My body may be tired, but the interaction with Rip has left my mind buzzing.
Those things he said…
My own good. How in the world can I be anyone’s good when I feel so bad?
Another tear makes the trek down my face, and I don’t even bother swiping it away. I just lean back, head pillowed by the blanket against the high back chair, my eyes closed to the cold.
I’ve no idea how long I sit there while the night grows darker, but a blanket of black has covered the sky when the sound of footsteps jolts me from my agonized contemplation.
Looking over, I find Rip’s silhouette lit up by the fire he must’ve coaxed back to life in my room. I hadn’t even heard him moving around in there. I thought he’d left. There’s a tray of food in his hand that he sets down on the small iron table next to me, the smell of sugared rolls immediately filling my nose.
“You brought me food?”
“A servant came to the door to deliver it,” he tells me, tone carefully guarded. “You should eat. It might help with the power drain.”
My mouth waters at the sight of it as I sit up, tucking the blanket around me so I can free my arms. “I’m starved.” I cast him a quick look through my lashes. “Thank you.”
He gives me a single nod and then turns to leave, but I find my hand shooting out to catch his arm before I even realize what I’m doing. We both stare down at my gloved fingers curled around his wrist, and I’m not sure which of us is more shocked that I grabbed him.
I quickly let go, a flush rising over my cooled face. “Sorry, I didn’t…” I clear my throat. “I mean… Do you want to stay and eat with me?”
Vulnerable. That quiet question is so very vulnerable.
Maybe all my good sense drained out through my palms right along with the gold, but I don’t want him to go. There’s this cavern split inside of me, a bleak loneliness that widened the moment I denied him the truth.
Rip stares down at me but says nothing, and shame crawls over me like creeping ants, making me want to itch. What I’m doing isn’t fair to either of us.
I should’ve hardened myself against him just like I did with Midas. I want to. I’ve tried to. So why can’t I hate him, like I hate Midas? It would make everything so much easier.
I can see in his conflicted face that he’s going to deny me, shut me down just like I did to him on the railing. So I beat him to it.
“Never mind. Thank you for carrying me upstairs.”
He just stares down at me, expression unreadable in the dark.
“Really,” I say nervously. “Don’t feel obligated to stay with me just because I asked. It’s probably a bad idea, anyway. I have a power hangover, and after that moment on the railing…” I trail off, like my blush has stolen my voice. “Anyway. I’m still furious with you for lying to me, you know, and it’s obvious you’re angry with me now too, so it’s probably better that you don’t stay anyway.”
He shakes his head, looking up at the sky for a moment as if he’s trying to see if he can find some patience tucked away with the budding stars. Maybe he finds some after all, because he lets out a breath and says, “Well, with an invitation like that, how could I resist?”
To my surprise, he sits down in the chair next to me, and I’m not sure if I’m more freaked out or relieved.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as we begin to eat the food on the tray together, always careful that our hands don’t touch, not even letting them get within an inch of each other. My nerves are extra aware of him, and I swear I see his gaze keep landing on the side of my neck, following the path where his mouth traveled.
This was definitely a bad idea.
For a few minutes, the silence between us is a burden. It’s carried on our tense shoulders, groped by stiff hands. But slowly, the weight of it comes off, slipping into something easier, something familiar. For a moment, I can almost pretend we’re back with his army, sharing the quiet of the tent.
I devour two sugared rolls, some honeyed ham, and fruit dipped in cherry-red syrup. I’ve found that the food here is always sweet and sticky, though I don’t really mind right now, since every time I lick my fingers, I feel Rip’s eyes cut over to me.
When we’ve cleared the entire tray, I feel better, no longer like I might topple over any second. With a mug of steamed mead cradled in my palms, I lean back with a sigh just as it begins to snow. The flakes tear off from the clouds, falling like confetti paper ripped off onto a parchment ground.