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My blood runs hot as I stare from him to the woman on the floor.
I deliberate over my response. True, I’m trying to appeal to whatever slightly better nature he possesses, but where does that end? Do I sit back and watch him mistreat others just to avoid upsetting him?
I flash back to Damian in the carriage, and a hundred memories before that.Hasn’t that been enough of my life?
“What’s happened?” I decide to interject.
I search for the kinder tone I’d used earlier, but my fading energy makes the words come out more forcefully than I mean for them to.
Ice creeps back into Einar’s irises and his jaw clenches.
“Nothing you need worry about,” he grits through his teeth.
The servant has ceased moving, cowering so much that she appears to be disappearing into the very cracks in the floor.
I try again to assess her stance with his fury before deciding to speak.
“Surely, she would be able to work more quickly without the hindrance of the veil.” I offer him a sincere expression, placing a hand on his colossal forearm.
He hesitates for a moment, his entire body stiffening and his gaze going predatorial.
“What did you say?” His voice is a growl, offering a glimpse of the beast I saw in him yesterday.
“I was only thinking that the servants --”
“Don’t. It isn’t your place to think where my staff is concerned.”
There’s that word again.My.
I nod. It’s all I can manage, weighed down by my mounting resentment. I know one thing, though. I was wrong before, when I thought there was still time to turn it around. But at least there is consistency in this.
At least I don’t have to worry about my emotions getting in the way of what I came here to do.
Chapter Eleven
Einar insists on walking me back to my room, though I would much prefer to be alone and could find my way back blindfolded at this point. I nearly take him up on his suggestion of going through the courtyard just to shorten the tense walk.
Considering what a failure today has been, though, I don’t bother to argue or to make suggestions.
Sigrid waits at my door, practically bouncing on her toes.
“It is here at final,” she says to Einar.
He sighs, and his clear unhappiness piques my interest.
What’s here?
Sigrid clucks her tongue at one or both of us before opening the door with a sigh of her own. I’m beginning to realize the woman misses nothing.
“I will leave two of you now.” True to her word, she’s gone before I can question her enthusiasm or the way she continues to address the king with such informality.
I reach a confident hand to the door, refusing to show any outward hesitation, and Einar doesn’t stop me. If I had hoped to be less confused on entering, though, I am sorely disappointed.
I hate surprises under the best of circumstances, let alone with my head swimming and my temples throbbing. So of course, that’s what awaits me.
The space has been cleaned, the bed made, and my trunks are no longer in the center of the room. I wonder where she took my clothes, and if she found the weapons carefully hidden within them.
Would it even matter now that I know the Jokithans keep their weapons so readily available?
