“I made you roasted deer,” Erevos said, pulling out the chair nearest to him.
“I can see that.”
Lyssena did not know how to react to the sight of a whole deer. It was not merely a carved portion of it, but the entire body, legs intact, the head still attached. At least the antlers had been removed. Well, that looked . . . something.
She moved to the chair positioned opposite the one Erevos had pulled out and sat down very slowly. For a brief moment, she thought she saw his gaze sharpen at that decision—a flicker of something darker passing through his eyes—but the expression vanished almost as quickly as it came.
After another pause, this one stretching longer than the first, Erevos moved without speaking.
Lyssena swallowed.
He walked around the deer’s legs protruding from the table’s edge and came to stand directly behind her. She felt the warmth radiating from him immediately. A deep, consuming heat that warmed her back through the fabric of her gown, and yet, despite that warmth, a slow shiver slid down the length of her spine, followed by the faint prickling of sweat at the nape of her neck.
Erevos extended his arms to either side of her, caging her between them without ever touching her.
Lyssena watched as his right hand reached for the knife and carved a large piece of meat from the deer’s flank, the blade gliding cleanly through tender flesh. With the tip of the knife, he pierced the portion and placed it onto her plate.
With his left hand, he summoned his shadows, guiding them toward the pantry to her left. The doors opened at his silent command, and two oranges slid along the dark tendrils and into his waiting palm as though delivered by invisible servants.
He squeezed the fruit into a cup, the juice running bright and fresh, and then returned to the chair he had intended to sit in from the beginning.
At that, Lyssena gulped once again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The God Who Killed for Flowers
Lyssena
The first bite was tender.
Lyssena chewed slowly while Erevos watched her from across the table, though his posture remained as it always did.
The meat was perfectly cooked, warm and rich with spices she had never tried, and yet she found herself focusing not on the taste but on the fact that the deer’s head still rested at the center of the table, its empty eyes turned slightly toward her plate.
“This is very good,” she said, smoothing her shadowy gown over her lap. “You are a great cook.”
Erevos inclined his head just slightly. “You are unhappy. Why?”
Right. Erevos was not human, and Lyssena shouldn’t have to run around the bush. It was difficult for her since she was alwayssoft-spoken and never wanted to say something—anything—wrong.
She cut another piece of the soft meat, and it nearly crumbled off her knife.
“You said you have known me for twenty years,” she continued, keeping her voice even, as though the question was merely a passing curiosity and not something that had followed her into sleep. “Did you watch everyone in the village . . . or only me?”
Her fingers tightened around the knife, and she kept her wrist steady.
“Only you.”
The answer came without hesitation.
She lifted the cup of orange juice and took a slow sip, buying herself time, letting the silence stretch between them, because she was sweating everywhere and her heart was pounding very, very fast.
“And why me?” she asked lightly, though she did not look up from her orange juice. “There are so many people.”
She placed another bite into her mouth. Across from her, Erevos still stayed unmoving. She could see him only from his chest and up, though she was still surprised she was able to see him at all, considering the giant deer across the table. But he was a tall god, or demon, or whatever he was, and he could probably see her well.
“You prayed to me.”
