“The king gives him an order, and he checks with you to see if he should carry it out,” Zander mutters.
I shrug. “What can I say? We do have a special blood bond.”
Zander’s flat look says that joke doesn’t amuse him.
“I fear that blacksmith wasn’t wrong when he called him cunning. He had me convinced.” Elisaf shakes his head. “Are you truly going to keep him alive?”
“Romeria insisted. And as long as he does not give me a reason to change my mind, I will honor her request.”
“I appreciate that.”
Zander opens his mouth but stalls, whatever he wants to say held back.
“Your Highness?” Eden treks across the dewy grass, the hem of her dress damp and stained with mud.
“Hey, why are you still up?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” I didn’t take her from that hellhole so she could stay up all hours of the night to serve me. “Go sleep.”
“I will.” Her wide blue eyes take in my blood-smeared form. “I prepared a bath if you’d like to clean up before you rest. It should be the perfect temperature.”
She must have been tending to it for hours, awaiting my arrival.
I sigh. “Thank you, Eden. I would love that.”
She beams and then with a bow, offers, “I can show you where the bathhouse is?”
“I know where it is.” I saw the little stone shack in the trees earlier, the farm’s servants hauling in buckets of water. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
With another curtsy and a murmured “Your Highness,” she hurries back the way she came.
“You should take advantage,” Zander says. “Who knows when we’ll have such accommodations again.”
“I’m going to. I just … can I talk to you for a minute?” Alone, preferably. I’m not sure what I want to say.
Thank you for running to my rescue, even if your motivation is selfish.
Thank you for supporting me with Pan, even if you disagree.
Thank you for not being the cold king tonight, even if I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.
He opens his mouth, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’ll continue this routine of avoiding me—
“Highness!” Horik marches over and hands Zander a parchment. “News from Cirilea.”
With a frown, Zander unfolds and begins reading. His teeth grit together.
“What is it?” Something terrible, likely. “Zander?”
“You should get to that bath before it turns cold.” He spins and heads toward Abarrane’s tent.
“Good night,” I whisper, though I doubt he heard it, the dismissal clear. There was a time when he would stall others, steal a few moments, just to hear what I needed to say. But those days are gone.
“Sleep well.” Elisaf offers a sympathetic smile before following his king.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my time in the castle.