Page 99 of The Sun He Buried

I turn around.

Nobody follows me.

That’s good.

That should feel good.

I find the dining room on my second attempt, the stairs on my first, and the guest wing after opening one door that contains several mops.

The mop room has seen worse.

Probably.

I miss the latch to our room once because I’m shaking. I catch it and slip inside.

Baldr is still asleep.

Snowpetal raises her head from his feet.

“I know.”

She blinks.

“Exploring went badly.”

I close the door and lean against it.

The man’s purple eye stays behind mine. So does his hand beneath dark fabric. The woman knew what she wanted. She said it clearly. She wanted the feeding. She wanted him touching her. She didn’t mind me seeing.

I minded.

I stayed anyway.

Snowpetal climbs over Baldr’s legs and sits at the edge of the mattress.

“Don’t look at me.”

She yawns.

I remove the cloak and hang it where it was. The purple wool slides through my fingers.

Purple.

Wonderful.

I get back into bed. Baldr turns toward me before I settle and pulls me against his chest.

His skin is warm. Familiar. His mouth touched every part of me in this bed.

The man has one purple eye, a silver mask, sharp braids, and a voice that made my knees unreliable from across a room.

The purple eye belongs to the dinner. I know that much.

I close my eyes.

That eye burns brighter.

Sleep remains unavailable.