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Tediously slow.
Agonizingly slow.
With a frustrated huff, Serilda pushed Gild backward until his legs hit the settee. She tumbled on top of him, encouraged by the sound of his laughter, teasing and warm, before Serilda’s mouth effectively silenced it.
Chapter 39
She was liquid gold. A pool of sunshine. A lazy nap on a summer’s day.
Serilda could not remember when she had last slept so soundly, but then, she’d never slumbered encircled by protective arms, a firm chest flush against her back. At one point she’d started to shiver, and she wondered with a rush of misery if she would open her eyes and find herself alone in the castle ruins. But no—she was just cold, with no blanket to snuggle beneath. Gild had helped her back into her dress, tenderly kissing each of her shoulders before pulling up the fabric of her sleeves and retying the laces. They’d easily dozed off again. Serilda knew she was smiling, even in her half-dreaming state.
Utterly content.
Until a shadow fell over her, eclipsing what little light was making the windows glow indigo blue.
Serilda squinted her eyes open.
Then sat up, flustered, but alert.
She shot to her feet, flinching at the crick in her neck, and dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grim. Forgive me. I was—we were—”
She hesitated, unsure exactly what she was apologizing for. She glanced back, suddenly terrified of what the Erlking would do if he found Gild in here, with her, but?…?
Gild was gone.
What she had thought was an arm pillowing her head was her traveling cloak, neatly rolled up.
She blinked.
When had he left?
In all her spiraling emotions, Serilda was most surprised at the twinge of regret that he had not woken her to say goodbye.
She chastised herself and faced the king, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “I … must have fallen asleep.”
“And enjoyed the most pleasant of dreams, it would appear.”
Embarrassment knotted her insides, worsening when the Erlking’s curious look turned almost glib. “Dawn approaches. Before the veil separates us, there is something I would like to show you.”
Her brow pinched. “Me?”
The king smiled—the overpowering smile of a victor. The smile of a man who always got what he wanted, and had little doubt he would this time as well. “Your presence continues to be of surprising advantage, Lady Serilda. And I am in a generous mood.” He held out a hand.
She hesitated, recalling the icy feel of his skin. But, with little choice, she braced herself and settled her hand into his. A chill swept down her spine, and she could not fully disguise the shudder that his touch elicited. The king’s grin widened, as if he liked having this effect on her.
He led her from the room. Only once they were in the corridor did Serilda remember her cloak, but the king was walking briskly and she had a feeling that he would not appreciate the delay if she asked to return for it.
“This has been an exhilarating night,” said the Erlking, whisking her down a long stairway that spilled out into a wide conservatory. “In addition to your diligent work, our hunt achieved a most glorious prize, with some thanks owed to you.”
“Me?”
“Indeed. I hope you aren’t the sensitive sort.”
“Sensitive?” she asked, more bewildered by the moment and unable to fathom why he was being so nice to her. In fact, the Erlking, who usually struck her as ominous and more than a little morose, now was bordering on?…?chipper.
It made her nervous.
“I know there are mortal girls of weak constitution, who feign repulsion at the captivity or slaughter of wild animals.”
