Iamwilting, but only since I discovered Rhordyn has been lying to me all these years. Since he told me he only did so to maintain a pledge to a dying woman, and I realized I’m more than just a burden.
I’m a thorn in his side.
“So, you want more time?” Cainon asks, jarring me out of my reverie. He sounds open to compromise, and that’s not something I’m used to handling.
I lift my chin and attempt to fortify my spine. “Yes.”
His hands tighten on the windowsill, knuckles whitening, and for a moment I think he’s about to deny me. But with a long sigh, he spins, a silky smile hooking one corner of his mouth and exposing that cheek dimple I’m beginning to grow fond of.
He’s a very handsome man. Deeply masculine, stacked with smooth, confident sex appeal.
This forced pairing could be worse.
He grips the leash of my braid again. “Two days, Orlaith. No more.”
My heart plummets.
Thatbarelyqualifies as a compromise ...
“I’ll leave a ship and two personal guards to escort you to my territory when you’ve ...” he clears his throat and glances around, “finalized your affairs.”
I try to ignore Baze’s distant muttering.
“That’s”—ridiculous—”generous of you,” I say with a loose smile.
He pulls my braid until I’m leaning forward and his breath is hot on my ear. “Tug those roots out. Cut them off if you have to. This is not the right place for you.” He drops my hair and spins. “Two days. Or you can expect the escort of an entirefleet.”
My mouth pops open as he stalks through the door without a backward glance.
Why would he make such a ridiculous statement? Perhaps he’s trying to impress me with all his pretty boats. Either that or he thinks the threat will help me pry me from this tower.
All it really makes me want to do is punch him.
His footsteps fade and I finally relax, resting my cheek against the cool kiss of the window while I study the forest far below.
From up here, it looks like a blanket of moss; soft and inviting compared to the jagged edges of Castle Noir. Yet here I am, staring down on that forest as if it’s about to crack its maw and devour me.
“Come in,” I mutter, voice monotone.
Heavy footsteps advance, pausing not too far from me.
Letting my anger simmer until it’s a gusty firestorm, I peel my cheek from the glass, only to be scalded by Baze’s own cinder stare.
My head snaps back. “What?”
“You know what,” he spits, stance widening as if we have swords in our hands and he’s preparing to duel. “What about your training? What about your life and all the people who care about you?” His hands bunch at his sides, knuckles milky. “The ones who would ratherdiethan see you revert back to that small, silent child who never knew how to smile?”
I glare at him for a long moment before shaking my head. “I don’t remember that.”
“Exactly.”
We may not be wielding weapons, but he lands that word like a strike to the back.
He takes a step forward, jerking his chin at my painting station. “Who do you think made your first paintbrush, Orlaith?”
My heart misses a beat, but I maintain my sealed lips and stoic shield, giving his omission something to bounce off.
He points out my western window, arm outstretched. “Who do you think planted that wisteria and sowed your love for growing things? Then watched you smile for the first fucking time when you planted your very first rosebush in the grounds downstairs? The one you grew from a seed?Who,Orlaith?”
