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"Return in days," Conall rasped.
I couldn't pick him clean to bones in just a few hours at least.
Conall turned us as we reached the couch, sank over me as he settled me on the cushions, but he didn't pull away. And I could never have pushed him back.
CHAPTER15
THROUGH FEAST AND FAMINE
“He shouldn't have left you."
I scowled down at the mass of sticky lump dough on the table, flour dusting over the surface and all down the tunic I wore. I was not going to have the same argument with Asterion that I'd barely finished with Conall.
"You may chase him if it pleases you," I said, my nails digging into the dough, grunting as I scooped the uncooperative mass up from the table and then slapped it down again.
Wooden stairs groaned and steps thunked against the stone tile floor. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to remember how to bake bread, but this is…" I raised a hand, stretching my fingers to show Asterion the mess that clung to my fingers. I turned to glance at him and then let out a yelp of surprise at the man at my back.
"Forgive me," Asterion gasped, stumbling backward, gloved hands raised at either side of the absurdly pretty human face.
My hand was over my heart and I looked down, frowning now at the imprint of wet dough. "What's possessed you to wear that ridiculous disguisehere?" I snapped, going back to my work.
"I didn't want to frighten you."
"So you sneak up behind me looking like a stranger?" I let out a laugh, but it was a bitter sound, covered by another slap of dough. "I thought you knew by now that I prefer—"
"It's kind of you to say so, but—"
"Oh, Asterion,shut up!" I cried.
He did so immediately.
I sighed, falling forward and bracing myself against the table. My hair was tied back, but it had always been slippery and impossible, and strands were already falling loose from the effort of my botched baking.
A step retreated behind me.
"I likeyourface," I ground out, and the steps stopped again.
"I worry…I worry I will remind of your time at The Seven Veils."
"You are a minotaur. I am a demigoddess. Laszlo has talons. Conall, a tail," I recited, shrugging and standing straight again. "I'm nothuman, Asterion. I've—"fallen in love with"—admired many faces in my long life."
He fidgeted at my back, eyeing the door.
"I was never raped by a minotaur," I said plainly, and Asterion let out a gargle of anger and sorrow. "There were werewolves at The Seven Veils, but that doesn't mean I fear Conall."
It was a terrible simplification, but Asterion's mind was stubborn and I was exhausted. It was simplifications or smashing his thick head against the wall. But his horns would either stop the impact or get stuck in the plaster.
I tried to maneuver the dough once more, and it bubbled and slopped and stuck. I gathered it up in my hands and turned to toss it away.
"Don't do that," Asterion murmured, and out of the corner of my eye, he plucked his gloves from his fingers and returned to himself.
He'd given me so few opportunities to study him by daylight, and the kitchen seemed to be perpetually glowing with streams of sunlight, even on days when outside it was foggy and drizzling. His skin gleamed, burnished copper and dark brass, rich shades of brown and glimmers of red. The gold paint on his horns was slightly faded, and I wondered what ceremony he made of the decoration. Did he have a brush or use his fingers?
"You're very impatient," Asterion said, taking my hands in his and turning me back to the table. He pressed his own hands, palms and then the backs, into the bowl of flour I'd set aside, and then scooped a generous amount, dusting and spreading it over the table.
"I've already used so much," I said.
