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He freezes when he sees me. This is the first time I have been out of bed in his presence since he brought me back here, since I had to pilfer one of those soft, lace-up pajama shirts to wear in the absence of my own clothes. Though it reaches to mid-thigh, it suddenly feels like I am completely naked.
He forcibly wrenches his eyes upward. “That’s my shirt,” he points out astutely.
“My things are still in my room,” I remind him.
He nods, clearing his throat as he turns around to pretend to focus on something else, and some forgotten part of me has to fight back a small smile.
“You’re still here,” he says over his shoulder.
“Glad to see you’re keeping your powers of observation carefully honed.”
“I meant...” He faces me again, and I give him my best waiting expression. When he declines to finish his sentence, I huff out a breath.
“I know what you meant. I plan on keeping my word, provided you keep yours.”
“Kind of like wedding vows, only you claim to mean it this time,” he mutters darkly.
His words sting, but I don’t reply, because for all the lies he tells himself about me, he’s not wrong on that front. I didn’t mean it when I said my wedding vows.
Even if later, I wished that I did.
We’re both sluggish from fatigue as we climb into bed. I register that this is one of the few times we’ve done something sonormal.And...it is painfully awkward. Judging by Einar’s stiff movements, I’m certain he’s feeling it, too.
Khijhana breaks up the tension by plopping herself into the several feet of space between us. I fight the unreasonable urge to laugh, but it’s quelled in the ominous weight of the darkness.
It’s well past midnight. Sleep should be wrapping us in its dubious embrace, but the air thrums with restless energy. Silence reigns as the minutes tick by, one agonizingly slow second at a time.
I’m not surprised when Einar clears his throat to speak.
“Did you even know you were getting married?” His voice is quiet, tinted by what might be sadness. “Or was I just another man you were sold to?”
My breath catches in my throat, because I want to tell him it isn’t true...but it is, in a sense, even if he was the one who was paid.
Even if it didn’t feel like a transaction by the time I left.
“Technically speaking, you were sold to me, since it was my dowry that bought you,” I tease, and he breathes out a resigned laugh.
“Touche.”
Silence descends once more, heavy with the weight of everything we can’t quite bring ourselves to say. I sigh. This question doesn’t affect him directly. I’m not bound by our agreement to answer him, but I find myself telling him anyway.
“I found out the day I left Corentin, a week before the wedding.” Desperate for a subject change, I realize there’s something I forgot to ask him in the wake of everything else. “Did you find the roses?”
“No.” The word is clipped. “There was a vine, but no flowers.”
My next question is softer. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do with the petals left?”
“How did you know I got the rose back?” he asks sharply.
“Because you never asked me where it was.”Because I very intentionally sent it back to you the only way I knew how.
I hear him shift on his pillow, apparently satisfied with my answer. “I don’t know what to do about the cure yet,” he admits, and I hold my breath.
This small piece of his inner mind isn’t something I take for granted, so I wait to see if there will be a caveat to his admission before responding.
There isn’t, and it bolsters me to speak.
“I could help,” I offer tentatively, sure he’s going to shoot me down. But he doesn’t right away, so I continue. “I know you don’t trust me, but I did grow up inherhouse. It wouldn’t hurt to let me at least look at what you have, get some fresh eyes on it and see if I can figure anything out. Besides,” I add wryly. “It’s not as though I have anything better to do.”
