I gave him a hunted glance. “I'm fine.”
He paused to study me, then gestured to a servant, who leaned down. The Prince murmured an instruction. Moments later, a clear bowl of broth appeared in front of me. Some vegetables and slivers of meat floated in the liquid.
“Try this,”Renaudsaid. “It will be gentler on your stomach. . .especially with all the wine.”
I almost picked the bowl up and threw its contents in his face in defiance of the command, but a warring instinct conflicted with that desire. I didn't expect kindness from him, or enough caring to observe that I was unwell.
It shook me enough that I ate in silence for a while. Simple kindness was rare enough even among family who loved each other. That he was capable of it cracked the foundation of everything I thought I knew.
I picked up a spoon with a shaking hand and began to eat. The warm, savory broth eased my stomach.
“Bread?” Renaud offered me a roll from his plate. “Asmall piece. Dip it in the broth first.”
He was feeding me like an invalid he took pleasure in nursing. Or like a male who—no, I wouldn't think it. But then I forced myself to stop being a coward.
“You kissed me,” I said, and accidentally bent the handle of my spoon. I set it down carefully.
Renaud stilled, then his velvet voice rubbed against my bare skin. “I did. I’ll kiss you many more times, Aerinne.”
Looking around for anything calming to rest my gaze on, I found no relief. Even the trees appeared sinister, shadowed and gnarled. The pressure between my temples increased.
He hadn't denied his intent to stake a claim. And now, he fed me from his hand. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Even I couldn't exist in that much denial.
I understood neither the male nor the game he played, but his intent was painfully clear.
My stomach retained the bread, so I eviscerated the roll into several little pieces and sat them on the small plate next to my bowl, shaken with the need torun since drinking was no longer an option, but that would be the worst thing to do. A male in rut was bad, a warrior worse, so logic dictated a High Lord to be disastrous.
So then, whatdid one call aPrince, anOld One, spiraling into heat?
Anuclear disaster?
“Is there anything left of a female after an Old One finishes with her? Anything besides blood and meat?”
Renaud’s contemplative look surprised me. The question should have angered him, or at least caused offense.
“How frightened you are,” he murmured.
I touched my forehead with the back of my hand, felt the sheen of moisture. “What did you think I would be? Tripping over my feet onto your—”
“Lady Aerinne,” my father said. “Your soup is cooling, sweetheart.”
Fine. I went back to the soup.
After several minutes of watching me eat, the Prince spoke again. “You told me about when you were fourteen and when you were sixteen. Tell me about when you were eighteen.”
My father sighed, and signaled a servant for another bottle of wine.
“Do you have a thing for even numbers?” I asked, the bleating of hunted rabbits in my mind.
Renaud stroked a finger down the back of my hand. “It seems balanced.”
Was the caress a taunt? Or did he truly think it harmless, just a simple touch?
I stared into my soup bowl, my fingers curled tightly around my discretely replaced spoon. What the hell. Might as well.
“Balance would be paying the same gilt to us for our dead warriors that we pay to you,Renaud.”
“You think so?”
