He crosses his arms and leans against the door, effectively keeping me in. “Why are you sneaking out?”
“I’m not sneaking,” I reply. “I just didn’t want to wake you. You’ve barely been sleeping an hour.”
A devilish smirk tips up his lips. “Whose fault is that?”
My cheeks immediately heat, despite the cold air. “Yours!” I insist.
He pretends to cock his head in thought. “Mmm, I’d have to disagree. You were quite insatiable. Asked for us to go again on multiple occasions as I recall.”
I groan in embarrassment, which just makes him grin. “Come back to bed.”
“I can’t,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “The sun is going to be up soon.”
His green eyes flit over to the glass doors, to the horizon we can see over the castle walls. “We can fit one more time in.”
“I’ve fit enough in for one night,” I quip.
Slade laughs, and the delicious sound makes my toes curl. “Alright, let me get dressed, and I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”
My eyes nearly bug out. “What are you talking about? You know you can’t do that.”
He strides across the room, and I become momentarily distracted with his strong back and firm ass until both disappear from view when he enters his dressing room.
Shaking my head, I take the opportunity to open the door and walk out. I expect for the sitting room to be empty, so I startle when I find Fake Rip sitting on one of the chairs, a map rolled out on his lap and a platter of breakfast laid out on the table in front of him.
“Do you always wear that helmet and armor? It’s only four in the morning.”
He doesn’t even turn his head in my direction. “Trust me, it’s not my favorite look,” he murmurs. “It makes it a pain in the ass to eat…and take a piss.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I didn’t need to know that.”
Spotting my coat hanging on the back of the chair he’s sitting on, I walk over and tug, but it doesn’t budge beneath his weight. “Can you get off?”
“I suppose I don’t have to ask the two of you that question,” he jokes.
My mouth drops open in mortification, but before I can form a response, Slade strides into the room half dressed, pants hanging low on his hips, black shirt unbuttoned. He walks straight over to Fake Rip and smacks him on the back of his head, helmet be damned. “Don’t make me rot your tongue this early in the morning.”
Fake Rip chuckles with a shrug, barely glancing up from the map. “Just wanted to see what color her skin turns when she blushes.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Slade says as he starts to button up his shirt, hiding all those sexy muscles I love looking at. “Apologize to her.”
Fake Rip reaches behind him and grabs my coat, holding it out to me. “Sorry, little golden girl.”
I snatch the coat and pull it on before I sit down and shove my feet into my boots and do up the laces. From my peripheral, I notice Fake Rip looking at Slade. “So I take it we’re not leaving now.”
Stealing a look up at Slade, I notice his face has gone stony.
“That’s what I thought,” Fake Rip says, though his tone has taken on a slightly bitter edge. “Then are you going to send me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
A curse grits out from behind Fake Rip’s black helmet. “Dammit, you know we can’t fuck around with this. We need to go and see—”
“I know,” Slade bites out. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Fake Rip shakes his head, grumbling something too low for me to hear. I quickly tie up the rest of my boots, feeling both awkward and curious about overhearing this conversation.
“Ready?” Slade asks, coming up to stand beside me as soon as I’m finished.
“You can’t come with me.”
He frowns. “I don’t like the idea of you creeping out of here alone like a dirty secret. I’ll be discreet.”
“Right. Because no one will notice King Rot walking the gold-touched favored down the halls at four in the morning,” I say with a snort. “We both know I need to go alone so that no one sees.”
His eyes narrow, and for a moment, we’re stuck in some sort of standoff. Then, without looking away, he says, “Give us a minute.”
Fake Rip makes a noise of irritation, but he gets to his feet and stomps out of the room, heading for the balcony.
When we’re relatively alone, Slade runs a hand through his mussed, coal-black hair. I can say from experience that it’s just as soft as it appears. But instead of saying anything, he hesitates, looking torn.