I’ve taken off my shirt. She’s studying my body. “The bath is big enough for two. It will help you not scar.”
She just stares at me.
“I’ll face the other direction.” It will be torture. But I want to heal her more than I want her.
“I can’t. Remember?”
She’s talking about the day I made her agree never to return to my bathroom, as a result of our duel. A foolish command.
“I take back my win. You’re welcome in every part of my palace.” It is treasonous, but I mean it. She fits so well here that the alternative seems strange.
I absorb her shock. Then a startling combination of defiance and curiosity.
Curiosity wins. She steps into the bathroom.
True to my word, I turn around. I remove my pants. I step into the bath. I hold myself very still, even though I can hear her clothing slipping off her body. She makes a small murmur of pain, and my growing desire is quickly replaced by concern.
She groans in relief as she enters the bath, and I’m aware the sound will likely live in the back of my head forever. I force myself to remain still, my knuckles white as I grip the sides of the tub.
“You can turn around,” she says. I don’t move an inch, though my entire body is thrumming with the urge to do exactly that. “The water ... it covers everything.”
I allow a moment to pass. Two. Then, victim to my own diminishing self-control, I turn around.
Beautiful. Just, beautiful.
Her hair falls in waves down her chest, and though her shoulders and collarbones are covered in blood, she is nothing short of extraordinary.
But she is far more than just her beauty.
She has fought side by side with me in the cave. She has healed me. She has challenged me, mocked me, andcaredfor me.
We stare at each other until the water clears, and Isla tugs her knees to her chest. Her cheeks flush from heat or the self-consciousness she radiates.
I want to tell her that she never has to cover herself, not around me. Not ever.
But I’m silent.
I wish she had my power. I wish she knew instinctively how I felt. I wish all this uncertainty between us could clear like the water.
She looks away, and I step out of the tub before my heart loses its battle with reason.
THE BALL
Everyone is scrambling to set up the ball.
It seems counterintuitive to have a celebration when your realm is ripping at the seams. But that’s exactly why we’re having it.
The people are getting antsy. Though there have been a few weeks of relative peace near the scar, thousands have been killed in the last few decades—hundreds in the last year alone.
They need a distraction. I would rather be anywhere else.
I would rather be withher.
I tasted her disappointment when I told her that tonight I’m occupied. It only sharpened when she had asked if she could attend the ball and I forbade it.
The idea of her—my beautiful, perfect hearteater—in the center of the depravity so common at these functions ...
The idea of anyone admiring her ...
