by the weight of his position or trauma those walls haunt him with. I narrowly resist saying that he should just live here, for good. “I think it’s time to show you the grounds.”

We leave through the double doors at the back of the kitchen. Creeping vines cover the entirety of a pergola, offering a shaded area over a patio. The pavers spill over a ledge, down a staircase, and wrap around a pool of sparkling blue. I walk over to the low stone wall next to the stairs.

“This place is…” The words escape as a whisper.

To the left of the pool is a copse of trees surrounded by gardens. They terrace upward and into the mountain until they’re entirely claimed by the forest at the mountain’s foot. To the right of the pool is a field of wildflowers have taken over. There are more gardens at the far edge and I can see the sheen of water between the rows of plants that I suspect will only grow in swampier environments.

“It’s yours,” Eldas reminds me again. His breath moves the edges of my hair at the nape of my neck. My whole body aches at the sound of his voice so close.

Before me is a garden I couldn’t have dreamed about if I tried. Behind me is a house, simple and comfortable. A house that I would’ve longed for if I’d ever thought of moving to the countryside.

“It’s wonderful.”