Silence.The soul-destroying sort that makes me want tosquirm.
“Just so we’re clear, Milaje, I willneverask someone else to carry you.”
My hands bunch into fists, and I look away, stabbing my stare at the closed curtain and the dull haze of light filtering through.
“And where did you sleep?” I bite out, looking at him again, trying to ignore the burning blush that cups my cheeks.
“There,” he says, jerking his chin at the bed to where the sheets are still stamped with the rumpled evidence of my body’s departure.
“But I woke up there ...”
“Yes,” he rumbles, kicking off his boots, setting himself in the captain’s chair—elbows on his knees after he plucks up the round of fruit and digs his nails into the rind. “You rolled over to my side the moment I got up.”
That heat flares, boiling my cheeks, an embarrassed flash of anger tightening my knuckles until they’re aching from the strain.
Comatose Orlaith is fucking senseless.
“I told you not to—”
“Breathe in your direction,” he mumbles, carving off a large shard of peel, spritzing the air with its zesty freshness. “I know. I had my face pointed the other way the entire night. Promise.”
He segments the fruit, then puts it on a dented tin plate before he stands, dissolving the space between us with a few powerful strides.
I’m forced to tip my head to hold his stare.
“Eat,” he rumbles, shoving the plate in my face. “It will alleviate your migraine.”
“How do you know I’ve got a migraine?”
He gives me a deadpan look. “Because even if I didn’t watch you chug two jugs of mulled wine on a no-doubt empty stomach, I’ve been through this with Baze. I know the signs.”
“Ever thought of finding a hobby?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“I have one. And right now she’s a bratty little pain in my ass who won’t take her medicine.” He drops the plate on the bed beside me, making the segments jump as he grabs my empty cup and spins.
I’m tempted to pick up a piece and lob it at the back of his head.
Tamping my violent, knee-jerk urge, I watch him disappear through a side door that likely leads to a washroom, gauging by the sound of gushing water that swiftly follows.
I stare at the fruit with narrowed eyes, hating the way my stomach growls like some ravenous, teeth-gnashing beast.
It probably tastes like fucking sunshine.
My mouth tingles in anticipation, and I cave, sitting as I pluck up a segment—letting it glaze across my lips. I poke my tongue out the slightest amount, intending on a sample, except an explosion of zesty sweetness sends my taste buds into a rioting spasm.
A little moan slips out when I bite into the flesh, relishing the bursts of sweetness as I chew, sighing between mouthfuls, the sticky juice dripping off my fingers and my chin.
Rhordyn returns with a cloth in one hand and my freshly filled mug in the other, just as I’m polishing off the final piece. He sits both on the side table and makes for the desk, and my stare tracks him every step of the way while I use the damp cloth to wipe my hands and chin.
“So it’s not okay for Cainon to serve me up, but it’s okay for you?”
“Cainon meant it as an insult,” he mutters, dropping back into the chair with a weighty thud. Swiping a piece of charcoal, he begins scratching against some parchment. “My intentions are the opposite. Now, try and get a few more hours of sleep.”
My hands still. “You’re kidding.”
He looks at me from beneath the shelf of his lowered brows. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
My mouth opens, closes, opens again, words finally bursting forth. “Mypromisedis probably searching for me …”
