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His eyes softened, his lips curling up slightly. “I know you were.”
The words diffused my anger immediately.
Did the man realize how good he was at that? Calming me down?
Stars, I hoped not.
His fingers slid over the back of my neck, making me shiver a bit as he touched my skin lightly. I expected to hate the feeling, but I loved it.
His voice lowered, his head tilting down so it nearly touched mine, and his lips almost brushing mine as he murmured, “Don’t leave me while I’m sleeping unless you want me to wake up and murder someone, Diora. I thought you’d left me, or been taken from me.”
My mind blanked at the words.
How was I supposed to growl at him for saying sweet shit like that?
“I’d like to get you a plate of food, Love. Is that alright?”
Damn, he was being way too nice.
“Fine,” I huffed half-heartedly.
His lips curved further upward, and he murmured a soft, “thank you,” before releasing me.
I dropped into a chair across from Jesh’s at a round, five-chair table, and my gaze tracked Namir.
He stepped into line behind the last fae, not asking for or expecting special treatment. No one tried to start a conversation with him, probably expecting him to be his normal grumpy-morning self. But a few of them flashed him smiles or waved, and he responded with small smiles.
That made me more jealous than I wanted to admit.
His white pants were wrinkled and dirty, his hair was wild, and his face showed clear signs of exhaustion.
Had I really worried him?
Chapter13
My gaze leftNamir after a few moments, and lifted back to the people in the kitchen, growing wistful.
I shouldn’t have expected them to want to teach me. I had done terrible things in their city—I had lost control of my magic, and hurt people, after I attempted to kill the king they clearly loved.
But I still wanted to learn to cook.
I didn’t have any useful skills or any experience in trades. All I knew was torture, and survival, and fear, and misery.
But things were different, now that I’d escaped my captors. And I wanted to be different, too. I wanted to learn to cook, maybe to sew too. Anything that wasn’t violent, or painful. I’d done so much harm already, and survived so much pain, that I wanted to do something creative. I wanted to improve the world, not worsen it.
My eyes were still on the fae in the kitchen, my mind still churning through the small list of things I already knew I wanted to try with my newfound freedom. Namir had wanted to teach me to fight, but I didn’t want any more violence in my life.
Now that I had some freedom, like my friend Vena, I wanted peace.
Namir dropped into the seat beside mine, setting a plate in front of me that was even fuller than the one he set in front of himself.
As soon as Namir sat, Jesh made his way to the food line. It occurred to me that he had remained beside me until Namir was there—either to keep me safe, or to make the king happy. Or maybe both, I guessed.
Namir and I ate in silence, but the sides of our feet remained touching, our shadows slipping off our skin and sort of dancing together in the space between our bodies, so it was a comfortable silence. The king really did look exhausted, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for that. He had treated me well, and I probably shouldn’t have abandoned him in bed, stressing him out further.
Namir cleared his plate, and then leaned back in his seat and watched me. When I stopped before I’d cleared my own plate, my abdomen too swollen to eat another bite, he nudged my foot with his. “Keep eating.”
I scowled at him. “I’m stuffed.”
