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"She will beprotected," Asterion growled.
Laszlo gifted the minotaur with one of his sharp, dry glances. "Says the man who runs out of the room at the first opportunity."
I choked on a laugh.I used to laugh loudly and often, I thought. I missed Conall. He could still make me surprise myself with the sound of my own laugh. It hadn't even been a full day, and I'd been so irritated with him, but I missed him already.
Asterion returned to working the knots out of my shoulders. There was no needless caressing, sadly, but he was skilled with muscle, and I was grateful that he'd joined us for dinner and noted my stiff movements. Laszlo had made me work with the spear for hours, lunging and balancing, thrusting and swinging and blocking his attacks, until my thighs trembled and my arms refused to raise over my head.
"I am concerned about her nightmares."
"Nightmares? What nightmares?" Asterion asked, sitting up. "She shouldn't have—"
"I'm right here," I murmured, too tired to put up more of a fuss.
"I agree. She should be safe here. I think they are Birsha's doing," Laszlo said. "She shouldn't sleep alone."
"A-Alone? She is meant to befreehere," Asterion stammered through the words.
"I would recommend Hywel's hoard, but he might roll over and crush her," Laszlo said lightly.
I snorted, but Asterion's hands tightened on my shoulders, drawing a pained grunt from me. He snatched them away again, and I was too weary to argue.
"You can't force her into your bed so Hywel can have her later, Laszlo!"
Silence struck hard and I stiffened, turning to glare at Asterion, who flushed and looked away.
"I'd like to not sleep alone," I said.
"Good, it's settled," Laszlo answered as Asterion sputtered. Laszlo rose up from his chair and approached me in my huddle on the carpet. "You'll come up to the nest with me."
Asterion reared back as Laszlo lifted me from the floor, a brief whine of protest escaping my lips. I caught a glimpse of Asterion on the couch as Laszlo carried me away. His hands were braced on the cushion and arm, fingers digging into the plush stuffing, face turned away from us. He was tense, apparently struggling to hold himself in place. I sighed and rested my head on Laszlo's shoulder, and he adjusted his grip on me to open the door to the terrace.
The moon was bright and full, the sea air warm tonight, and Laszlo paused at the center of the tile.
"Do you mind that I stole you away?" Laszlo asked.
"I like that you don't make me coax you," I said, lifting my face.
His smile was brief, cast in the glow of moonlight, and then his head ducked down, offering that same simple slotting of our lips together, an easy fit. His nose nuzzled against my cheek as he pulled away, and I opened my mouth to ask him to continue when his wings beat at the air, gusting it around us both. With the next great swoop of feather and muscle, he jumped high, carrying us up off the terrace.
My breath hitched and my arms tightened around his neck, but his grip on me was steady. The terrace dropped and shrank beneath us, and the high tower of the castle glittered with candlelit windows as we rose. Laszlo's shoulders flexed as his wings worked, heavy strokes of effort that lifted us in smooth measures.
"You don't mind bringing me into your nest?" I asked as our ascent slowed and twisted.
Laszlo's nest had its own smaller balcony, not overlooking the terrace but down directly to the rocks and sea. His wing beats relaxed, and we dropped elegantly down to the stone.
"I would've liked to bring you here sooner," Laszlo said, and before I could ask why he hadn't, he opened the door and carried me inside.
Laszlo's nest was not like Hywel's, and though there were a great many curious items arranged on shelves and tables—revealed by gleaming brass candelabras generously decorating the room—it was all arranged with a meticulous attention to detail that suited the gryphon I'd come to know.
Books lined shelves in a tidy order, the tops of their spines matching neatly, and I knew at once they must be Laszlo's favorites. On another shelf was a careful display of small statues, objects of idolatry. There was no fireplace, but the walls were shrouded in a deep blue velvet and the floor was heavily layered in carpets, these in better condition than the others around the castle. A massive bed, larger than any I'd ever seen, was built out of the far corner of the room. Sheer curtains shrouded its high platform, the fabric stretching high up to the vaulted and beamed ceiling.
In the left side of the room, near an open cabinet filled with polished bottles and small decorative boxes, a large steaming tub waited, a water pump poised near its edge. Laszlo carried me in that direction, and I patted his shoulder for him to put me back on my feet, exhausted as they were.
"You've already washed me once today."
"That was because you were covered in…you know," Laszlo said primly. "Now it's because you are sore, and you were sweating a surprising amount while we trained—"
"It was not asurprisingamount," I squawked.
