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The king’s eyes meet mine, and he grunts what might be an affirmation. I’m missing something here. The man wouldn’t grant his own wife a shred of power, so surely not a subordinate, one he forces to wear a mask for reasons he refuses to even hint at.
Though Sigrid would point to a different dynamic entirely, I assumed she was a unique case.
“I thought he was just a servant?” I seek to clarify, and he slams his book closed.
“He isn’tjustanything.”
His gaze doesn’t waver from mine for several heartbeats.
“My mistake,” I offer, not breaking eye contact. “I am only trying to understand --”
He stands abruptly, cutting me off before I can dance around all of the things I had just been thinking.
“You understand nothing.” He looks at me for a final, stilted heartbeat before stalking off to the passageway.
Well, then.
I sit in stunned silence while I try and fail to make sense of him and my purpose here. He doesn’t seem to want to be married, or have any interest in me at all, for that matter.
Every woman I’d seen on our journey since crossing the border was tall and broad-shouldered, strong-looking, with fair hair and eyes. Their skin was either dark as coal or white as snow, and I am simply a middle-ground of sorts between the two.
While I am of average height back home, I feel like a child here. Even Sigrid towers over me.
My skin is much darker than Einar’s, as is my hair. And my topaz-colored eyes are far different from the various shades of blue I’ve seen on every person in Jokith.
Am I so different from what he is familiar with that he finds me disgusting?
From the way his pupils went wide when he saw me bare before him, I would say no. There are some things you can’t lie about; your traitorous body always gives you away.
I shake my head at the whole situation, mulling it over again and again and always coming up short.
I’ve been direct with him. I’ve tried subtleties. But nothing has worked.
The man is impossible.
The tonic Sigrid had sent up does seem to be helping ease my body aches and nausea. I was even able to eat some of the roasted venison and carrots from the dinner she had delivered, though there was no plate for Einar.
He still hasn’t returned, and I’m unsure of what to make of that.
A squeaky growl reminds me that I am not the sole occupant of the room. Leaning over the side of the bed, I peer down at the cub, who is desperately trying to gain my attention.
It raises its little paws up, seemingly reaching for me.
“You’re spoiled already, I see,” I coo, but I pick her up anyway.
The servant who brought up our meal also saw that the cub was fed and taken outside to relieve itself, as well as inform me that my new pet is a girl, in case I wanted to name her.
“What is it that you want?” I ask the cat. “To annoy me? To make me crazier than these walls are already?”
Metallic teeth flash as she opens her mouth to yawn, rubbing her small head against my palm. Her fur is softer than the finest silks I’ve ever touched. Softer than gosling feathers or a butterfly’s wing.
I’m still marveling at her when she presses her sharp teeth against my flesh.
“Khijhana!” I gasp a word from home in surprise, one that roughly translates tolittle nuisance.
I pull my fingers away to examine them, but she didn’t seem to draw blood, or even break the skin. It was just a warning nibble that there is something she is wanting from our exchange as well.
She nestles in closer, her turquoise eyes opening and closing slower than before.
