17
KENDRA
Itry not to be uncomfortable with Kojo just standing on the other side of the table while I eat, watching me like I might choke on a piece of chicken. His gaze tracks every movement from plate to mouth, his body perfectly still except for his eyes. The lemon pepper chicken is good, better than what I’ve been living on for months, but his staring makes it hard to enjoy. The food sits heavy in my stomach, my nerves jangling from everything that happened tonight. The fight on the freeway, Zaki’s display of power, and now this strange cabin that’s supposedly mine but feels nothing like home.
I finish what I can, cover the leftovers with a styrofoam lid, and grab my foam cup to drain the last of my juice. This silent observation isn’t going to stop, and I’m too exhausted to care about the dried blood still on his clothes or how his eyes never leave my face. I stand and start gathering the containers, the plastic crinkling between my fingers.
Kojo moves before I can get far, reaching across the table with those long arms. “I have got them, majesty.” His hands collect the trash in one sweep, faster than I can protest.
I cringe. So we’re back to that. Water runs through the pipes above, and I glance up at the ceiling, tracking the sound as it moves across the upper floor. Zaki must be in the shower. I want to tell Kojo to stop with the majesty business, but what’s the point? We’ve already had this conversation, and here we are again. Some battles aren’t worth fighting when you’re running on fumes.
Instead, I walk over to what’s left of the shopping bags and start grabbing them, the plastic handles cutting into my palms. I’m trying to make sense of this insane night.
Kojo cleans off the table in seconds, then rushes to my side with a speed my eyes can barely track. I step back instinctively as he grabs the bags from my hands, his movements careful but insistent.
“I will carry them for you.” He says it like it’s already been decided, and the warmth radiating off his skin reaches me even without direct contact.
I sigh and start walking up the stairs. The hallway stretches before me with several closed doors, and I find what looks like the master bedroom at the far end. When I open the door, He follows me in, setting the bags on the bed before stepping back. He stands there, perfectly still, like he is waiting for a command, his ridge visible through the tear in his borrowed shirt.
The room is spacious with a king-sized bed, nightstands, a dresser, and an attached bathroom. The walls are a soft blue, the curtains a deeper navy that will block out the morning light. Someone put thought into this space. I start digging through the bags, finding a fresh shirt and sweatpants that look like they might fit him. I pull them out and set them on the bed, then search the room until I discover a linen closet already stocked with towels, toiletries, and everything else we might need.
“Damn, Wintermoon is prepared,” I mutter to myself.
I turn back to Kojo with a light smile, but it fades when I realize he’s still standing in the exact same position, not having moved an inch since setting down the bags. His hands rest at his sides, his posture alert, like he could stand there all night if that’s what I needed. I grab a set of towels and approach him, holding them out for him to take. He doesn’t move, his amber eyes locked on mine.
“Come on, Kojo. It’s been a long night and I’m tired. Please, let’s just get ready for bed. We can figure out everything else tomorrow.” My voice sounds thin and frayed even to my own ears, the words catching on the edges of my exhaustion.
He finally takes the towels from me, his fingers careful not to brush against mine. “Please go first, majesty. I will make a mess of the bathroom. It is better if you go ahead of me.”
I sigh and nod. I grab another set of towels, two toothbrushes, and some soap from the linen closet, then walk back to the bags and dig through them. I pull out a nightgown with thin straps and lace panties, and I want to roll my eyes so hard they’d get stuck. I may be mated to Kojo, but I just met him. I’m not going down that road yet. I stare at the nightgown and its straps and its intentions and decide that whoever packed this has opinions about what a new queen does on night one. Leah seems practical, but apparently not about everything.
I keep the underwear but dig through the bags until I find an oversized t-shirt that looks like it might belong to Kojo. The fabric is soft and worn, nothing fancy, but it’ll cover more than that ridiculous nightgown. That’ll work. I gather everything and head into the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
The bathroom is.... Wow. Marble countertops, a glass-enclosed shower built for a family, a soaking tub in the corner big enough to drown in. Brushed gold fixtures. Warm lighting. I brush my teeth first, the mint flavor sharp and clean againstthe lingering taste of lemon and pepper. The toothpaste is expensive, not the bargain brand I’ve been using since the layoff. These small luxuries catch me off guard, reminders of the life I used to have before everything fell apart.
I step into the shower, and the water pressure is heavenly, so much better than what I had in Detroit. My old place was supposedly luxury for the location, but the hot water was a coin flip and the neighbor downstairs ran his bass until 2 AM like the rest of us weren’t trying to sleep. The heat from the shower seeps into my muscles, releasing tension I didn’t even know I was carrying. I let it pound against my shoulders, washing away the gas station and the motel and the fight on the freeway.
Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the glass and mirrors, and for a moment I just stand there, letting the water cascade over me. I don’t have to rush. I take my time, using the fancy soap that smells like lavender.
When I finally step out and wrap myself in a towel, the mirror is completely fogged with steam. I wipe a small circle clear and stare at my reflection. My cheek is still bruised from the fall, but the swelling has gone down significantly. I look exhausted but somehow different. Something has settled in me that wasn’t there before, some quality I don’t have a name for. A steadiness, maybe. Or resignation. Probably both.
I wonder what Kojo will think when he sees me. The thought catches me off guard, and I shake my head to clear it. I’m not trying to impress him. I’m just trying to survive this bizarre situation with some dignity intact. I pull on the t-shirt and underwear, the shirt hanging to mid-thigh.
I gather my used clothes and towels, and toss them in the hamper before opening the door. Cool air hits me from the bedroom side.
Kojo is standing in the exact same spot I left him. I walk over to the bed, grab his clothes, and approach him, stacking them ontop of the towels he has not put down. He stares at me, perfectly still.
“All finished. Your turn now.” I gesture toward the bathroom, suddenly aware of how the oversized shirt hangs off one shoulder.
“You look beautiful, majesty,” he finally croaks out, his voice rough around the edges.
“Kojo, please.” I gesture toward the bathroom again, more insistently this time. My face feels warm, and I blame it on the hot shower.
He finally moves, walking into the bathroom and closing the door carefully behind him. I stand there for a moment, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the unfamiliar space.
“I grabbed an extra toothbrush from the linen closet,” I call out. “It’s on the counter.” He clears his throat. “Thank you, majesty.”
I hear him ripping the toothbrush from its plastic packaging, then the water running in the sink. I don’t truly relax until I hear the shower start. Only then do I walk over to the bed, move the remaining bags to the dresser, and climb in. The sheets are silk, the mattress doesn’t have a single dip in it, and the pillows are thick enough to lose a hand in. After months of sleeping on a mattress with a permanent dip in the middle, this feels like floating.
