Page 111 of Ravenrose

I cross the room and stop outside the door, listening closely. Nothing. I raise my fist to knock, and the lock clicks.

The washroom door jolts open, revealing a wide-eyed Rowan who freezes at the sight of me. I catch a whiff of her—or whatever soap she’s used. The faint scent of wildflowers and honey catches me off guard. It’s soft and sweet, and I like it more than I should.

Her dark chestnut hair is damp and combed free of leaves, dirt, and tangles, and her face is freshly scrubbed, her cheeks still flushed a soft pink from the heat of the bath. The dress Jenna gave her fits well; it’s simple, made of a good, sturdy cotton, and is far more appropriate for traveling, unlike the thin, expensive fabric of the dress she had been wearing. The darker earth tones suit her, bringing out the green in her eyes. It’s a little small, highlighting more of her curves. She looks different. Less royal and more…

No.

Don’t finish that thought.

Rowan’s gaze travels between my raised hand and my face. “Were you about to knock?”

Her voice brings my attention to the fact that my fist is still hanging midair between us. I drop it quickly. “You were in there forever.”

She frowns. “I was bathing…”

“I was making sure you hadn’t drowned.”

Her brows lift. “In a bathtub?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” I take a step back from the doorway, suddenly too aware of how close I am to her. I make my way back toward the bed, gesturing to her side as I circle round to my own. “Bedtime.”

She’s still staring at me. “You’re sleeping on the floor, right?” she asks smoothly, but I detect an unfamiliar waver hidden within her voice. I watch those pine green eyes trail south and continue lower, traveling over my bare chest.

“Nope,” I answer while pointedly settling down on the bed, leaving ample room on the other side for the uptight princess.

Rowan frowns, turning back to survey the tiny washroom she just left as if considering climbing back into the tub to sleep.

Sighing, I rap my knuckles on the wooden frame above. “It’s a bed, Princess. Don’t make it into something it isn’t.”

She stares sullenly at the bed for another moment.

“Your choice, kitten.”

Indecision wars on her face, her eyes flicking between me, the bed, the bath, and the floor. I know she’s sore and tired, and the bed is feather-stuffed, warm, with fluffy pillows and thick furs.

Rowan glares at me before finally inching closer

“Fine,” she huffs, irritation written across her face, “but if you even think about touching me, I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to you.”

I stare at her.

I should punish such a threat, but I’m more shocked at the unladylike words I just heard escape the princess’ lips. All I can do is stare at her as she edges slowly out of the washroom, tiptoeing lightly across the room, her feet bare.

Bold threats from someone who knows she can’t harm me, but even still, I incline my head once, keeping my face carefully blank so as not to betray any hint of amusement and encourage this defiant demeanor. “Noted.”

Seemingly appeased, the princess climbs under the blankets, keeping to the very edge of the mattress as though one more inch closer to me might prove fatal.

I try not to roll my eyes.

She finally settles in, and the room falls silent save for the crackling fire.

I’m tired—fucking exhausted. But yet, I can feel the anxiety rolling off the princess beside me. We’re close enough that I can hear every breath she takes. They come too fast—too shallow. She’s awake, staring at the wall—me, the rafters.

I don’t trust her. She doesn’t trust me. She would have rather drowned than let me catch her.

I can’t fall asleep until she does, and I’m near certain she’s waiting for me.

She can’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean she can’t run. I should stay up, but I’m going on nearly forty-eight hours awake, and I’m approaching my limit. I’m a light sleeper, but nevertheless, I took precautions, moving the bureau to block the door. It’s heavy, and while she might be able to move it on her own, there’s no way for her to do it quietly.