I stare at the piano, not wanting to meet his gaze, still allowing my hand to roam, and even press down on a key every now and then, the sound singing through the wood.
“It’s night. Blackwell is sleeping, and Misery is resting. We have time.” There’s something almost unintentional in his tone, especially the way his words tightened at the end, like he didn’t mean to say that.
He talks easily.
I glance up and offer a smile, to ease his worries, because Idefinitelyprefer him as a talker. “I’ll eat, then.”
He quickly rises to his feet, the low-cut tunic revealing a clean chest underneath; he’stooclean.No warfare for this one… an easy target?He nears the table that has an obscene amount of food. The sight of it—so much richness, so much waste when Anya is probably starving—makes me feel even more like tonighthasto be the night.
I honestly don’t know if there’s a perfect time, or if I’m simply letting my gut guide me. But I could eat up, get some energy and real food in my stomach, drink somefreshwater.
Pulling one of the finely crafted chairs from the table, I sit on the velvet cushion, the candle flames at the table blowing all to the right; an ocean breeze even tugs at the heavy curtains. “Can I ask you questions?” I ask as I fill a plate.
Jesper’s smile thins, his eyes hardening. “It’s best if I am the one asking questions, Jane.”
“Of course.” I bow my head slightly and take a bite of the whipped potatoes. That buttery, salted flavor makes my eyes roll. The steak’s fatty juices run on my plate, the meat tender.
If I weren’t so determined to use this for my strength, I’d feel too guilty in indulging, knowing people I care about starve right below my feet.
Jesper collects a wide variety of food on his plate and pours a tall glass of wine for thebothof us. “You know, I had a feeling this would work with you. I heard a story, once, about you being in chains, in public. And that you were surprisingly willing. I never forgot hearing about that.”
My fork pauses mid-air. “With Soren?” I ask, surprised word of that spread all the way here.
More eyes are on you than you think, Jane.
Jesper stiffens, a wild flash of something erratic in his eyes. “I’d prefer not to mention him anymore. Not if we are taking thisseriously.”
“Alright,” I say, not fightingthat. He’s utterly lucky Soren isn’t here right now. I bet this man would actually shit his pants ifmyZenith appeared in that doorway. Gods help Jesper’s actualsoulif Soren finds me covered in someone else’s preferred scent.
“He will never be relevant here; therefore best to leave it in the past,” he explains.
“Understood.” I take a bite of the potatoes, slowly mushing it around as my mind races, trying to deconstruct the undertones ofthat. Jesper’s reaction isn’t just dislike; it’s a capricious danger. “Do you eat like this all the time?” I ask, motioning to the table, trying to shift the conversation to a safer place.
I’m still not sold on acting tonight, but I also don’t want to waste this opportunity of freedom and solitude. I need to make thiscount, and he seems so gullible right now. If this is common, perhaps I can suggest dinner more often.
His smile returns, hung up by pride. “Perks of being me.”
“Do you have a title?” I ask, instantly regretting it when he looks offended, like I’m making fun of him. I quickly recover, “I meant, I don’t know if I should be calling you by something.”
He grips his fork tightly, sighing as if he’s doingmea service by being so patient. “Not yet. Iwillbe a king, though.”
Sure you will, buddy.
I nod, keeping my reaction neutral. Conversation with him seems risky at best. I could ask the wrong thing that sets him off, and then I’m sent back to my room until it’s time to leave this wretched island.
This will have been a waste of opportunity.
“You are not wearing your scented oils,” he comments, his tone accusatory, like I’m losing his interest.
“Oh, uh, yes. I set the vial down so Marissa could braid my hair, and I honestly forgot.”
Jesper’s gaze lingers on my face as I lower my gaze down to the table. “See to it that you don’t forget again.” He takes an aggressive bite of his steak, resting his hands together as he leans on his perched elbows, a fork and knife in either hand as his jaw works hard to tear apart the meat. “Marissa is an interesting choice, for someone to tend to you. She can be so jealous, butveryloyal. Which is whatIwant.” He puts his fork down, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a vial, placing it on the table. “I brought some, though. We can put it on after you eat.”
“You really like that, then?” I ask, absolutely lost on how to converse with this man.
“Verymuch.”
Gross. Officially, I hate the smell of evergreens now. I glance out the window as I eat, at the dark ocean that the moonlight casts scattering light across, like a mess of broken glass, and for a moment, it’s beautiful to look at.
