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“It does,” I say, offering him a smile.
When his eyes lock on mine, I almost forget that an entire kingdom is watching us. For just a stitch in time, I’m not the princess who will die on her twenty-third birthday. I’m the princess who finally gets to live.
It doesn’t last long, though. We’re quickly ushered inside the castle, through the winding stairwells and long hallways until we come face-to-face with my bedroom door. My father hands Sebastian a sachet, grumbling something under his breath. He doesn’t even say goodbye before leaving us in the hall.
“I hope you’ll be okay with your father never approving of your husband,” Sebastian says, watching the king move down the hall until he disappears into the stairwell.
“I don’t think he ever approved of me as his daughter. I’m sorry if you expected otherwise.”
“Oh, no… You misunderstand me.” He meets my gaze, reaching around my body to open the door. “I don’t care what he thinks. He could burn and the world would be better for it.”
“I’d hold your tongue while you’re within these walls. He let you marry me, but it doesn’t mean he won’t arrest you the moment you commit treason under his roof.”
Sebastian grumbles, drifting inside the room. He turns in a tight circle, nearly losing his footing on the spin. “This is yours?”
“No, it’s the maids,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. Sebastian pauses, staring at me. I don’t think he picked up on the sarcasm. “Of course it’s mine.”
He moves to my vanity, fidgeting with the things on top of the desk and the frills on the side of the pillows resting on the seat. I step inside and let the door swing shut.
“I think congratulations are in order.” I’m not sure what else to say to make this less awkward. Suddenly, I don’t know where to put my hands, or where to look, so I train my eyes to the floor and link my fingers behind my back, just as I was taught.
He doesn’t look too enthused as he thumbs through the spines of the books stacked on my nightstand.
“Are you not pleased? You won. It’s a–”
He cuts me off, turning on a heel to face me. “I did. No thanks to you. I almost died in that arena twice, and I’m not sure why you didn’t follow through on our deal. Regardless, I think we can both agree that it doesn’t matter now. However, what does matter is you telling me to take the blood oath and then refusing it yourself.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I take a step forward, meeting his gaze.
He sets his jaw, nodding over and over. “I’d like to think of myself as an intelligent man. Try me.”
“Most of my sisters are buried in the crypt beneath the castle. You didn’t tell me who you were, and after finding out that you’re a pirate, I was worried you’d ship me back in a box to get at my father. The blood oath might make you think twice, and my refusal gives me a chance to defend myself if you choose that route.”
“So it was self-preservation?”
“Yes,” I say as he closes the distance between us. “I want to see the world. Why would I provoke you without reason?”
He eyes me, the heat of his gaze traveling from my head to my toes. It takes everything I have to stay still, hands behind me, and not squirm beneath his perusal.
“You should bathe. You’re wounded.”
“I’ll heal.” His fingers grip the hem of what’s left of his shirt and work it over his head, careful not to move his injured shoulder as much as possible. The moment it’s gone, I catch the venom tracks surrounding the deep scrape, but also the fact it’s partially healed. Elementals don’t usually have accelerated healing, but I’ve also never met someone with an infinity like darkness.
Watching me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before, not even with Zelix, he unbuckles his belt, pulling the leather strap from the loops, sword sheath and all, then thrusts it toward me.
“I trust you won’t stick me with it?” he says, and I take it from his hands, shaking my head no. “Good. Now, where’s the tub?”
I nod toward the door leading into the bathroom and he takes my cue. Setting his sword down on the dresser, I follow after him. Sebastian spins to close the door, only for me to smack into the middle of his chest. His hands find my shoulders, standing me upright and keeping me from toppling.
“What are you doing?” His voice somehow becomes darker, and I force down the word vomit that threatens to leave my mouth.
“Helping?”
“Do I need help?”
“My father won’t allow the maids to disrupt things, so there won’t be anyone to help you get the water or towels. Don’t you want towels?”
He takes a hesitant step back, letting me in. “Are you used to the maids helping you?”
