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Elarian no longer knew.
“It is less the blood and more the wine that concerns me.” Lucan grabbed the bowl of untouched peaches from the tray beside them and handed it to Elarian. “Eat.”
Despite herself, she looked up to meet his gaze.
“I am not hungry.”
One pale brow lifted. “You look positively famished.”
Heat rushed to Elarian’s face. She was still hungry…but not for peaches, bread, or even the most succulent of meals.
“Then I am becoming an actress after all.”
“Hm.” That single sound made her want to throw the bowl of peaches at his head, consequences be damned.
Instead, Lucan crossed the room, fingers idly adjusting one of the cuffs at his wrist. He gazed at himself for a long moment in the mirror before replacing one of his golden rings with another fitted with a firestone.
“The appetite changes often.”
“What do you mean, the appetite? Mine? Perhaps that’s because you’ve been starving me!”
Elarian rose, stomach lurching at the scent of the bloodwine she had spilled on the floor during her panic.
“No, not that.”
“No?”
“Precisely.”
Lucan returned to Elarian’s side with the golden chain in hand. After last night, they both knew just how little he needed to leash the assassin. Sometime between the fevered weeks of her captivity and the bliss that shattered her world, Elarian no longer wished to kill Lucan. Not yet, anyway. If she was to profane her soul in this unhallowed land, she might as well enjoy every moment of it.
But the horror of her craving for blood tainted even that resolve.
“You know something,” she said softly.
“I know many things.”
“About me.”
His eyes darkened. For one fleeting heartbeat, she thought—desperately hoped—he might finally answer her truthfully.
Familiar amusement returned to his face.
“I’ve never claimed otherwise.”
Gods, she wanted to strangle him.
“What am I?” The words left her mouth before she had a chance to swallow them.
Silence settled over the room. Lucan regarded her for so long that the crackling of the witchlights thundered in her ears. Tilting his head ever so slightly, a strange melancholy overcame his demeanor.
“I’ve wondered that myself.”
Elarian gasped softly at his words. She wished to yell at him, demand another answer, pry at that facade until he broke and hurt her again—but nothing came. Because as much as she tried to tell herself this was another game, she knew that he, too, struggled to understand everything she was.
Defeated, she lifted the bowl of peaches to her mouth and slowly slurped down a slice. That ashen, empty taste returned, every joy she once felt at their juicy sweetness over her tongue now gone. She forced herself to chew, grimacing as she swallowed.
She did not dare lift her eyes, afraid of the next answer she sought.
