“Why does that not surprise me?”
I don’t reply, nor do I look his way, but I can feel him watching me.
Another minute passes. Then another. I’ve nearly picked every weed before I lift my face toward him, unable to stand it any longer.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I try to smooth the sharpness from my tone. I’m not sure I succeed.
He just looks amused by it—at least for a moment. Then something darker falls across his features. He averts his eyes and falls silent.
His voice is oddly quiet when he finally speaks a few minutes later. “I was looking at you because I find I have the same question my brother did.” He tilts his head back toward me, eyes flicking over my throat. “It seems like maybe Gareth is being rougher than necessary.”
I brush the words off. “I’ve survived far worse.”
“That’s hardly the point.”
I go back to the dirt, smoothing my fingers through it in search of any weeds I might have missed.
He doesn’t yield. It’s getting irritating, at this point; this obsession he seems to have with my bruises every time we interact.
But then, I suppose it goes back to what Gareth and I discussed earlier—Reave is just like any other royal throughout the messy history of our empire, trying to secure one of the divinely-bound for his own personal gain. So of course he’s concerned about the condition I’m in.
I don’t know why that makes me angry.
Maybe it’s just the idea of being reduced to an object. A weapon. Even if I don’t intend to ultimately serve this insufferable man, it’s still painful to know he’s sizing me up the way one would a battered sword, inspecting for nicks and rough edges that might need to be fixed.
I wish I didn't feel like something broken that needs fixing.
I wish his scrutiny didn't make me feel so exposed.
But more than anything, I wish he’d stop fuckinglookingat me like that.
“Surely you have bigger problems than me to focus on,” I say.
“I do. But here we are. And we’re alone…” He gestures around us, as though I need a reminder it’s just the two of us. “So this is the problem I’m focused on, for the moment.”
If you think I’m a problem now, just wait and see, I want to say.
Instead, I keep my tone nonchalant, flippantly waving a hand over my bruised throat. “This isn’t even the worst of it.”
Another long pause, then: “Show me the worst of it, then.”
The words—and the quieter tone he speaks them in—catch me off guard. But I manage to hide my surprise, scoffing and continuing to tend to the flower bed. “It’s really none of your business.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I’m afraid it isnot.”
I can sense a subtle, simmering anger coiling around him. Whether toward me, or toward Gareth, I don’t know. I’m not sure why I feel like it matters.
“The law decrees that all those tied to dragons are also tied to the Mouren crown,” he recites. “As such, it’s in my best interest to make sure you aren’t damaged in any way.”
Just as I thought.
I shake my head. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? Just property. A weapon for you to use.”
He doesn’t reply—but silence is its own answer, isn’t it?
I breathe slowly and deeply through my nose.
