Page 46 of Consort's Glory
Because he was aware of everything about her, Theodore noticed that she had changed since their leisurely breakfast in her suite, her pajamas replaced with a soft green sweater over a black skirt and tights, but he only relished seeing her in the clothes he gave her for a moment.
The surprise and delight of seeing her, of her seeking him out, usurped everything else.
Theodore could feel the heavy gazes of his brother and Valen on his back, but he disregarded them. Just then, only she mattered. “Is everything alright?” he asked, fighting the urge to reach out and cup her neck, to draw her close. The only reason he bothered was because he knew Margot was shy and might balk at such an open display of affection in front of strangers.
Unsurprisingly, Margot’s copper eyes darted past him, taking in the two men sitting in front of his huge, natural-edge desk. The only sign of surprise she showed was the smallest bobbing of her throat as she swallowed.
“Everything is fine,” she answered, steering her eyes back to him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Andy said I should.”
I’ll bet she did, he thought wryly. Andy was a hopeless romantic. Theodore had lost count of the number of times she’d pressed him on why he hadn’t sought out Margot yet. The moment she was within range for him to get a lock on her location, and after the subsequent frenzied hunt for information on the new healer in residence at the St. Francis Woods Healing House, Theodore heard little else from his beloved Houserunner-turned-grandmother.
The rustle of clothing preceded Valen dryly remarking, “And I’m sure my consort had a very good reason for sending you.”
A flash of confusion momentarily wiped away the carefully neutral mask Margot wore. She peered at Valen. “Your consort?”
Theodore cracked a small smile. It did something to him to finally hear her say that word. It almost felt as good as hearing her say his name.
“Yes.” Pleasure made his voice a touch huskier than was appropriate. He skimmed the tips of his claws over her elbow. “That’s what elves call their mates. Andy is Valen’s consort and vice versa. You might call them bondmates, or spouses. It’s all the same.”
It was fascinating to watch Margot’s lightning quick mind process information in real time. He could practically feel it through their nascent bond, a current of pure electricity through his mind. Beautiful.
Margot tilted her head to look at Valen around Theodore, her caution apparently overridden by her curiosity. “Not exactly the same,” she primly replied. “A bondmate isn’t always like a spouse.”
Theodore’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“Witches don’t always choose to bond with a romantic partner.” Margot canted her head to one side, then the other way, as if weighing her words. “The bond is a necessary side effect of being a gloriana or glorian. We need it to survive. Its formation doesn’t hinge on romantic or sexual interest, and it’s not a necessary component of reproduction like some bonds are for other races.” Her gaze flickered in Kaz’s direction, but didn’t linger.
She looked up at him through her lashes, hesitating. When he nodded, urging her to continue, she said, “Most witches can bond with anyone they choose. It’s true that many people wait for their romantic partner, but I know several bondmates who chose siblings, friends, or non-romantic life partners to bond with. My grandmother and my Noni, for instance, are life partners who bonded later in life than most.” She looked away. “It’s about trust. Whoever you can trust with your life, your magic — that’s what makes a bondmate.”
Theodore got the sense that Margot was cutting herself off, no doubt because of his continued insistence that he was her bondmate. Theodore wanted to tell her to continue, to talk and talk and talk. Listening to her speak was a luxury he had no intention of taking for granted.
Still, something in her explanation niggled at him. Examining her closely, he said, “Most witches?”
“Most witches what?”
“You said most witches can bond with anyone they choose.” Theodore narrowed his eyes. Was that alarm he saw tightening the skin around her eyes? “That implies there are some who can’t.”
If he wasn’t so acutely attuned to her, he might have missed the way she leaned back ever-so-slightly, as if she sought to pull away, to put distance between them. Impossible now that she lived in his skin as well as his heart.
“There are,” she answered stiffly. Theodore didn’t need their weak psychic link to know she was remembering their conversation over breakfast yesterday.
He would have pushed for more, but Theodore heard Valen sidling up behind him and forced himself to step back. Later.
“Margot, this is Valen Yadav. He’s General of Patrol.” Glancing at the man who helped raise him, added a deferential nod. “He’s also family.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Healer Goode,” Valen said, his critical eye sweeping over her bruised face and down, no doubt taking in her wispy build and lack of claws, fangs, or muscle with which to defend herself. Theodore could see the displeasure hardening Valen’s already stony expression before his assessment was even through.
Margot’s shoulders stiffened. “Likewise, General.”
He winced. She noticed it too, but unlike him, she didn’t have the context to understand that Valen didn’t find her lacking, but saw the same fragility that made Theodore see red whenever he considered a threat to her. Valen didn’t care what she looked like or what her race was. He worried about her ability to defend herself.
“Why don’t you come take a seat?” Valen stepped aside and gestured to his empty chair. “We were just about to come get you. I would like to ask you a few questions about the bombing.”
“That’s actually why I’m here.” Margot didn’t make any motion toward the threshold of Theodore’s study. It was a marked difference from the way she drifted, dreamlike, into the room the previous day. “Andy was dropping off my supplements when she got an alert that someone was trying to reach me.”
Theodore’s spine stiffened. His claws, hidden under the silver claw-caps of his gloves, flexed hard, sending a sharp bite of pain-pleasure up through his fingertips. “Who was it?”
“Angelique Batacan. She says she has a lead on who planted the bomb.”
