My stomach squeezes. My pride snarls. I hate howboth reactions hit me at once.
Clara’s eyes narrow, but before she can muster another cutting remark, Alder raises a hand to silence her. “Your concern is noted.”
His gaze cuts to me. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. You need a bath, clean clothes, and then a day in bed drinking tea or doing whatever women here do with their time.”
I blink. “Excuse me? I like tea just fine. It’s great, in fact. What I don’t like is being told what kind of woman I’m allowed to be.”
He smirks. “Believe me, sweetheart, no one could ever tell you what kind of woman to be. But maybe someone should tell you not to charge into danger while still bleeding.”
My lips thin, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“Sweetheart, I found you bleeding, half-conscious, and barely able to stand.”
“I’m fine now.”
“You hit your head so hard, you wandered off and passed out.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No,” he says smoothly, stepping closer, “you need a bodyguard and a GPS tracker.”
“If you think I’m staying in this room all day like some delicate little flower, you’re out of your mind.”
Alder’s voice drops to that maddening murmur that gets under my skin in all the worst—and best—ways. “And if you think I’m letting you wander around this castle after yesterday, you are sorely mistaken. You belong in bed.”
I arch a brow. “And what exactly do you think I’ll be doing in bed all day?”
He leans closer, lips brushing my ear. “With mearound? Let’s just say rest won’t be the priority.”
My breath catches. My toes curl into the plush rug, my body betraying me with a rush of heat that spreads from my cheeks to places I’d rather not admit.
Clara and not-Elsie gasp in tandem.
“You,” Alder says sweetly, “be a doll and draw Gemma a bath.”
“Me?” Clara squeaks.
“You seem eager to help.”
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, before she dips into a curtsy. “Of course, my lord. It’s just that…a woman of her station—”
“I’ll help you, miss. If it’s all right.” Not-Elsie jumps in.
Clara grabs her and hisses something I don’t catch. Alder’s already moved on—grabbing a slice of toast like this is just another day.
I stalk toward the breakfast tray and grab a piece of fruit, the sugar-dusted edge crunching between my fingers. “We need to get back to our world.”
“I’m working on it.” He chews, unbothered. “I want you resting today, back to yourself. If we were home, I’d give you my card and tell the driver to take you to The Shops, lunch, and then a massage.”
“We’re not home, Alder. And this is not a spa.”
He shrugs and plucks a pear slice from the tray like we’re standing in his penthouse kitchen instead of a castle that’s literally mistaken him for some medieval lord. “I’ve already spoken to Victor and Delphara. The man I’m impersonating is here to negotiate trade. I’ll play along, get the intel we need, and find a way back.”
“You don’t negotiate royal trade deals,” I say flatly,watching him eat like this is all so casual, so normal. Like he hasn’t fully grasped the fact that people are literally dying in this place.
“A negotiation is a negotiation,” he says, licking juice off his thumb. “And you know better than anyone how good I am at getting what I want.”
My stomach twists, and I chew slowly, letting the tart flavor distract me. But the truth is there, pulsing at the back of my mind. I let him take over back home because it was easier than fighting the world alone.
