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I have to pretend I know nothing about it. “Why? Did you dream I uncovered your secrets?” I laugh. “Oooh. Watch out, husband. I know where you’re keeping the crown.”
He blinks. “You did something, and you know it.”
I get up and stand in front of him. “I did nothing. Maybe if you tell me what happened, we can find a solution. Is that how it’s going to be? You’re going to wake me up every time you have a nightmare?”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Nightmare.”
“You’re saying I give you bad dreams.”
He stares at me. “Astra, don’t lie to me. Just stop doing whatever you’re doing. I’m asking you. It’s not going to work. It annoys me. It’s pathetic.”
He must think I love it or something. Well, to be fair, when I’m dreaming, I do like it. Yikes.
I ignore those bizarre thoughts and shake my head. “I can’t stop something I’m not doing. If you’re having trouble falling asleep, find someone who can cure you. Drink a sleeping draught, I don’t know. What do I have to do with it?”
He huffs. “If I find out you’re lying, there will be consequences.” His voice is a low, threatening rumble.
Still, I roll my eyes, then smirk. “Oh, really? What are you going to do, kidnap me, then keep me as a prisoner on an island?”
He leans over, so that his nose is almost touching mine. “Oh, no, not on an island. There are much, much worse places than here.”
His proximity, his deep voice, his presence, and perhaps the memory of the dream almost makes me want to ask him to take me wherever he wants, do whatever he wants, as if it had been an invitation, not a threat. Perhaps it’s his insanely compelling eyes.
I am losing my mind.
I keep my face flat. “I’m not doing anything, husband.” I shrug. “But if you want help figuring out what’s going on, maybe I can help.”
Haha. Would he confess what he’s been seeing in his dreams? That would be cute.
“Mark my words, and don’t play with me.” He points a finger at me.
It takes a mighty effort to shut down the memory of what that finger was doing just now, but I manage it.
“I have no intention of ever playing with you, so there’s no reason to worry.” I hope he understands the double meaning of playing, and I hope he takes the hint.
He stares at me, his breath somewhat ragged—just like in the dream. I wonder what would happen if he kissed me. I wonder if he would like to kiss me.
I wonder if I got hit in the head.
Surprised at my own thoughts, I step back, crossing my arms so as not to show any signs of trembling. Did I just want him? While wide awake? This is terrible. But then, I realize what he’s wearing, or rather, not wearing.
I scoff. “And it’s quite rich of you to accuse me of trying to seduce you, when you come in here half naked.” He’s only wearing some kind of sleep trousers, and they hang low, so low on his hips that I can see a trail of dark hair leading down there. Not only that, his nipples look stiff and purplish, as if he’d just taken a very cold shower, or perhaps involved himself in ice.
He stares at himself. “So what? I’m half roasted, right?”
I shrug. “Imagine if I got into your room bare chested when you were half asleep.”
His eyes look down at my breasts, constricted under the tight dress, then move up quickly, as if he’s catching himself, as if he just imagined it.
Oh, no. It wasn’t my intention.
I hope he hasn’t just conjured a sexy version of me walking into his room, tits exposed, but I think he did. But there is something satisfying about it, satisfying in knowing that despite all his talk that I’m undesirable, he can still feel something.
He smiles, a cold, calculated smile. “It would be pathetic, wife. Desperate, useless, and sad.”
“Then you’re being pathetic right now.” I get angry and my ability to come up with decent replies disappears. I know, it’s sad.
“I really don’t think so.” He chuckles and leaves.
