Page 64 of The Sunbound Princess
He said nothing, but his wry smile let me know my gentle barb had landed.
Dain stirred, then opened his eyes. “Food,” he rumbled, pushing himself higher on the pillows.
Nikolas chuckled. “That’s right, big guy. I brought stew.” He pulled a bundle I hadn’t noticed from under his arm. “And a surprise.” Moving to the bed, he shook out various pieces of clothing and lay them on the quilt. Men’s trousers. Linen shirts. A snowy white chemise and lace-trimmed drawers. And, finally, a forest-green gown with yellow roses sewn around the hem.
My breath caught, the promise of clean clothing drawing me forward. “Where did you get this?” I asked, fingering the fabric. The gown’s style was simple, but it was obviously well made, its stitches so fine they were almost invisible.
“I bought it from the innkeeper’s wife,” Nikolas said. He caught my eye, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “With real coin.”
I lifted a brow. “Turning over a new leaf?”
He went to the chest and began sorting the food. Returning to the bed with a bowl in hand, he offered me a soft smile. “I think I’ll stick to stealing hearts.”
Warmth rose in my cheeks, but I wouldn’t let myself be charmed. Fetching a bowl and spoon from the chest, I returned to the window and faced the street.
The men murmured behind me. In the glass, Nikolas poured wine and carried it to Dain. A moment later, Nikolas settled on the edge of the bed with his own bowl. I dipped my spoon in my stew and blew on the steaming broth.
“You could join us,” Nikolas said, raising his voice. I turned, and he patted the bed next to him. “There’s plenty of room.”
“I’m fine here,” I said. “The view is nice.”
It wasn’t, really. The village’s sole lamp cast a meager puddle of light on the ground. Darkness swallowed everything else, the forest beyond the village’s few buildings a lumpy black mass against a dark purple sky.
Nikolas didn’t call my bluff. I turned my attention to my stew, which was as good as anything I’d eaten in the palace in Lum Laras. But even as the rich broth and seasoned vegetableswarmed my stomach, my gaze returned again and again to the men’s reflection in the glass.
Nikolas tended Dain, plumping the pillows and helping him with his wine. He laughed softly when Dain dribbled it on the sheet, then smiled as he tucked a lock of Dain’s long hair behind his ear. He tugged gently on Dain’s thickening stubble, teasing him about needing a shave.
Dain stared up at him with an easy smile and open affection in his blue eyes. They were playful with each other. Tender. Banked desire underscored their interactions, but it was a quiet, steady intimacy. The kind built over time.
“How did you two meet?” I asked, the question bursting from me before I could think better of it. The men met my gaze in the window, both suddenly still. I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to?—”
“Prison,” Nikolas said. “I was ten. Dain was twelve.”
If I’d had any stew in my throat, I might have choked on it. “Ten?” I asked, indignation spinning me around. “They sent a ten year old to prison?”
Nikolas looked surprised by my reaction. “Dain and I were both caught stealing bread.” He frowned at Dain. “Or was yours pie?”
“Cakes,” Dain said. His expression turned wistful. “They had lemon frosting.”
“But you were children,” I insisted. “I can only imagine you stole food because you were hungry.”
“Yes,” Nikolas said, lifting a shoulder. “That’s how it works in Saldu Kuum. The Crown doesn’t care how old you are if you’re poor.”
My heart squeezed, images of children in cells parading through my mind. “That’s barbaric. We don’t imprison children in the Summer Court.” Then again, elven children were precious. My people reproduced with far more difficulty than humans.The scholars said immortality made it so. The gods never gave a gift without taking another away.
Nikolas shrugged again, although his eyes held appreciation for my outrage. “Different kingdoms, different laws.”
Curiosity tugged at me. I placed my empty bowl on the chest and moved to the bed’s footboard. “And before prison?” I asked. “Where did the two of you grow up?”
Nikolas set his bowl aside, his expression neutral. “I don’t know who my father is. My mother worked in a brothel in Saldu. I was born there.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You can probably guess how.”
I could, and it set my heart aching. Or maybe the ache stemmed from seeing his usual mischievous smile paired with pain he didn’t quite manage to hide.
“That’s where I learned how to watch people,” he said. “How to charm them.” He gave a cynical-sounding laugh. “My mother always said the only difference between a whore and an actress was the spelling.”
His light tone did nothing to ease the weight of the words.Forget it, I wanted to say.Don’t speak of it.But I’d asked. The least I could do was listen as he answered.
Nikolas cleared his throat. “She sold me to the brothel-keeper when I was seven so she could retire to the countryside. I never saw her again.”
