A bath sounds glorious, but waiting where? In front of all these people? “Should I brace myself for a special tradition in the tub as well?” I mean the question to come out flippant, but instead it sounds like I’m suggesting something indecent.
Finn only winks in response as he dips a washcloth into one of the prepared bowls of hot, fragrant water. He slips back under my skirt and washes my feet and ankles, trailing the washcloth all the way up the front of my leg to my knee, then around and back down my calf. And I can’t decide if he intends his touch to be sensual, or if he is going through the motions of the ritual. Perhaps it’s my mind and my desires that are responsible for the way his hands on my skin warm my blood. Or maybe the words he spoke in the dark last night are to blame. I want all of you.
But does he? Or does he really want this power and nothing more? It’s becoming harder and harder to convince myself that the latter is true.
With Finn on his knees in front of me, his soapy hands sliding up and over my skin beneath my skirt, it’s hard to think straight, but the truth is, any remaining suspicions I had that his motives might not be pure crumbled last night, when he fell asleep holding my hand. If I’m trying to hold on to that belief now, it’s only a desperate attempt at self-preservation.
I already have feelings for Finn, and it would be all too easy to fall so hard that there would be no coming back.
Someone hands Finn a dry towel, and he sweeps it over my legs and feet, drying the skin he just washed, his eyes still on mine. I shiver, but not with cold anymore. I’m imagining what’s waiting for us in the tent— our tent. A bath, he promised.
“Next,” Finn says when I’m all dried off, “the flowers.” Standing, he begins to pull the flowers from my hair, dropping the buds into the bowl of herbed water he used to wash me. When he pulls the last one free, he passes the bowl to the horned male from earlier, then sweeps me into his arms.
I squeak and throw my arms around his neck. Finn grins, and the crowd cheers.
“Is this really necessary?” I whisper in his ear.
“Relax and enjoy it, Princess. It’s tradition.” He carries me around the fire and then to a large tent behind it, but when he reaches the door, he doesn’t carry me through. Instead he turns to the horned male, who’s waiting behind us with the bowl of water, herbs, and flowers.
The male bows his head and murmurs a few words over the water, then offers it to us.
“If you will, Princess?” Finn asks softly.
I release one hand from behind his neck to take the bowl.
The male smiles and reaches for a shovel from beside the tent. The soil is soft and loose as he digs, murmuring something in a language I don’t recognize.
Once the hole is several feet deep, he steps back and drops to a knee.
I look to Finn.
His face is solemn. “Now you pour the contents of the bowl into the earth.” He shifts me in his arms, making it easier for me to aim as I pour.
As I overturn the bowl, a rush of power tingles through me, and when Finn draws in a sharp breath, I know he feels it too.
“May the gods bless you, your queen, and your children, Your Majesty,” the kneeling male says.
“Thank you, Dunnick,” Finn says, and then he steps over the muddy pits of flowers and herbs and into the tent, letting the flaps fall closed behind him.
The tent is larger than I expected. Tall enough even for Finn to stand. In its center, a large cushion the size of our bed at Juliana’s manor sits on the floor, piled with soft blankets. There’s a chair in the corner, with two piles of clothes atop it—his and hers.
“You can put me down now,” I tell Finn.
He studies me for a long, intense moment, and I think he might kiss me, but then he lowers me to my feet.
When he steps back, his breathing is uneven and his gaze goes to the floor. “I need to check in with Misha and Pretha and make sure everything is set for our visit to the sacred spring this afternoon.
A servant will be in soon to draw you a warm bath; then you might consider a nap. Today’s ride through the mountains won’t be an easy one.”
“Okay,” I say softly. I feel him pulling away and wish he wouldn’t. The ache in my heart seems too big to stay contained in my chest. “I don’t want Sebastian,” I blurt.
Finn’s head snaps up, his eyes wide, as if he’s surprised I said it. I am too, if I’m honest, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“You’ve made comments—more than once—implying that I’m eager for some sort of reunion with him.”