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Dreamland
That’s what Elain called it. Her dreamland. A state of nebulous nothingness, where her head was an animal. A wild animal that could not be controlled. It was a landscape of visions, nonsense, lucidity, periods of terror, and periods of pleasure.
The pleasure came from when she was with the handsome one…what was his name? Azriel.
He was kind to her. Always. And such sadness in his eyes—she thought that they were green? They looked green, a lively forest-green—when he looked at her. Sadness, but not pity, exactly. There was understanding in his eyes, on that beautiful, but utterly cold face—like he knew her inside and out, and understood precisely what was happening to her, even if she didn’t know herself.
Moments with him was when she was the most aware. He was always unbearably gentle, taking her by the hand, like she was a little girl, and leading her out into the garden. Weather permitting, they’d sit together, in companiable silence, never needing to chat or annoy each other with words. He always worked. Truthfully, she thought that he worked much too much, with endless stack of reports that he was reading through, sorting them into different piles, sometimes drinking tea with her, sometimes, sipping on a whiskey. She liked it when he drank whiskey and sometimes, she dreamt that she could lick his lower lip and taste the bitterness on her tongue. When such thoughts crossed her mind, he always raised his eyes to her, a small, handsome smirk on his lips, his face changed somehow, amused.
One time, he was frowning. Something in the report that didn’t sit well with him. She didn’t know why she did it, but she reached out and pressed her thumb between his bunched brows and smoothed it gently, rubbing at it. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.
“Don’t frown,” she said. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
She made him laugh that time. He never truly laughed, not like that. But it was just the two of them, and he threw his head back and laughed. And maybe, she wanted to kiss his neck.
But he was absent a lot, and she sat by herself, waiting. Waiting for him. For her head to clear. She knew that when he returned, he’d seek her out. Why, she had no idea. Maybe she gave him peace.
He couldn’t possibly be interested in sitting with her, in silence. He was probably bored to death, shuffling through his papers. But…If he’d only known what it meant to her. That one person, one man—male—didn’t treat her like she was insane. Her sister thought that she might be. That read-headed male, who was her ‘mate’—whatever that meant—he thought that she was mad as well. The High Lord looked at her with some sadness, incomprehension. He also didn’t know. Even the tiny angry angel among them, she wasn’t sure either. Though her quick silver eyes were knowing, like she saw her the same way as Azriel.
When Azriel was with her, she left the dreamland.
He’d find her, and take her by the hand, and sometimes, when no one was watching, he’d thread his fingers with hers. His hand was massive, horribly scarred, and unfailingly gentle. She had thoughts about that hand as well, but she kept them to herself. She was engaged after all, and such thoughts were improper. But she couldn’t help herself. Those hands were magic.
They’d find a quiet corner in the townhouse and sit together, and it was a good day in Elain’s life. But then, he’d be gone again, and she’d return to the mental whirlpool of confusion and pain, until the next time. Until Azriel returned and took her hand in his.
It started with a cardamom bun.
Sometimes, Azriel and she ate together. Not meals. Snacks. He always worried that she was too thin, and she heard whispers among the others how they were concerned about her not eating. Azriel, true to form, never said anything to her, but when they drank their tea, he sometimes attempted to sneak something to her—a dainty finger sandwich, a scone, a pastry. Up until today, he was unsuccessful. She always smiled softly at him, but did not eat.
It was early, but Elain was awake.
Her head felt clear today, unusually so. She came downstairs and saw the shadowy twins working at the counter, preparing breakfast. She said ‘good morning’, and then, she felt him behind her. He didn’t touch, or say anything, and his steps were feathers-soft, but she knew. She always sensed him around her. Maybe it was his scent.
Today, he rested his hand on the small of her back, for the first time. It just rested there, touching lightly. She did not look at him, but stepped into the touch. ‘Good morning,’ he greeted all of them. He was always polite, and the twins liked him—Elain could see it—more than others. There was a special kind of relationship that he had with them, but Elain was too confused to discern the nature of it. He gently nudged her forward, towards the table and pulled the chair for her, before sitting himself across from her. Wordlessly, he extended his hand and she lay her palm across it, giving him a glance over. “You look beautiful today, Elain,” he said simply, as if they were discussing the weather.
Nuala set coffee and tea service on the table and then a basket of pastries, quiche, and smoked meats. Azriel poured Elain her tea, and then…she reached out and set a sweet bun on his plate. “Thank you,” he said a little stiffly. She wondered if she broke some protocol, some unspoken rule. “You don’t want it?” she asked awkwardly.
It was as if some strange internal battle was taking place, his eyes stormy, even if his expression remained stoic and unreadable as always. The twins looked at the two of them with the same unreadable, placid expression. He chewed his lip for a moment and then said, “Thank you. Of course I want it. But will you do me a favour?”
Elain nodded. She wanted to do him a favour. Anything he asked her, really. She’d do anything for him. As long as he held her hand like this.
“Will you eat for me?”
When she did not answer, he tried again, “It would please me very much if you ate with me. I don’t like eating alone.”
A pretty, sweet lie. Elain saw right through it. But she wanted to please him, and she was…hungry. Maybe for the first time in months, she was feeling a pang in her stomach, a clench of hunger. “Alright,” she agreed. He smiled that luminous rare smile of his and then placed a cardamom bun on her plate.
Elain sipped her tea and then bit into the bun, and it was a revelation. Suddenly, a new world opened up to her. The bun was pillowy and buttery, subtly scented with cardamom and lemon and as she chewed it, her head began to settle, and her taste buds awoke. She’d never tasted anything like this before—sweet and savoury, comforting and homey.
She didn’t know what ‘homey’ even meant anymore. Was it Greyson? It didn’t feel like Greyson. The bun didn’t feel like her old life, like the human lands. The townhouse? Velaris? Probably not either.
She raised her eyes and met a pair of forest-green ones. They watched her. They always watched her. Maybe this was home? Her new home, a dreamland inside those eyes.
“I’d like to bake,” she decided resolutely, surprising even herself.
Azriel looked at her and nodded, calm as always, like he was expecting this declaration from her, and then a quick glance at the twins. Perhaps an order? A command?
“We’d love to bake with you, Elain,” said Nuala at once, nodding as well.
“Bread, if possible?” requested Elain. The twins nodded in unison. “I’d like to learn to bake like you two,” she proposed. “And pasties. I have some recipes I can share, if you’d like.”
“Absolutely,” said Nuala.
“I make blackberry tarts,” Elain finished her cardamom bun, and then, found another one on her plate. Azriel was silent, allowing the females to talk baking. “They are quite good. It was my nanny’s recipe.”
“Blackberry tarts are Azriel’s favourite,” piped in Cerridwen, as she arrived at the table and handed Elain a folded piece of cloth.
She was rewarded for her unexpected honesty by a sharp look from Azriel, but she only shrugged and went back to the stove, to stir the porridge.
“Are they?” Elain looked at him shyly.
A small smile from him and he opened his palms to her, “They are,” he confirmed.
“Then I shall make you some,” she decided and unfolded Cerridwen’s gift. It was an apron.
Resolutely, she stood up, stuffing the rest of her bun in her mouth. “Then let’s make some bread,” she decided and tied the apron around her waist.
“You, madam, look like you a beast with sugar and yeast,” chuckled Azriel, and the twins laughed as well.
Elain looked at the three of them—her friends. Her new friends. The four of them were friends.
Only later did she notice that Azriel did not eat the pastry that she had offered him and placed on his plate. She did not know why. But she vowed to make him something that he would eat, and enjoy.
So she stepped out of the dreamworld, never to return, and went to her new home, which smelled like fresh bread, tasted like blackberry tarts and looked like forest-green eyes.