Page 203 of Blade of the Nightking

“Oh my gods.” I made an inarticulate sound of outrage, and heard him huff behind me.

Slowly, against my better judgment, I looked upward. A mirror covered the entirety of the ceiling.

I slapped a hand over my eyes. “Oh, that is disgusting.”

“Don't worry, Eidra.” I spun toward the calm sound of his voice. His fingers worked at the clasp of his cloak. “I have no plans of sharing a bed with you.”

I opened my mouth to retort, just as he swept the cloak off his shoulders, exposing his bare torso. Any words I had died before they ever reached my lips.

Good Gods…

His body was hard and chiselled, broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, every line of him sharply defined. Pale traces of salt clung to his skin, highlighting the ridges and hollows of muscle. A fine trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers, framed by the angular cut of his hips. I flushed at the sight.

Rìan seemed entirely unaware of the effect he was having. Or perhaps he simply didn't care. He crossed to the washstand beside the door. A ceramic basin sat atop it, filled with fresh water. Scooping up a handful, he bent and splashed it over his face before dragging wet fingers back through his hair. Then he soaked a cloth in the basin and ran it absently over his neck, shoulders, and chest, wiping away the remaining crust from the flats.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. His muscles flexed and rolled beneath his skin with every movement, powerful and fluid, carrying an almost predatory grace.

I remained rooted where I stood as he crossed to a dresser and opened a drawer. He rifled through it before pulling out a bundle of clothes and tossing them unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Dress,” he ordered. As though I wasn't standing three feet away, he turned his back to me and stripped off his soaked trousers. I looked away so fast I nearly wrenched my neck. Behind me came the unmistakable rustle of fabric as he changed.

Keeping my gaze firmly averted, I sidled toward the bed and reached for the bundle of clothes. And realized the sodden shirts were still clutched in my hands.

Gods.

I stared at them in horror, suddenly remembering I'd spent the better part of the day sucking on the hem of Rìan's shirt. I stifled a groan, dropped both garments onto the floor with a wet slap, and snatched up the fresh clothes instead. The fabric was impossibly soft beneath my fingers—a cream-colored shirt that fell nearly to my knees and a pair of charcoal drawstring trousers.

I risked a glance over my shoulder, checking that he was still facing away from me. His back remained turned. He'd already pulled on a pair of pants and was tying them at his waist, a simple black shirt slung over one shoulder.

Quickly, I stripped off my own wet clothes. As I reached for the clean garments folded on the chair, my gaze snagged on my reflection in the mirrored wall.

Gods. A film of salt coated my skin. It clung to my cheeks and forehead, traced the curve of my jaw, and had even gathered inside my ears. Strands of hair stuck out in every direction, stiff with it. Crossing the room in three quick steps, I hurried to the washstand. When I rinsed away the worst of it, I reached for the clean clothes.

The trousers felt like heaven when I tugged them on. Warm. Soft. Dry. I nearly sighed with relief. I didn't even mind that they were two sizes too big and that I had to roll the waistband several times to keep them from sliding off my hips.

My shirt posed a different problem. The band wrapped around my chest was drenched enough that it would soak through any clean fabric. Keeping my back to Rìan, I unwound it and draped it carefully over the swing to dry, trying very hard not to think about who had used it before me—or for what purpose.

Unfortunately, I glanced up at the mirrored wall in front of me to find Rìan staring at me.

“Excuse me!” I yanked the shirt to my chest.

But he didn't look away, didn't even look ashamed at being caught.

“Your bargain mark...” His voice trailed off.

He wasn't looking at my chest at all. His attention was fixed entirely on my back.

Confusion swiftly replaced my embarrassment. Twisting toward the mirror, I strained to look over my shoulder. “My bargain mark?”

But Rìan was already moving. He crossed the room in a handful of strides, his attention locked onto me. “Rìan, what are⁠—”

Without waiting for me to finish, he caught my arm and spun me back toward the mirror. I stumbled, catching myself with one hand against the glass, the other still gripping the shirt desperately to my chest. I tried to straighten, but his hand settled against the nape of my neck, keeping me firmly in place.

“Hold still.”

His fingers brushed my skin, trailing down my spine. Instantly, every nerve in my body sharpened at once, painfully aware of the roughness of his calluses beneath his feather-light touch. His eyes followed the path of his hand lower.

A shiver slipped through me before I could stop it, my back arching instinctively beneath his fingertips.