Chapter 45
Feelings of pity for myself evaporate the second I sink into the copper bathtub. The water is near scorching, and it does wonders to eviscerate the tidal wave of emotions I’ve been struggling to hold in.
The tub sits next to a bench stocked with more soaps and towels than I could ever imagine needing to use.
Sniffing my way through the assortment, I settle on a purple soap that reminds me of the field of flowers where Acker and I ate strawberries together. I scrub every inch of my body and wash my hair three times before I’m satisfied with my work. Then I relax in the neck-deep water. I allow myself the reprieve, letting myself enjoy a luxury I never imagined I’d experience in my life. It puts my shiel’s little exclusive-use water reservoir that I used to think so highly of to shame.
After nearly dozing off twice, I step from the water with red and raw skin, no longer glowing to any degree, and wrap a towel around myself. It takes all my effort to make it to the bed, where I throw myself down. It feels like I take the first real breath I’ve had in weeks.
“I see you’re already enjoying the comforts of the palace.”
I snap into a sitting position, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of Beau lounging in one of the overstuffed armchairs. “Dang rabbits,” I mutter.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
Legs thrown over the arm opposite the one her head is propped against, she smiles, twisting the metal rope between her hands. “Good. It’ll remind you to never let your guard down.” She settles the rope on the back of the chair. “Not here.”
“What happened to you?” I tighten the towel around my chest. “You disappeared when we arrived.”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s not filled with her usual sass. “Had to deal with the farmer who believed you were an appropriate target for his rotten produce.”
“Deal with … how?” I say, squeezing the excess water from my hair.
“You’ll see,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate.
“What are you doing here?”
Sitting up, she points a thumb to fresh garments hung over the other chair. “Delivering your wardrobe. Apparently, you scared poor Stassia half to death, to the point she has all the other maidservants in a tizzy, refusing to serve you. Hence…” She motions to her person.
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I didn’t do anything to her,” I say in defense.
“I know that, but my father insisted I set the example, so I’ll be the one escorting you to dinner and anywhere else you’d like until further notice.”
Escorting me.
“It’ll be fun,” she continues, exhaustion seeping through her demeanor.
It goes unsaid that she just needs a break, maybe some food and a decent night’s rest, before she can brave another day of people with strong emotions. Especially if she’s going to be accompanying me of all people.
“Well,” I say, sliding down from the obscenely tall bed. “I’m in no need of your services tonight.”
I rifle through the heaps of clothes and find the undergarments, pulling them on under my towel. It’s the softest underwear to ever grace my bottom, that’s for damn sure. Butter underwear.
Beau tilts her head at me. “Are you not wanting to attend the dinner tonight?”
“And be subject to more passive-aggressive judgment regarding my return?” I give her a sardonic grin, a teasing, knowing look I hope she can decipher without me having to speak the words. “I’ll pass.”
A little sign of life sparks behind her eyes. “Acker will be concerned if I don’t deliver you at the appointed time.”
I shrug like I’m indifferent. “Let him be.”
She smirks in return, as if she likes that I’m not worried about Acker’s need to know everything I’m doing at all times, but it’s quick to lose its brightness as she fights a yawn. “In that case, you’ll get no further pressing from me.”
I whip the nightgown in my hands at her. “Go get some sleep.”
She slides her rope back around her wrist, the majority of the length resting in the crook of her elbow, and stands, facing me head-on. We’re the same height, but she has a way of making me feel smaller than I really am.
It feels like a test of sorts, a challenge to hold my ground.
After a moment, she smiles at me. “I’ll be here first thing in the
morning.”
“Bring more underwear.”
She laughs, turning to the door. “You’ve got it, princess.”
As she exits, I make eye contact with the two soldiers who lurk across from my door in the hallway. They don’t react to my dress or lack thereof, but there’s something in the leer of the one on the right that I don’t like. I shut the door and lock it.
At least the brigs in Alaha didn’t present themselves as anything but what they were. I don’t need my cell to be comfortable. I would actually prefer that it wasn’t, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.
I make quick work of hanging the garments in the armoire and moving the rest of the unmentionables and nightgowns to the chest of drawers. I test out the chair Beau vacated, throwing my legs over the side like she did. The ceiling is painted, I realize—clouds and bursts of sun rays mimicking the sky. It’s a poor representation, but I can admire the artwork, even if it is a little lackluster compared to the gold ornamentation I’ve seen elsewhere in the palace.
My eyes begin to droop. I look at the bed. So very far away, too far away to get up when this chair is more comfortable than anywhere I’ve slept in so long. It’ll do just fine.
I dream of rabbits. Lots and lots of rabbits at my feet. They stand on their hind legs to reach for the food in my hands. I hand them carrots and green stalks of kale. The sound of their munches brings a smile to my face.
Then there are too many sights and sounds and smells. I’m standing in a dining hall. The voices of the mass of people reverberate off the golden ceiling, causing a cacophony of muddled conversation. Tables that line either side of the room are laden with a glut of food the likes of which I’ve never seen before: platters upon platters of fresh fruit and vegetables and meats. People loiter around them, picking through the plentiful helpings, while others sit to eat their meals.
They pass by without a care in the world for the girl who’s standing half naked in the dead center of the noisy congregation.
The thicket of crowd parts, and I spot Acker standing with a small gathering of keen admirers. They’re all vying for his attention. The men are enthusiastic, yes, but the women … they’re unmatched in their endeavors.
He makes a point to look at whoever is speaking, but they’re all in competition to hold his focus, so his eyes never remain on one person for much longer than a sentence or two. He seems engaged, nodding and smiling at the right times. Someone cracks a joke, and he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.
But none of it is genuine. I know this to be true because all of it falls away when he sees me. There’s a noticeable jerk of his frame, eyes gaining clarity as he takes in my exposed skin, my towel doing the absolute bare minimum to cover the more salacious parts of me.
The girl closest to him notices he’s distracted, and she looks over her shoulder to follow his gaze. Her hair falls away from her face, revealing her beauty. She looks left and right, brow pinching in confusion before turning back to Acker, touching his forearm to gain his attention. He snaps out of his surprise and looks at her with those dark eyes, made to draw people in.
It provokes a sting in my chest I don’t like.
I can’t dwell on it.
No. Now is the time to test the limits of this Bond, to see what I can do within its confines.
I keep my eyes on Acker as I pad barefoot across the marble floor.
He hurries to dismiss himself, skirting around the beautiful girl. As I navigate through the crowd, our gazes meet and are lost over and over
between the bodies. He’s within hearing distance after just a handful of
strides.
“I’m angry with you,” I tell him.
He stalks through the ebb and flow of people. “Are you?” he says, casually dismissing someone with a hand on the shoulder when they try to stop him.
Sliding a hand along a table, I pick up a fork. “I am.”
His eyes flit around, making sure no one sees the fork levitating as I stab a piece of melon. I bring it to my mouth, but it’s snatched out of my grasp by Acker as he calls the metal with his gift.
“Tell me why,” he says, placing the speared fruit down on another table.
“It’s a long list.”
He’s closing in, and it reminds me of all those weeks ago when we were at the Market, how he hunted me down and changed my life forever.
He picks up a goblet and drinks, using it as a prop to dissuade other people from approaching him, avoiding eye contact. “Start at the top.”
“First,” I say, sidestepping his attempt to grab me, “you marched me through your city like a prized horse.”
“Better than being carted to the stable to be put down like a lame one.”
I stop as I reach the wall of stained-glass windows. The lanterns cast a glare across the colored panes, making it impossible to see out. My reflection shines back at me, and I can see Acker’s over my shoulder.
I turn to face him. “You’re doing a terrible job of apologizing.”
He grins, placing a hand on the sill next to me. To anyone else, he’s a man merely contemplating his drink. To me, he looks like one of the gods come down from on high to seduce me. Flames flicker in the lamp above, casting lights and shadows dancing across his features, drawing attention to the way his lashes fan across the top of his cheeks.
“I’m waiting until I’ve heard the whole list,” he says, eyes trailing down my chest, then to the slit where my towel gaps at the top of my thighs.
“What are the rest of my transgressions?”
“You stranded me before your father.” I focus on keeping my breathing deep and even, not wanting to let on how much he affects me. “So I guess it is comparable to putting a horse out for slaughter.”
This sobers him real quick, features hardening at my accusation. “Is that
what you think?”
“Don’t belittle me, Acker.”
He swirls the dark liquid in the cup in his hand, jaw tense. “I understand you’re unfamiliar with the ways of my people and I don’t hold that against you, but everyone must stand before the king upon their arrival. It’s customary.”
“Oh, it was wonderful,” I say, sarcasm heavy on my tongue. “Meeting my Match’s father, standing alone, before all of the royal court who laughed at me for the juvenile use of my gift. All while covered in rotten tomato.”
He rises to his full height, drinking the remainder of the contents of his glass before setting it on the ledge beside me. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair.”
I lift a shocked eyebrow at his admission.
“Nothing about our lives is fair, Jovie,” he says, dark eyes holding mine.
The frank honesty in his voice catches me off guard. “I guess I just expected…” I don’t finish the thought, too ashamed by the rest of the sentence to voice it.
But he catches it anyway, a smile softening the blow to my ego.
“There’s not a person in this court or on this earth you’re not capable of standing before.” He slides his hand along the window, pretending to trace the reflections of light until he reaches my shoulder, drawing the back of his fingers over the skin without being conspicuous. “How’s your hand?”
I lift my palm up for him to see the wound scabbing over. He runs a thumb around the pink flesh, then he brings it to his mouth where he licks along the tender area with the flat of his tongue. It sends a bolt of lightning straight down through my stomach and to my core. I dare a glance around us, making sure no one sees their prince doing filthy things with his mouth, but no one seems to notice with Acker’s back to the room.
He doesn’t let go of my hand, trapping it between our bodies as he leans in close, placing his lips next to my ear. “I am a starving man, Jovie. Don’t appear without clothes again.”
“Or what?” I say, not recognizing the timbre of my voice.
Lips tracing the outer shell of my ear, he tilts his pelvis toward mine, revealing the truth of his arousal. “Or I’ll make you finally confront the desire you’ve been so determined to pretend doesn’t exist between us.”
I suck in a deep breath, hating the way his words only add fuel to the fire wanting to rage inside me.
He pulls far enough back for me to see the same heat mirrored in his gaze. “Better wake up.” Then he swipes the goblet from the window ledge and turns to speak with the man approaching, a pleasant facade back in place. As if the last few moments never happened.
I’m grateful for the out, taking swift steps to the massive hall’s doors. I don’t know where I’m going. The palace is huge, but I don’t slow as I find the nearest stairs and take them two at a time. Their dark trim and handrails are nothing like the gold I remember leading to my room.
I’ve just reached the landing when I see a rabbit on the top step. It hops down one, nose turned up as it sniffs the air, before continuing down. I keep moving, taking the first turning I see, and stop dead in my tracks when I spot another rabbit. And another. Three, to be exact.
How odd.
Stepping over the animals, I look up and see twice as many again.
They’re multiplying. One hops to me, and I bend to pick it up, cradling the soft animal to my chest and scratching behind its ears. Then it exposes its mouth, revealing long and ghastly fangs, and I drop it.
I blink and I’m somewhere else entirely, a greenhouse covered in snow.
“Jovie,” a voice calls.
I spin toward it and awake from my dream with a start, clutching for a rabbit I’m no longer holding. The room is dark, the oil in the lanterns burned out. And I’m alone.
I find the nightgown I had been holding earlier and slide it on. The bed looks much more enticing now, and I slip between the sheets with a heavy sigh. I’m so tired that when the door opens, I don’t even move. If someone is here with ill intent, I’ll accept my death as a mercy. Or maybe I’m not afraid because I already know who he is by the silhouette of his figure. The tether responds with a dull throb.
Unlacing his boots, he kicks them off haphazardly on his way to the bed. My eyes have adjusted enough that I’m able to admire the cut of his body as he strips off his shirt, then his pants, before climbing into the bed wearing only his underwear.
I somehow find enough energy to use my voice. “This isn’t appropriate,” I remind him.
He reaches for me under the covers, filling my nose with his scent as he pulls me toward him. “I told you: once we reached the palace, I’d sleep where you sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s how that was said.”
He groans into the soft bedding, adjusting the blankets over the both of us. “I’m not going to let gossipers stop me from helping my Match get better rest.” He threads his legs through mine and rests his palm on my hip.
“I would have been here sooner, but I was hoping to corner my father at dinner regarding the annullment of my betrothal.”
I know I should feel bad for sharing a bed with an engaged man, but I can’t find it in me. I’m pretty sure I never want to leave this bed. Ever.
“And?”
His sigh is answer enough. “He never showed. I asked his aide of his whereabouts, but he wasn’t forthcoming.”
Hmm.
I place my hand over the hard plane on his chest, above his heart. He stills at the touch. It’s the first time I’ve initiated contact of my own accord.
There’s no hidden agenda or contention underlining my gesture, just a simple desire to feel him. I slide my palm up his chest, running my fingers along the dip of muscle where it meets his shoulder. Slowly, the tension in his body fades as I explore parts of him I’ve only ever been able to appreciate from afar.
He follows my lead, using my unspoken invitation to do his own exploring, hand at my hip gliding over the curve of my waist until he reaches the end of my nightgown. Easing his hand underneath the fabric, he takes a breath at the feel of my bare skin under his palm. There’s a slow, agonizing pulse of desire coursing through my body.
“I wasn’t going to put you in a carriage like a disgraceful secret,” he says, feeling along the small of my back.
It’s difficult to concentrate on his words when his fingers are alternating between featherlight touches and firm-pressured sweeps along the length of my spine.
“My father may wield most of the power, but I have favor with the people. I wanted them to see that I am in favor of you and not ashamed to call you my match.”
It feels like my heart is at the base of my throat as I absorb his words. I keep my eyes trained on my hand, avoiding the intensity of his gaze as I drag my fingers along his throat, across the bump of his Adam’s apple.
I can’t disguise the hurt in my voice. “They still seemed less than pleased by me riding with you despite how much they love you,” I whisper.
“There’s not as much in opposition to your return as it looks,” he says, voice vibrating his throat underneath the tips of my fingers. “It’s a small and vocal fraction compared to those who welcome your return. Give them
time. The fearful will come around.”
He’s asking for grace for his people.
I drag my hand down the center of his chest until I feel the steady beat of his heart under my hand again. “Okay.”
He snakes a hand under my neck, sinking his fingers through the hair at my nape, tugging to angle my head toward his awaiting mouth. “And I’d like to parade my prized horse around a few more times.”
I pinch the skin at his side, but all he does is smile as he tilts his head in for a kiss. There’s no hesitation on my end as I meet him fully, using the sleep clouding my judgment as an excuse to indulge.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
