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He arches his pale eyebrow in question.
“My sister finds amusement with your age,” I tell him. “I was only thinking how well you wear being…what was it, eighty-five?”
His ice-blue eyes narrow, but a smile pulls at his lips. “Sixty-five, you brat. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided my question.”
I sigh, waiting until he drops into the spacious tub to do the same. It’s still a challenge to immerse myself in water, but it’s easier with him at my back, easier to chase away the cloying feeling that the liquid will pool over my head and into my lungs…
“Zaina?” His deep voice pulls me out of my unwanted reverie.
“It went badly,” I choke out. “Just as we knew it would.”
His arms tighten around me, and I ground myself in the feeling.
A long moment of silence stretches out between us once again until my breaths ease into the slow rhythm that he sets. His chest rises and falls in a steady tempo that relaxes me, calming the tension in my rigid muscles.
His fingers gently run up and down my arms, creating small rivers where the water drips from his skin to mine.
“She is insisting on going back to Madame, though we both know she will be tortured for her efforts,” I finally bring myself to say. “And I can’t stop her…but more than that…”
“You aren’t sure you should,” he surmises correctly.
His tone is without judgment, giving me the strength to admit to us both that he’s right. I nod, considering our options. We might be able to hide Aika, but if we fail, she’ll be in even more danger.
And while I can work in the shadows, it wouldn’t be as much of an option for her. Not that she wants to.
“There are no good choices here.” I explain what he likely already knows. “As much as it sickens me, it would likely be safer for her to stay in Madame’s good graces...and it would be undoubtedly better for our long-term aims.”
“True,” he allows. “If she could regain her former position with Madame, the information she could share would be invaluable. And we would all be safer—Aika included—with Ulla gone.”
I say nothing in what is apparently a very obvious way, because Einar sighs.
“But shewon’tshare that information,” he guesses correctly, again.
“Not yet.” Maybe not ever.
“Out of fear or loyalty?” he questions, again without censure in his tone.
He has come a long way from the self-righteous king I married. Either that, or he’s hiding his feelings exceptionally well. It’s probably a bit of both.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Both. She’s still angry with me for leaving, and Remy is no help.”
Briefly, I recount what happened while I was there.
He winces with sympathy. “That’s quite a shock for Remy.”
“Youwouldtake his side,” I grouse.
“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” he replies evenly. “Only saying I understand. As for her being angry with you, have you actually told her what happened?”
Again, my silence speaks louder than words would.
“Perhaps you should,” he says. “The advice you gave to her applies to you as well.”
“But how much can we feasibly tell her when she’s…” I don’t finish my sentence, mostly because I can’t quite bring myself to acknowledge the cold, practical part of me that knows better than to give Aika any more information for Madame to potentially torture out of her.
But of course, Einar understands where I’m going with that, too. He’s as calculating as I am. More, in his own way.
“That’s something to consider,” he acknowledges, taking a bar of sandalwood-scented soap and rubbing it along my back. “But what about the prince? He wants Ulla gone nearly as badly as we do, and he could be a valuable asset.”
