Her feet carried her forward.
She picked up the towel and walked toward him.Kept her head down.Kept her face shadowed.Held out the towel like any servant would.
His hand closed around it.
And stopped.
"Azul."
Her name.
Not Khatun.
She looked up but a hand covered her amber eyes at that moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.“I didn’t know it was you.Don’t look at me.”
"My Lord."
"Just—give me a moment.You're not going to leave, are you?"
She shook her head."No."
He finally released her, and when she blinked and her vision came into focus, she was looking at a shirtless man in a mask.
His eyes were steady, and they held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
He rose from the tub, water streaming from his skin.He was magnificent—hard muscle and old scars, the proof of his conquest written in pale lines across his skin.Water still beaded on his shoulders, his chest, and his arms.She took a few steps back, allowing him some space.
Perhaps he could be called handsome, if she had to pick a word.
“I missed you,” he said.
Azul found her throat dry.Didn’t he call her here?Why did he act like he was caught unawares?
“You sent for me,” she said.
“Nyraxa sent for you.”He reached past her for the discarded robe on the table, shrugging it over his shoulders without tying it.He looked at her, taking in all of her.“Are you well?”
The question was so simple and so genuine that it caught her completely off guard.
“I am unharmed,” she said.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Azul looked away.Outside, distantly, she could hear the camp — the movement of men, the horses, and the low murmur of an army preparing.Inside, only the sound of his pounding heart.
“I’m well enough,” she said finally.
His eyes moved from her face to her hands to the hem of her robe, as though checking each piece of her for damage she wouldn’t admit to.It was unbearable and she refused to find it touching.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“Hmm.”
“It’s rude.”
“Come here.”He didn’t stop.
