9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Evandra
My tired eyes finally fluttered open after a night of restless, fragmented sleep.
I sighed, rubbing at the dark circles beneath my eyes like I could rub last night away.
I thought about our moment again. The intensity.
His hand had been so steady. So careful.
Like I was something fragile. I hated how much I liked it.
I finally rolled myself out of bed, and I chose a gown that was neither as dreadful as my blue one nor as flattering as the yellow one, unfortunately. The fabric, a muted lavender, pinched neatly at the waist and the material was trimmed with delicate white lace at the hems.
It was respectable. Which was my aim most of the time… but now that he was around, I found myself wishing it wasn’t. It was simple, practical, and, I hoped, enough to make me feel somewhat presentable.
Once I was satisfied with my hastily pinned messy bun, I made my way downstairs, determined to keep myself busy.
Trying anything to keep my thoughts from circling back to him.
But it was no use. Our moment in the kitchen replayed in my mind with maddening clarity—the way his deep voice had softened, the heat of his gaze, the overwhelming presence of him standing so close.
It had felt too real, too intimate to be entirely in my imagination.
I shook the thoughts away as I stepped into the dining room, rag in hand, ready to wipe down the tables.
My resolve faltered the moment I noticed the door to his room was still closed. He was still here.
I busied myself with breakfast and cleaning, the familiar motions meant to steady my spiraling mind.
But I was hyper-aware of every sound, every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of movement from that side of the inn.
My eyes darted to his door more often than I cared to admit.
Still, the quiet stretched on, and the only sounds were the faint clink of dishes and the steady sweep of my rag against the wooden tables.
Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered in the air, something tethering me to that closed door and the man behind it.
At one point I debated knocking—telling myself it was a reasonable thing to do, maybe to check if he needed anything. But every time I considered it, my stomach twisted. I didn’t want to seem desperate. Or, worse, be caught in my own awkwardness.
My mind spun in endless circles. Should I? Shouldn’t I?
To busy myself, I cleaned the banisters on the balcony outside his room, swept the steps leading up to the hall, and dusted the sconces near his door that hadn’t been touched in months.
All the while, my thoughts were entirely consumed by him.
I felt ridiculous, like a silly schoolgirl again, mooning over a man who had barely spoken a handful of words to me.
By the time dinner rolled around, I meandered into the kitchen, the dimly lit space offering some semblance of peace.
The air was cool, the faint smell of herbs and flour lingering from earlier.
I found myself staring at the counter, at the spot where he’d had me pinned just last night, dabbing at my breasts with a towel.
“ Dabbing at my breasts ,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes at myself. “Really doesn’t sound sexy,” Maybe what I’d thought was tension, something tangible and electric between us, was just my own loneliness playing tricks on me.
I wiped the sweat from my brow with the hem of my dress and set about preparing dinner.
I chopped herbed potatoes, sautéed buttery vegetables, and slid a fresh chicken into the hearth to roast. The rhythmic motions helped calm me, but my thoughts refused to settle.
I grazed and tasted the food, wondering if the glances, the touches, the whispers I’d replayed in my mind meant anything at all.
Was it real? Or was it just my imagination running wild, desperate for attention?
I stared into the small fire in the range, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. Maybe he was just a regular guest, polite out of habit, and I was the lonely innkeeper too eager to make something out of nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d misread a moment.
Next time we interact, I’ll act normal. Calm. Like he isn’t the Captain of my thoughts.
As I assembled a tray, I felt my resolve waver.
The tray was simple, yet I’d carefully arranged every detail.
A generous portion of food because—well, he was huge.
A bottle of wine with a glass to the left of the plate and to the right, a small glass vial holding a single stem of dogwood I’d plucked earlier.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the tray, my heart thundering in my chest.
It’s soup. I scolded myself. You’re not delivering a love letter.
Taking a deep breath, I carried the tray up the stairs, balancing it carefully. As I stood in front of his door, I hesitated. My hand hovered near the wood for a moment before I gave a slight, tentative tap.
“He’s just like anyone else,” I whispered to myself. I definitely didn’t touch myself while thinking of him last night…
The thought sent heat rushing to my cheeks, but before I could spiral further, a voice came from the other side.
“Come in,” his deep voice bellowed from within the room.
The sound shot through me like a bolt of lightning, sending a hot spike straight to my core.
I steadied my breath, turned the door handle with my free hand, and peered inside.
The room was quiet and dim, and all three of them were packed in. Damn.
Eldrake sat nearest the window at the desk, boots planted wide, elbows on his knees.
Felix lounged sideways across the narrow bed, looking far too comfortable and lazily turning the pages of a book.
Fen stood near the dresser, arms crossed, back straight as a sword.
She turned first—and smiled. The kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Aw, did you make that yourself?” Fen asked, her tone a delicate dagger.
“Uh, yes,” I said.
She arched a brow. “How sweet. A little seasoning. A little seduction.” A pause. “Or was that part unintentional?”
My face flushed hot. “Just soup.”
“Of course,” Fen said lightly. “Though next time, I’d go with the yellow dress. It makes a… stronger impression.”
Eldrake stood abruptly and his chair loudly scraped the floor.
The motion silenced the room. He didn’t speak, but the air around him seemed to shift—like tension crackling between storm clouds.
“That’s enough,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t loud, but it landed hard.
Fen tilted her head, eyes narrowing—but said nothing more.
Felix, ever the diplomat, chuckled softly. “Eva, you’ve saved us. Truly. I was starting to think the Captain might gnaw his own arm off before morning.” I gave a nervous little laugh and set the tray down on the desk.
“Just thought you might be hungry,” I said. Eldrake’s stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble that echoed in the otherwise quiet room.
“Oh, go on, darling,” Felix chuffed, leaning back with his mug. “Eat before you terrify the poor girl with all that brooding. We’d all like to keep our fingers.”
Eldrake moved then—slow and silent like a predator shifting toward prey.
He picked up a spoon and dipped it into the bowl of stew.
I braced myself for stoicism. A low, satisfied moan escaped his lips, deep and guttural.
My heart skipped a beat at the sound. I’ll die if I never hear that sound again.
I forced myself to stay composed, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.
He took a bite of bread next—and shoved nearly the whole thing in. Chewed aggressively.
Swallowed.
“Food like this is… dangerous ,” he said, looking up at me from beneath his thick lashes. The words were flat, but heavy—like there was reverence in them.
I laughed under my breath, shocked. “Is that a compliment?” his mouth was still full, but he nodded.
Felix leaned toward me with an impish grin, lowering his voice as though sharing a scandal. “That, my dear, is as close to a compliment as you’ll ever wring out of him.”
“I heard that,” Eldrake said without looking up.
It was the first moment I’d seen him human.
Not the cold, coiled thing at the table.
Just a man. Tired, hungry, and slightly unhinged about root vegetables.
I watched him in fascination, the contrast of his perfect, statue-like physique and his almost feral appetite utterly captivating.
I wanted to know what else might undo him like this.
As he shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, a small giggle escaped me before I could stop it. I moved toward the door.
“Well, enjoy.”
“You should stay,” Felix said lightly, a wicked glint in his eye. “He might propose after another bite or two.”
Fen snorted.
“I really shouldn’t,” I muttered, hand on the doorknob.
“Thank you,” Eldrake said, voice lower now.
I looked back. He was watching me again—but softer. Less calculating. Still intense, but… different. My stomach flipped.
“Actually, Evandra,” Felix’s voice stopped me mid-step, polite but firm, “a word, if you would. Don’t worry—I promise it’s not about soup.
” He sat up, patting the edge of the bed beside him with just enough flourish to make it feel like an invitation rather than a command.
His molten gold eyes, usually so full of mischief, burned with something far more deliberate.
“Um…” I hesitated, glancing between the three of them.
Their unnaturally striking features unsettled me, as if I were staring at something too perfect to be real.
“I—I should get back to work. I can bring more food if-” my voice wavered as I tried to excuse myself, but their eyes—intense, expectant—told me they had been waiting for this moment.