I miss my rooms and the panoramic view from the balcony.
I miss Corrin’s daily scolding as she delivered a repetitive menu of vegetarian stew and freshly baked bread.
I miss Dagny’s prattling as she pinned silks and linens to my body to match the designs I’d sketched.
But right now, what I miss most is the bath in my queen’s chamber—a large copper tub that seemed constructed for my body and my body alone, cocooning me in warmth.
Not that this stone hut doesn’t have charm—a small hovel surrounded by weeping trees, with uneven ledges built into the walls where tapered candles blink, a hearth where a fire burns beneath a cauldron, a floor covered in silky animal skins soft against bare feet. It’s a far cry better than the frigid lakes and streams the Legion use to bathe.
My hair is still matted with dried blood and mud, and my attempt to wash it proves painful. I thought the water might soothe my aching shoulder while this elven body works its healing magic, but now I can barely lift my arm. I’d think it was dislocated from my fall, if I didn’t know better.
I sink deeper into the round, barrel-like wooden tub, absorbing the last hints of warmth from the tepid water before it officially turns too cold. I shouldn’t have sent Eden to bed after she cleaned and hung my clothes to dry, but I wanted to be alone to wallow in my conflicting emotions.
My ring sits heavy on my finger tonight. It has ever since Zander slid it back on with all the tenderness of a man who still cares deeply for me. That’s just wishful thinking, though. That, or the depth of his feelings for me can never compete with his love for Islor.
Can I fault him for that? Isn’t that what makes him a good king? A king the mortals of Islor need?
Still, it hurts.
Through the small rectangular opening in the wall, branches stir. A moment later, the door creaks open behind me.
“I told you to go to bed.”
“If you mean Eden, she did. I watched her go.”
My stomach flips as Zander’s voice fills the room. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you needed to talk.” The door shuts with a click.
“Yeah, and then that letter came, and I figured you were busy doing king things.”
“King things?” His footfalls are slow and measured as he crosses the little room to the simmering cauldron. He stoops to place another log beneath. The flames engulf it instantly, aided by his affinity. “That water cannot be comfortable anymore.”
“It’s not.” I fight the urge to curl my arms across my bare chest, just an inch beneath the water’s surface. He’s the one who decided to intrude. “But I don’t want to get out yet.”
“Good, because you are still filthy.” He sheds his cloak and weapons on the floor, the gory evidence of the earlier battle smeared on the blades.
“You’re one to talk.” His forearm is covered in dried blood.
“I am not the one sitting in a tub.”
And unfortunately, he wouldn’t fit in here with me, no matter how creative the positioning.
He sets to filling the pitcher with hot water.
“What did the letter say?” I wait expectantly, my pulse thrumming, as he saunters over to add the steaming water.
But he keeps his eyes downcast. “Atticus has announced his betrothal to Saoirse.”
The news derails my lewd thoughts. I groan. “What an idiot!”
He smirks as he returns to the cauldron and refills the pitcher.
“That horrible snake is going to be queen of Islor. These poor people will be under her rule.” She’s going to sleep in my bed and sit on the throne I once sat in. My throne. While it was never truly mine to begin with, I feel an odd claim to it now, and a surge of disappointment at its loss. “Why are you not upset?”
“Because stewing in my feelings will not change anything.”
I sigh. “When?”