Cenric’s jaw tightens even more. “This isn’t a joke, Everly.”
“Truly? Because your face is pretty funny right now.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “What’s the real problem? Did Finn insult your horse? Steal your favorite shiny rock?”
Those brilliant blue eyes narrow. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
“Ooh, scary,” I say, wiggling my fingers at him. “What are you going to do? Make me scrub more pots?”
Snow crunches beneath his boots as he steps closer. “You need to learn your place.”
My place? As if he has the right to tell me where I belong.
Anger lashes through me as I rush to my feet. “And where exactly is that? Under your boot?”
“That’s not—”
“—please enlighten me, then. Where should I be? In thekitchen? Cowering in fear? Or maybe I should bat my eyelashes and swoon every time you walk by?”
Cenric’s mouth thins.
“Oh, I know.” I snap my fingers. “I should be invisible, right? Just another nameless face in the crowd, not daring to speak to the almighty warriors?”
“Everly,” he warns, but I’m on a roll now.
“Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” I say, holding up a hand. “My place is wherever you say it is, right? Because clearly, you know what’s best for everyone. All hail Cenric, the great decider of destinies.”
I bow, sweeping my arm out dramatically. When I straighten, Cenric’s eyes turn colder than the snow under my feet.
Oh no.
I pushed him too far.
Cenric’s hand clamps around my arm, and before I can blink, he marches me across the camp. My feet barely touch the ground as I struggle to keep up with his long strides.
We reach my tent, and Cenric all but throws me inside. He whirls to face me, his eyes blazing like twin infernos.
“I will not be mocked,” Cenric says in a low voice—the kind of voice I have rarely heard from him. At least, aimed at me.
Refusing to cower before him, I fold my arms. “I will speak to whomever I want, however I want, and for however long I want. You’re not the boss of me, Cenric.” Well, he actually kind of is, but I cannot take my words back now.
“I am your superior officer,” he snaps.
“Do you mean, superior painin my backside?”
“You need to show some respect,” he says through gritted teeth.
A derisive snort escapes me. “Respect is earned, not demanded. Maybe try being less of a pompous ass.”
“I would if you were less of an insolent brat.”
“I’ll stop being insolent when you stop being unreasonable.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” he insists, though his tone implies otherwise.
“Oh, sure.” I roll my eyes. “Because dragging me across camp is the epitome of reason.”
“It was necessary.”
“Necessary for what? Bruising my arm or your ego?”
