Spinning around, she forced herself to meet his hard eyes, locking down the emotions churning inside.
“Is that why you’re here? You’re a mental Fae who fled?”
“No!”
Lessia backed up when he inched closer, but he didn’t stop, and soon her back was against the door, his face an inch from hers, that wintry scent of his enveloping her again.
“Back up,” she snarled.
Loche tilted his head, boring his eyes into hers. “Tell me why you’re here.”
She placed her hands on his chest to try to shove him back, but he didn’t move an inch. “I told you. This is my home. The Fae are not my people. I am equal parts Fae and human, and I like Ellow.”
He glanced down at her hands before their eyes collided again.
“Little liar,” he whispered.
Her breath caught in her throat when he leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. “I’ve told you I will find out what you’re hiding, and it’ll be sooner rather than later.”
Nostrils flaring, she glared athim when he finally stepped back. “I told you what you wanted to know. I’ll answer whatever questions you have. So, why do you keep doing this?”
The corners of his lips lifted. “Because when someone is uncomfortable, it’s easier to read them. And contrary to this town’s beliefs, closeness seems to make you more uncomfortable than threats.”
Shaking her head, she reached for the doorknob and savored the cool air washing over her as she spun around, leaving the stupid regent behind.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
When Lessia finally walked inside after gathering more firewood, she shivered, and her hands had a sickly blue cast. Even though it was a sunny day, the wind was merciless, and swirls of snow had kept layering over her as it blew between the trees.
Venko waved at her from where he sat at the table, but she didn’t miss the sour glance Craven shot her when she walked over to the fireplace to set the wood down to dry.
The men were drinking again, and while she rarely drank more than a cup of ale or wine, the sight of the amber liquor intensified the ache that had started in her stomach. Having kept busy for a few hours, she’d been able to ignore it, but now a hungry roar rumbled through her body.
“You should have some. We have you to thank for being able to stay warm.” Venko lifted a broken cup, and despite the daggers Craven stared at her, she walked over and snatched it, then settled with her back against the wall.
Lifting the cup with stiff fingers, she sniffed the contents, barely holding back a wince at the harsh smell.
“It’s not drugged.” Loche stretched his hands over his head, and as she cautiously glanced his way, she was grateful to find he’d slipped into the worn leather tunic he’d worn when they rode here.
Nodding, she took a small sip and savored the warmth filling her gut.
While it would probably feel even worse tomorrow, she knew that anything that gave her a bit of energy would help in the days to come, all too familiar with the pain, then the euphoria, then the numbness that came from starvation.
They remained quiet as they drank, and when the little light the day had brought shifted into darkness, shadows veiling the men’s faces, Craven first, then Venko, went up to bed.
“One more?” Loche wagged the near-empty bottle, and despite the cup she’d drunk already starting to go to her head, she nodded.
Rising from his chair, he filled her cup with the rest of the liquor, keeping his eyes on hers but not crowding her space again.
When the last drop trickled from the bottle, Lessia averted her eyes and headed back to claim her spot before the fire. She sat down on the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs, her eyes trailing the sparking flames as they licked the wood.
The warmth from the liquor as she took another sip fueled her gratefulness.
It hadn’t been the cold, the starvation, or even the beatings that nearly killed her during the years in King Rioner’s dungeons.
It was the all-consuming darkness and choking silence.
