He quickly drags the clean shirt over his wet hair and frowns at me. It fits well enough, but it shows off nearly all of his big arms and scoops lower over his collarbone than it needs to.
“What?” he growls.
“Nothing.” My eyes land on the lines circling his elbows, and I drag in a sharp breath.
“What?”
“Pain rings,” I growl. “Fucking hell.” I can understand making him obedient, locking up his magic, stopping him from attacking us. But using enchantment to torture somebody… even somebody like him…
His eyes flick to the folded clean pants waiting to replace the ones clinging to his thighs.
“A little privacy?” he asks coldly, like he doesn’t care about the pain that must be throbbing through his limbs.
I hesitate, then turn to face away from him.
“Don’t try anything,” I warn. “No stealing, no running away, no attacking me… shit.”
“What?” his voice is clipped, from behind me as I stare against the storeroom’s stone wall.
“It came out as a command.”
He snorts.
“Why are you pretending to care?”
I hear a wet thwack as his old pants drop to the stone floor. His lower half must be naked behind me. Do the enchantment lines cover every inch of his skin there, too?
Surely noteveryinch. But it’s the last thing I should be thinking about. Fabric rustles as he changes.
“I don’t like enchantment.”
“Like hell you don’t. You’re an imperial knight. I’m done.”
I turn to find him staring at me, arms folded across his chest. The clothes are thin fabric, the trousers lightweight enough that I can’t help but notice the considerable bulge between his legs without looking for it.
Even without the benefit of soap, the rain and the clean clotheshave transformed him from the filthy prisoner Harfor’s sailors led off the ship.
The night isn’t getting any younger. All I want is to put this day behind me.
The witch frowns at me and tilts his head slightly to the side. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“I want to change too. And we still have the kitchen to deal with,” I mutter, as I lead the way out of the storeroom.
He follows without needing to be commanded.
9
I stop at my room to change my own clothes, squeezing the water from my hair and swapping the military uniform for my usual canvas.
My sword rests on my bed, like the Governor agreed. I’m so emotionally exhausted I have to fight the urge to cry at the feel of it after two years without my purpose. I pull it an inch from the sheath and admire the thin, goldwashed blade before slipping it back in.
Gathering the wood took forever, but we still have to clean up from the feast.
The witch’s footsteps follow me up the tower. Empty dishes cover the long table everyone else ate at. I step into the kitchen to see how much work awaits us. The stove and tables are piled with cooking-ware and serving dishes. The floor is filthy.
I allow myself a moment longer to feel miserable, staring at the mess. In the wake of all the anxious hope I felt for the Hellion, what had become normal over the past two years now feelsdemeaning. And if I had to be stuck guarding a witch, did it have to behim?
There’s a platter tucked into the corner of the kitchen, like Malkin promised. On it is chopped, seasoned jellygut fish, boiled prawns, and baked reaper skin. If the Governor shared his hoard like I told him to, there’s none of it left in sight. I’m sick of this food that’s the same day in and day out, but I scrape half of it into a bowl and shove it toward the witch.
