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He studies me under his furrowed brow but doesn’t say anything more as he dives back into his sickly-sweet breakfast.
“My apologies, I didn’t realize you had missed me so much,” I tempt after a moment.
“I just found the room had entirely too much joy for my liking, without you there to drain it away.” He speaks without inflection, but I don’t miss the slight tilt of his lips.
I startle myself by laughing.
“I’m glad I could oblige you this morning, then,” I respond.
“As am I.” There is something curiously close to warmth in his tone, and I take it for what it is.
If not an apology, at least a truce.
When our meal is finished, he isn’t as quick to leave my room as before. He, instead, stays to play with the chalyx and read next to the hearth while I bathe. I finish my bath quickly, all the while wondering if he’ll be gone when I return, but he’s still here, sitting in the same spot.
I pull another gauzy, impractical dress from my trunk and a matching array of jewelry. An emerald-encrusted nose ring replaces the pure gold one from yesterday, and I pair it with a similar ear cuff. After deliberation, I connect them with the gold chain again.
No one here knows its meaning, anyway, and I’ve always liked the look of it. A teardrop-shaped pendant graces my forehead, hanging from a chain woven through my hair.
I consider adding a set of bangles to my wrist, but I don't want him to think I am trying to hide the intricate artwork he is too uncultured to appreciate.
By the time I finish dressing, I still feel out of breath and light-headed, but I ask anyway.
“I’d like to see more of the castle today, to finish up that tour.” I would like to see more of this place, but also, a do-over would help to further our unspoken truce.
He eyes me for a long moment before answering.
“You don’t appear to be up to walking anywhere.”
“Are you implying I look unwell?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I’m not implying anything. You look like hell.”
If by “hell,” he means the circles under my eyes are turning a deep shade of blue, then fine. But I’m not the only one.
“Well if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle haggard,” I quip, gesturing to the signs of exhaustion on his own features before adding, “You know, some women might be offended by your thoughtless way of speaking.”
“Of course not. I’m saying it outright. I trulythinkyou look like hell.” His expression turns thoughtful. “Besides, you’re not like most women, are you?” There’s an undercurrent to his tone that makes me doubt myself for a fraction of a second, but I push it away.
I hold his eyes with my own, refusing to look away or answer him directly. Finally, I make my way to the door, resting my hand on the knob in a challenge. “Are you coming?”
Khijhana is quick on my heels, and we wait for his answer.
He looks me up and down for several long seconds, then shakes his head and stands.
“So be it.” He opens the door for me and gestures for us to lead the way.
“That’s the spirit,” I add, and I swear I hear the masked guards outside the door chuckle.
Any truce or good humor that I may have imagined in the beginning of our tour is cut short when we reach a staircase leading to the West Wing.
“Maybe we should wrap things up for today.” Einar hedges, turning away from the steps.
“But why?” My curiosity is piqued. “Don’t you want me to know my new home?” I have to force that last word, sure I will never view it as any such thing.
“This wing is reserved for the staff and guests only. There isn’t anything to see.” He proffers his arm and tries to lead me away, but I press on with a light-hearted tone.
“Oh, come now, let’s just --”
