“The next Hudem.”
That was supposed to be our wedding day. Our second one. A sham to buy us time to uncover the traitors working against Zander. But then things changed between us and … I don’t know what would have happened if we had gone through it.
“Do you think he’s told Saoirse about me?” All my secrets?
“Atticus is not marrying Saoirse for love or companionship. It is merely a move on a chessboard to further entrench himself on the throne, so that I may not take it back.” Zander pours another pitcher of hot water into my bath. “He does not trust her or her father. He will guard all vital information.”
“Will it work? This marriage?”
“He’ll have Kettling and the east standing behind him.” His eyes settle on mine. “But I will have you.”
I swallow under their weight. “Water shields and crumbling caves will not beat an army. I think you put way too much faith in me.”
“And I do not think you put enough in yourself.” Finally, his attention drifts over my waiting body, his gaze rousing a delicious heat along my limbs, through my core. “How is the temperature now?”
“Better.” I hardly feel it one way or the other, far too focused on Zander, on the way he makes my heart pound, my blood race, and this ache stir deep inside. And I know he can sense it. That muscle ticking in his jaw tells me so.
“You haven’t washed your hair.”
“I tried, but my shoulder is killing.”
Zander collects a stool from nearby and settles next to the tub. “Relax for me,” he coaxes, cupping my nape.
I admire his mouth as I settle into his grip, allowing him to shift my body until the back of my head is immersed. His other hand works against my scalp, his fingers weaving through my hair. He grazes the spot on my skull that was bashed when they knocked me out. “Does that still sting?”
“No. Gesine fixed it.” And the dull ache that’s plagued me since melts away beneath his touch.
“And your leg?”
“Didn’t you just get a good look at it?” I tease. The room is dimly lit, but with those Islorian eyes of his, I can’t be sure what he can see.
“I did not come here for that.” When his eyes drop to meet mine, the hazel in them is molten. He may not have come for that, but I can see that he wants it.
My throat goes dry. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Good.” A quiet moment passes where the candles flicker, and Zander collects a lather from the bar of soap on the ledge. I inhale the delicious scent of rose petals as his skilled hands work it through my hair.
“How was your meeting with Rengard?”
“He’s protecting his interests and those of his people, and I cannot fault him for that.”
“Will he help you?”
“With supplies, yes. With information, perhaps. He has also agreed to take any of the Freywich mortals who wish to go—”
“Eden will go with him.”
Zander scoops water in his hand to rinse the soap from my hair. “She seems to have taken a liking to you. I suspect she will not be willing to leave your side.”
“She’ll be safer here, in Bellcross.”
“Probably, yes. Theon says the villages in the north grow restless. The rebellions have been brewing for years, but each day brings new stories of mortals defying their keepers and the crown. If there was ever a part of Islor to turn against us first, it is where we are going. Perhaps Tyree’s choice to send the vials to that area was not a coincidence. As for Eden, I thought you were an advocate of these mortals having a choice.”
“I am, but she still thinks we’re going back to Cirilea after this. She has no idea what’s going on.”
“Then perhaps you should tell her the truth and allow her to decide for herself.” Zander frowns, then shakes his head.
“What?”