Page 203 of The Sun He Buried

Your home is beautiful, Eirik.

I keep my face still above the silver.

“You told several people several things.”

Her hand drops.

“You made a public project of every man who offered you a hand. I assume I was the last one available.”

The line reaches her.

Her brows pull together. Irritation, then the small, flat refusal underneath it. I’ve watched grown men fold in front of that look.

“I danced. I didn’t make a project of anyone.”

Snowpetal puts one paw on her chest.

Solveih steadies the animal without looking away from me.

“Did anything happen?”

I could end the morning with one word.

That would be clean.

I have already decided against clean.

“You slept.”

“That’s all?”

“You were hardly equipped for a demanding night.”

She checks the bond without knowing there’s a bond to check. I feel her work through the scraps she kept, the missing hours, the room, my coat. Her breathing eases.

She looks down at Snowpetal.

“Nothing happened.”

She’s decided it.

I turn toward the window.

“You have a generous view of my character.”

“No.” Her fingers move through Snowpetal’s fur. “I know.”

That’s worse.

She knows nothing about me.

She knows enough to sit in my bed with a ruined head and no memory, take one look at the man from every childhood warning, and trust what her own instincts tell her.

She should be afraid of me. Instead she’s sure.

I should correct it.

The cruelty is ready.