Page 48

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“Anything would be,” he said, a scowl in his voice.

When his fingers brushed fresh salve across the area, I jerked, wincing.

His free hand encircled my hip in reassurance. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping absent little circles against my skin. “We’re nearly done.”

But the pain faded as my attention tunneled on his palm around my hip, the brush of his knee against my thigh. I was prickling with heat and aching with something other than injury-pain when his fingers retreated, leaving me suddenly cold.

He rose from the mattress, and I looked over my shoulder to find him closing the salve pot, his back toward me. I shimmied my blouse down and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the muscles shift in his back, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

Nobody else, he’d said, and his meaning had been clear. Yet he seemed so wretchedly solid while my own blood was thrumming with a longing that made me glad Rheya had forbidden us from pursuing each other after all.

Because right now, I feared I needed the reminder that with the fate of my kingdom—and my people’s freedom—in my hands, I could not afford to melt.

“It feels better already,” I said, adjusting my blouse. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Keil set the pot on the dresser. “Is it my turn now?”

I blinked, straightening. “I— Do you need—” My words tripped over themselves, the image of Keil’s naked back flashing in my mind. “Are you injured, too?”

A wicked smile stretched across his face as he turned. “My turn to ask a question,” he clarified, arching a brow. “Though I’m glad to know where your thoughts traveled.”

I opened my mouth—and snapped it shut, cheeks heating. Then I lifted my chin, determined to ignore the knowing look on Keil’s face. “Go ahead.”

His smile faltered, and he frowned a little. “Back in Daradon,” he began, tentative. “Those bruises on your neck . . . Was it him?”

I knew he was referring to Erik.

“Someone working for him,” I said quietly. Then, because I knew I could give him this truth without incurring judgment, I added, “I killed the man.”

Keil nodded slowly, his brow smoothing out. “Good.”

A thud sounded from the adjoining room. Then Lye called through the door: “They serve dinner in ten minutes. If you’re not downstairs by then, I’m eating both your meals.”

Keil and I looked at one another in shared amusement.

“I’ll meet you there.” I stood, stretching my muscles. “Tell Lye not to touch my food.”

Keil strolled back toward his room. “I’ll guard it well, my lady.”

I cleaned my face in the washroom, then unpeeled my bandage and rinsed the wound, as instructed by my most recent note from W. Or Winker, as Keil had said. I left the stitches exposed as I refastened my hip bag and trudged downstairs.

Soft light trickled over the reception area, emanating from the adjoining tavern. I was turning toward its frosted-glass doors when something rolled under my boot. I frowned, finding an ink pot on its side. As my gaze roamed along the dark floor, I noticed a scattering of loose papers, too. I followed the trail behind the counter, suddenly unsettled.

It looked as though someone had tipped out these drawers. Hadn’t Lye mentioned robberies in the area?

A clack sounded from the back office, making me jolt. Were the thieves in there now?

I started forward, then paused. This wasn’t my fight. If Arun’s informants found me here, Rheya might confine me to the palace. Worse, she could call off our deal entirely.

But as my breathing shallowed, I thought of the jolly woman who’d greeted us when we’d arrived. What if she was behind that door, injured and alone?

I remembered Amarie, shivering in the linen closet on the night of my father’s murder, and made my decision.

Letting my specter pool under my skin, I yanked the door open.

The office was in disarray. A leather-clad woman whipped her head up from the desk, blond hair curtaining her face. As we locked eyes, the memory of Father’s funeral slammed into me: the scent of brandy, the clink of glasses, my father’s name swilling around tongues like a tasting wine, spat out and soon forgotten.