“Good point.”
I blinked.
“But it is what it is.” Kieran arched a brow. “Do you wish to leave the room and eat, or would you rather sit here and stew? Your choice.”
My choice? I almost laughed. “I need to use the bathing chamber first.”
“Take your time. I’ll just sit here and stare at…nothing now.”
Rolling my eyes, I started to turn, and then my stupid mouth opened. “Where is His Highness?”
“Highness? Man, I bet Cas loves being referred to as that.” Kieran chuckled. “You miss him already?”
“Oh, yes. That’s exactly why I’m asking.”
He grinned. “He’s been speaking with Alastir and several of the others in town. If he wasn’t the Prince of Atlantia, with all his princely duties, I’m sure he’d be here…” His pale eyes glimmered. “Watching you sleep.”
“Thank the gods that he has something to pass his time with then,” I muttered.
Ignoring that, I hurried into the bathing chamber. I took care of my needs and then grabbed the brush from the small vanity. My hair was a mess from sleeping on it, and there was a good chance that I tore half of it out while trying to get the knots out. Once I finished, I placed the brush back and then looked in the small mirror, tilting my head to the side.
I wasn’t looking at the scars, though I thought they seemed less noticeable somehow—could be the lighting. Rather it was my eyes that I stared at. They were green, passed down from my father to Ian and me. My mother’s were brown, and I thought of how the Atlantians had golden or hazel-colored eyes. Had my mother’s been a plain shade of brown? Or had they been a golden brown? Was I just assuming that all Atlantians had some shade of gold in their eyes?
Turning my head to the side, I saw that the bite mark was now just a pale purple bruise. It looked like one of the love bites I’d read about in Miss Willa Colyns’ diary. I flushed as I quickly braided my hair. Once completed, I tossed the plait over my shoulder, hoping the thick tail would stay in place, concealing the mark.
My gaze lowered to my hands. I have a lot of blood on my hands. As angry as I was at Casteel, his words still haunted me, as did what he’d shared about the time he’d spent as a captive. He didn’t deserve that.
Part of me still couldn’t believe that he’d taken ownership for Vikter and the others, and I couldn’t help but wonder if their deaths were part of what stained his soul.
I also wondered if what he hadn’t been able to control when he was held also darkened his soul.
If so, that sat even heavier on my heart, and I wasn’t sure what to do with any of that. Horrific things had been done to him. He’d done terrible things. Neither canceled out the other.
Kieran was at least standing when I exited the bathing chamber. He faced the banked fire, and I wondered if that was as far as he’d moved.
“Do you ever get bored?” I asked.
“With what?” he replied, sounding as disinterested as possible.
“With standing around and waiting for me? It seems like you are tasked with doing so quite often.”
“It’s actually an honor to guard what the Prince values so highly,” he replied. “And since I’m never quite sure what you’re going to do from one second to the next, it’s not even remotely boring. That is, except when you’re sleeping.”
I made a closed mouth sound of annoyance as my heart immediately went to war with my brain over why I was considered something the Prince valued. My heart, which gave a happy little flop, was obviously stupid.
I went to the fireplace and picked up the thigh sheath. Relieved to find the supple leather dry, I asked, “Have you seen my dagger?”
“The one fashioned from wolven bone?”
I cringed. “Yes, that one.”
“I have not.”
Feeling a bit contrite and insensitive, I turned to him. “About the…the handle. I have no idea how that came into creation or when. It was given to me as a gift—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Unless you are the one who carved it from the bones of a wolven, you don’t need to apologize. I imagine it was created shortly after the War of Two Kings. Many of my kind fell during the battles, and not all the bodies could be retrieved.”
I wanted to apologize again, especially when I thought about how families hadn’t had the chance to honor their loved ones with whatever burial practices they observed. I resisted the urge to comment as I slipped the bent meat knife into the sheath, half expecting Kieran to say something, but all he did was smile faintly when I glanced at him.