The room is surprisingly sparse for a king—no excessive ornamentation, just plush furniture and walls lined with books. It actually feels warm and lived-in, compared to the ceremonial beauty that dominates so much of the palace.
There are a few paintings dotting the wood-paneled walls, including a portrait near his desk that features the three Callahan siblings and a younger, but still enormous,Ruffus. The artist exaggerated some features, and minimized others, so that the three look even more similar to each other than they do in real life; perhaps it’s a feeling he was capturing—the feeling that these three are inseparable, three parts of the same whole.
Even when I close my eyes, the little prince’s painted, smiling face is there. He looked healthier in the portrait—full, rosy cheeks, and no shadows underneath his eyes. But I can still remember the feel of his ribs as I held him against me.
My eyes flash open again. “I have one more question.”
“Of course you do.”
“I actually havelotsmore, but I’m being restrained and considerate of your time.”
“You should be sleeping,” Reave mumbles, not looking up.
I keep speaking anyway. “I’m worried about Arlo. He seemed…frail, yesterday. And I didn’t see him this morning. Is he feeling ill again?”
He seems taken aback by the sudden change in subject; it takes him a long moment to answer.
“Yes.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He’s gone completely still, a book propped open in his hands. Finally, he closes it, removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose as he says, “No.”
His clipped tone doesn’t invite more discussion. It feels like the wall between us is close to slamming down again.
Sighing, I close my eyes and try again to sleep. The drink he gave me has made me calmer, but I’m still far too aware of everything around me. Ofhim. Every time I look his way, he’s still at the desk. I wonder if he’d truly planned to workthis late, or if he’s only staying over there so he doesn’t make me uncomfortable.
After an hour or so, I almost start to feel bad for taking up his bed.
“I really don’t care if you lay here with me, as long as you keep your distance.”
His pen pauses mid-stroke, as if he might be considering it. But he doesn’t move from the desk. Doesn’t look at me as he says, “Just go to sleep, Arowyn.”
As I drift off again, a quiet realization washes over me—he used my actual name.
I can’t remember him ever using it before.
He does eventually come to bed; I’m barely lucid, but I feel the mattress dip beneath his weight. Tension seizes my entire body. He’s as far from me as he can possibly be, but it still feels too close. Too dangerous. My heart is still pounding entirely too fast, even when I finally fall into a restless sleep.
The next morning, however, I find that he’s kept his promise.
He’s on one side of the massive mattress.
I’m on the other.
But his hand is outstretched toward mine, and for a fraction of a moment, I think about reaching back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Reave insists I spend the morning recuperating in his room, so I remain there long after he slips away to tend to his royal duties.
Clean clothing is delivered, and the servants who bring it linger, insisting on helping me put myself back together. They hardly speak as they work, but the looks they exchange with one another say more than enough. By the time they finally leave me alone, they appear close to bursting with the need to shout about what they’ve just witnessed.
Who knows what sort of gossip they’re going to spread about the latest woman to spend the night in the king’s chambers.
But I doubt it’s going to make my life in this palace any easier.
The king himself checks on me occasionally, though he never admits this is what he’s doing; instead, he’ll go to his desk, or to his wardrobe, or wherever else, claiming he’s forgotten something and only came back briefly to grab it.
