“Then I hope you enjoy the celebration without me.” I push past him, heading for the door.
He grabs my hand.
I twist around to face him, freezing under the intensity of his gaze.
“…You're maddening,” he mutters.
“I've been called far worse.”
He frowns at this echo of our last conversation, pulling his hand from mine and absently running it over his pant leg, as if to wipe away the feel of my touch. “This will not go over well with my council.”
“Take someone from your council to this feast, then, if you care more about pleasing them than you do me.”
“I don't care aboutpleasingyou, you insufferable woman.”
“That much is obvious, at this point. But we both know this is about more than making me happy, don't we?”
He walks away, shaking his head again. For a moment, he seems to consider sitting back in the chair and returning to his book, but instead he just stands behind that chair, bracing himself against its frame with a grip so tight I'm surprised the wood doesn't splinter beneath his fingers.
A minute passes, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Fine.” The word comes out rough, as if dragged up fromsomewhere deep. “We'll set her free tomorrow night, the instant the festivities conclude. I won't risk her causing any commotion that might upend things before that.”
I exhale slowly. “Agreed.”
That burning gaze of his locks on me for another uncomfortable moment before he says, “I'll notify the servants that you’ll be needing proper attire and such.”
I nod, but an unsettling feeling prickles through me as the reality of what I've just agreed to fully dawns on me.
I'd resigned myself to standing by his side for a few hours; I hadn't considered what that will mean outside of the two of us—how every gaze is going to be centered on the king, and therefore also onme. I'll be in the spotlight. One of my least favorite places to be, especially after having part of my face and my vision mutilated.
A sudden rush of self-consciousness overtakes me, though I don't let it show, keeping my tone level and business-like as I ask, “What exactly will be expected of me?”
He arches a brow. “No going back on our agreement now.”
“I didn't intend to,” I snap. “I just…I like to know details.”
“Maybe ask for the details up front next time? Basic negotiation tactics, Ashwalker. You should know that.” He settles back into his chair, picking up his book again. “Because now that you've left it open, I could technically ask for anything I want. What if I demanded you dance with me all night? Or for you to declare your undying love and loyalty in front of everyone?”
I stiffen, my pulse quickening.
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Relax. It will just be a typical celebration. Stand beside me, look presentable, make polite conversation when necessary.”
I shift my weight. “This might come as a surprise to you, but we don't have many formal,politefeasts where I come from.”
“You seem like a resourceful type. I trust you'll survive.”
“I'm not worried aboutsurviving,” I say under my breath, moving to the window and hugging my arms around myself.
I can see his reflection clearly in the glass, but I'm speaking more to myself than him when I quietly add, “I was just thinking how tragic it is for you, that you'll be stuck with me when so many pretty ladies would likely kill for a chance to accompany you.”
“I'd hardly call it a tragedy.”
I shake my head. “You don't have to spare my feelings. I've accepted that I’m not exactly beautiful these days, and I don’t really care to be.”
His fingers still in the middle of turning a page. “Accepting something doesn't make it true.”
I fix my gaze on the yard below.
