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She hesitated, her back flat against the massive door, her thoughts exploding in a million different directions.
She smoothed her palms over her skirts, then eased inside to the center of the solar. Various documents covered the long table: half-written letters, maps, and sealed scrolls. Blanchette ran her hand over the wood surface as her gaze danced across the organized mess of ledgers and letters. Within her mind’s eye, the room transformed, and she saw her father sitting before the table, a goblet of wine in hand. His thinning, golden hair gleamed in his candle’s light, and his eyes resembled two empty vats. She looked closer—and for the first time, she really saw him. Beneath that void, something lurked… something cold and cruel. She stepped back and blinked until her father’s ghostly image faded into memory, and only the empty high-back chair sat before her.
I can see him now for what he was.
But who am I?
Blanchette toyed with her signet ring. Then she crossed the remainder of the solar and threw open the shutters. The window overlooked the training yard. She could see the watchtower and the formidable gatehouse and curtain wall.
The door creaking open nearly caused Blanchette to leap out of her skin. The smooth rumble of Rowan’s voice followed.
“Blanchette. I’m glad you’re here.”
She turned to face him and leaned against the window seat. He was undoing the ties on his arm. She inhaled shakily, then crossed the solar to stand before him.
“Yes, well… I said I wasn’t leaving you, didn’t I?” she asked with a smile.
He paused his handiwork and stared down at her. His eyes looked exhausted, and a palpable sorrow was there.
She heard his sharp intake of air. Then he returned to the ties and wrestled with them. Blanchette shook her head and placed her small hands on his. They stilled at her touch, and for a moment, Blanchette allowed herself to savor the feel of his skin against hers. His fingers and knuckles were covered in ash. Tenderly, she brushed it away.
“Here, allow me,” she whispered, her fingers finding the ties on his gauntlets. “You must be so weary.”
He exhaled a sigh of agreement, then let his hand slip away from hers. She met his gaze and tentatively stepped closer so they were almost touching. The heat of his body radiated. Her head spinning, she cleared her throat and got to work on his armor.
How indecent it felt. She felt the color rising to her cheeks while her typically nimble fingers tripped over themselves. “Tell me more about the attack.”
The sorrow returned to his eyes, and Blanchette fought to ignore the intense reaction she felt toward his pain. “It was madness, but I did what I could. I saved a mother and her daughter… so I suppose that’s a small mercy. Even so, I should have stopped it before it started.”
“You’re the Black Wolf,” she murmured, shaking her head, “not a wizard. You can’t always know such things. But I understand how this must pain you. How it must feel like a failure.”
He nodded, then gave her a weary smile.
Two servants brought pots of hot water from the kitchens. They filled the wooden tub and scented the water with fresh-picked petals from the garden. Blanchette watched Rowan watch her; her heart raced as he pulled the shirt over his head. His chest was broad and well-muscled. It tapered off into a narrow waist and legs that seemed to go on forever. A light smattering of hair covered the contours and planes of his chest. As he bundled up the shirt, the peak of his biceps tightened and bulged. He was beautiful. Mesmerizing. She shouldn’t have stared so ardently, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She admired his quiet, confident power; the sleek lines of his body and how he moved with a grace and stillness that contrasted against his massive height and size.
She knew he was large and strong… but she didn’t expect this. He stared at her from across the solar. Then he tossed the shirt aside, next to his armor, and brought his fingers to the laces on his pants. Blanchette cleared her throat as his fingers began to work, nimble and strong. She moved over to the window and stared dumbly at the shutters. From beyond the window came the rumble of voices, the thud of hooves, and the tread of boots on wooden stairs and walkways.
“You may also assist with these ties, ma princesse.”
“You can manage fine without my help, I am sure,” she said dryly. The rustling of clothes came next, puncturing the silence. She waited for the telling splash of water to subside as Rowan settled into the wooden tub.
A breath escaped from her lips.
“I-I should go,” she stammered.
She crossed the room, nearly falling over her own feet. His hand shot toward her and latched onto her wrist. She felt her breath hitch, and his fingers’ warm, wet heat snaked around her skin. Her heart hammered loudly within the silent chamber, and she was sure Rowan could hear the godforsaken drumming. She glanced down at him. His eyes locked onto hers, pleading, reaching out to her. She inhaled a sharp breath at the longing she found there. “Please,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Please, don’t go.”
Blanchette knew she couldn’t leave him alone. She’d be leaving him at the mercy of something terrible. Something that perhaps only she could soothe.
“Yes, you’re right. I… I shall stay.” She moved behind him, and his fingers slowly eased from her wrist. She circled the tub, watching him watch her again. He’d kept his smallclothes on for decency’s sake.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
He hooked his arms over the wooden sides, and the candlelight bathed his muscles in an enticing glow. Her fingers ached to touch that smooth tan skin. He tensed slightly, and she saw the definition in his arms, the way muscle and sinew contracted and tightened. Beads of water rolled off the curve of his biceps.
How would it feel to have those muscles against her? To feel the hard planes of his body across her soft curves as his breaths whistled in her ear? To hear him speak French while sensually thrusting in and out of her body?
Blanchette fought back her blush too late. He tossed his head back and let loose a dark laugh. “Why, you’re blushing like a maiden, ma princesse.”
