Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hot water laps at my skin, and it feels like heaven.
The water, at least—the three handmaids scrubbing the grime from my skin feel like a punishment. Since we arrived at my guest chambers, I’ve been stripped, scraped, and scrubbed of my dignity.
The water has turned a disgusting shade of brown, the color of snow after a herd of musk ox have trampled through and back.
But at least I’m clean.
One of the handmaids drains the large tub, and I try to rise, but another one guides me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder.
Not clean enough, apparently.
There’s a sudden, loud crack of thunder, its muffled echo rattling the ornate mirror above the sink, and I gasp. The handmaids don’t seem to notice, though. They must be accustomed to unexpected storms—or Zev’s outbursts.
They refill the tub, and this time, perfume it with rose petals.
A sweet-smelling oil is massaged into my scalp, and a contented sigh escapes me.
One of the handmaids smiles, but none of them will meet my eyes for longer than a fleeting second.
The bathwater is clean now, perfumed and rosy, but the unease in my chest lingers.
Do they avoid my gaze because I’m a royal? Or is it because I’m a Tundrayni royal?
I doubt I’ll get an answer out of them, but the women seem pleasant enough, quiet though they may be.
When the longest bath of my life is over, they dress me in an indecently short black nightgown, with nothing but a matching silk robe over it.
I’m practically naked. In Tundrayn, I wore thick wool pajamas to sleep—it was too cold for anything else. Before I can request different sleep attire, the women file out of the large washroom.
I don’t leave right away. The room is elegant—spacious and luxurious.
The ornate stone tub sits in the center.
The walls are painted a soft, calm lavender, and the white tile is cool beneath my bare feet as I circle the room.
My fingers trail against the walls—seamless purple paint, not a single crack marring the finish.
A frown pulls at my lips. On the opposite side of the bathroom is a large mirror, hung over a massive sink.
For a heartbeat, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection.
My dark hair is longer, curling in loose, damp waves over my shoulders.
My once-pale skin has a healthy tan, a light pink flush painted across my cheeks and nose, darkening the light smattering of freckles.
I’ve lost weight—my cheeks are hollowed, my collarbones protruding.
My eyes are the same, though—bright blue.
Determined.
Untamed.
With soft steps, I leave the bathroom.
I stop in my tracks.
Zev’s standing in the middle of the bedroom. Waiting for me, apparently. His molten eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. My skin burns under the heat of his gaze as it lingers on my bare thighs, where the hem of my too-short nightgown brushes my skin.
I cinch my robe tighter around myself.
He doesn’t move, smoldering gaze riveted to the naked expanse of my legs. I shift my weight, and his eyes flick to mine as he rubs his neck.
“Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely. He clears his throat, and his eyes wander to my bare legs again.
“The bath was nice. Aggressive, but nice.”
He frowns. “I can assign you different handmaids, if—”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “They were fine, truly. And so are the guards outside. Thank you.”
Zev chews the inside of his cheek, his heated gaze pinned to my face.
Is he waiting for me to say something? My brain is exhausted after the ‘change of plan’ his father announced.
His eyes fall to my thighs for a third time, as if he can’t help himself, and a startling thought flits through my mind.
Is he here to…?
“We’re not married yet,” I say, clutching my robe tighter. “So, um…”
His eyes widen, and he takes a half-step back. “I’m not here for that, Mayah.” He clears his throat again, pointedly staring at the wall above my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Why are you here, then?” I demand.
“If I know my brother, he’ll pay you a visit tonight.”
“Oh.”
He’s protecting me.
He doesn’t expect me to lie with him. Tonight, at least.
I hate the vulnerability in my voice when I ask, “And tomorrow? Will you expect … that … from me tomorrow?”
His eyes soften, his hand wavering at his side, as though he wants to touch me.
“I’ll never force you to do anything, Mayah,” he murmurs. “I’ll only come to your bed when you invite me.” He gestures to the bed in question. “Throw me a pillow. I’ll find an extra blanket and sleep on the floor.”
And he does exactly that.
Zev takes a bath, too, emerging with damp hair and fresh clothing. After a month of seeing him cloaked in dark leather and armor, the soft shirt and sleep trousers look strange on his large, muscular frame. He settles on the floor beside the bed as he promised.
Even in the dark, I’m aware of his presence. After all the nights spent in his arms, my body has grown attuned to his—from the steady hum of his breathing to the emotion driving every twitch of his lips.
“This is stupid, Zev,” I mutter, cocooned in soft blankets, staring at the dark ceiling.
“Hmm?”
“We’ve slept beside each other for weeks. You can come up onto the bed.”
A beat passes.
“Are you inviting me into your bed, Mayah?” His gravelly voice is sinfully low, and it sends a rush of warmth pulsing through my core.
“To sleep! I’m inviting you into my bed to sleep. Nothing else.”
“Noted,” he says with a chuckle. The mattress dips as he settles beside me, and I hate the rush of contentment that warms my chest.
My body wants to be near him—wants him close.
It’s because we’ve spent so much time together. I’ve grown accustomed to his presence, to sleeping in his arms. But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want to—
“Mayah,” Zev murmurs. “Stop thinking. Go to sleep.”
“Stay on your side,” I warn, keeping my back to him. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, and the soft mattress cradles me—a luxury I’ve nearly forgotten after weeks of sleeping on cold, hard earth.
I fall asleep before he replies.
A crack of thunder jolts me awake. The bed beside me is empty but still warm. A thin sliver of light slices through the room, illuminating Zev’s broad silhouette, partially concealed by the door. He’s speaking to someone in the hall. His words are muffled, but he sounds pissed.
Another boom of thunder echoes, and I yelp, barely managing to suppress the sound. Zev must hear anyway because he glances back at me for a heartbeat, before exchanging a few more heated words, his voice tight with unbridled anger.
A bolt of lightning flashes, brightening the room for half a second, but it’s enough to set my heart ablaze. My breath escapes in short pants. My lungs constrict.
I gasp weakly. I can’t get enough air.
He slams the door shut. His hands crackle with residual energy when he returns to bed. Zev doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just pulls me against his chest—he knows it’s what I need.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “No one angers me like my half-brother. He came to ‘take liberties’ with you. I knew the guards wouldn’t be able to stop him.”
“Will he come back?” I ask, the words muffled against his chest.
“No.” He sounds certain. “And tomorrow you’ll move to my chambers. Our chambers. You’ll be safe.” He runs a large hand down my back. “Sleep now, Mayah. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Right. I should sleep.
Tomorrow, I will be someone’s wife.
Tomorrow, my life changes forever.
But all I can hear is the thunder in my chest.