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“You said the queen hated one of hers,” I remind him, recalling one of our conversations after the wedding. The details of the night are hazy, but I still recall that tidbit of information.
He leans closer, his armor brushing against my back and sending chills down my spine. When he speaks, I can barely hear it. “True. But he’d have to try pretty hard to make you unattractive.”
My cheeks scorch, and I know I’m blushing. Why is it so hard for me to be near this man without my heart beating like crazy or my cheeks burning like I’ve spent too long in the sun? I don’t understand it. It’s never been like this with anyone before—even Darsan. I’m constantly speechless or flustered or horny or enraged, and I can’t comprehend why.
“Irissa?” he says when I don’t answer. “Are you all right?”
I nod almost imperceptibly, nervous that if I move too much, I won’t be able to resume the exact position Eyal had painstakingly fought for. “I’m fine. Just speechless at your capacity to give out compliments. That’s all.”
To my relief, he laughs again before we fall silent, standing as still as we can while Eyal drags his paintbrush through globs of paint. I’m keenly aware of Nor’s hand on my hip and the occasional tap of his fingers against the material of my dress as time drags by.
After countless minutes, boredom kicks in and it’s impossible to keep my mind from wandering. Standing perfectly still and being exceptionally quiet are two things I hate most in the world, and knowing I have hours of this to look forward to is near torture. I’d much rather be doing anything else.
The only silver lining to this situation is Nor’s close proximity. He can’t run away from me the way he does right after meals, nor can he keep his distance like he’s tried so hard to do. We’re here, together, and despite the torturous situation, something about it feels right, like there’s no one else I’d rather suffer through this with.
I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same, or if he’s silently begging the deities above to speed up time so he can escape. Somehow, that thought is almost as exciting as him wanting to be here with me.
If he isn’t enjoying it, I can revel in the fact that he’s hating it immensely.
Either works for me.
I imagine what we’ll do when the painting is finished, since it’s still early and his schedule is completely clear, as far as I’m aware. Could I convince him to take me to the library or maybe sit with me again in the garden? Would he walk with me outside the castle walls or take me down hallways I’ve yet to explore?
His first choice is probably to leave me in Lizette’s company and disappear to do whatever he does when he’s alone, but I don’t want to entertain that idea. Most of the time, I can ignore the sinking feeling I get when he doesn’t offer to spend time with me, but sometimes, it’s too much. He’s still holding back, keeping space between us. It’s a constant battle of push and pull. One minute, he’s completely immersed in our dinner conversation, but as soon as the plates are cleared, he throws the wall back up between us until the next day.
I’d love to crawl inside his mind and see what he’s thinking when the barrier goes up. When he’s guarded and quiet, what goes through his brain? Is he thinking about me, or are his thoughts tied up with royal business? He’s a puzzle I crave to solve, but the pieces keep changing every time I begin examining them too much.
“How long do these usually take?” I whisper to break up the heavy silence, even though I already know the answer.
“They can take several hours,” Nor grumbles behind me, sounding as enthused as I feel about being stuck here.
It’s a shame we couldn’t politely decline the session, but the king and queen were quite insistent. There was no getting out of it after it was announced.
“I bet you hate being stuck with me for this long, don’t you?” I tease.
He huffs like usual, more hot breath spilling over the exposed skin of my neck.
“No,” he says, waiting a moment before continuing. “I’d much rather be stuck with you than do another family portrait. Can you imagine seven people in here?”
It doesn’t take too much of an imagination to appreciate how terrible of a time that would be. Oryx annoying everyone and trying to make them move. Zen loathing life and wishing he could disappear. Orabelle’s voice like sharp nails being driven into my eardrums after hours of incessant gabbing. King Rukkus threatening to throw everyone in the dungeon if they didn’t behave.
Definitely not a good time.
I suppress a laugh as I imagine the seven of them bickering, poor Eyal doing his best to finish before throwing his paintbrush down and storming away in defeat.
“That sounds terrible.”
Silence engulfs us again, the only sound being the faint plop and scratch of Eyal’s paintbrush on the canvas. My mind reels as I struggle to keep conversation going. The boredom and the heavy silence make my limbs tingle restlessly.
It hasn’t even been that long and I’m already desperate to move.
This isn’t going to be good.
For the next few hours, it isn’t. It’s nothing short of a living hell, having my body beg to shift, even a little, and having to ignore the compulsion. I’ve counted the tiles on the floor fifty times, and I’ve noted the number of ridges in the columns near the wall at least fifty more. I’ve even counted the mountain of paint pots on Eyal’s table. Nothing in this room can hold my attention anymore, save for the man at my back, whom I can’t even see.
All of my attempts at conversation have fallen flat and only lasted a few seconds, which feels like nothing compared to the stretch of time we’ve been here. I’m busy trying to drum up more menial topics for conversation when Nor’s fingers gently squeeze my hip, making tiny bolts of electricity skitter through my lower half. I catch my breath, unsure of what just happened.
“Tired yet?” he mutters.
