She frowned, baffled. “And? You’ve seen me without clothes before…that one night…”
He searched for a gentle way to explain. How beautiful she was. How tempting. How he lost all sense when she stood in front of him like this—then stopped. Looked into her eyes. Marveled at the way she was untouched, unspoiled, by the world.
“People generally do not walk around naked in front of others.”
“You’re not others,” she stated simply. “You’re Kailorien.”
He frowned. “Zarrek said you nearly removed your clothes in front of him.”
She raised her chin. “He was meddling. I told him to leave. He just didn’t move quickly enough.”
This time, Resh couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping. It welled up from his chest in a way it hadn’t in decades, melting through his senses, moving through his body like a wave of relaxation and peace.
Auryn stared at him. “I like it when you laugh like that.” She stepped closer. “It’s quite…well, it makes my chest ache. But it’s pleasant.”
He smiled. “You truly are unknowable, Auryn.”
“Clothing is a curse,” she muttered. “Like shoes. Always pulling, always clinging. Like trying to wear skin on top of skin.”
“You speak as though modesty is an affliction.”
“I don’t know why I should be modest. If I don’t want to wear clothes or shoes, then why should I?”
She wrapped the towel around herself, fastened it, then flopped back onto the cot beside him, damp and fragrant, her limbs curling beneath the folds of the towel.
Resh clenched his hand into a fist.
The warmth of laughter passed.
Suddenly, he was too aware of her again.
Her shoulder brushed his, and he tensed. Enough for her to notice the motion. She peeked up at him, then glanced toward the tub, where petals floated lazily in the remnants of her bathwater.
“The herbs were pleasant,” she murmured.
“Is that why you decided to drown yourself in the tub?”
“I wasn’t drowning. You worry too much.”
A beat.
“The note said they were gifts,” she said sleepily. “From the warriors.”
He turned to look at her fully now, brows furrowing.
“What note?”
“Someone left the bottles on your war table. The herbs, the oils. Said they were for the Sokâr.”
Her voice caught on that title. She didn’t say it with pride, nor shame—just fact. As though she was still trying it on.
“It felt like a waste not to try them,” she added with a small shrug. “Their gifts smelled kind.”
Resh stared at her for a long moment. “You cast the warming glyph yourself.”
“I watched you do it. Several times. You always shape the rune in the air with your right hand, then press the charge through the second and fourth fingers. I…tried it that way.”
“It could have burned you.”
