Chapter 10 #2
He didn’t head to the dressing screens at the back of the shop. He stayed right where he was, eyes holding mine, as he pushed his arms into the fluffy coat sleeves.
Stepping away, he held the monstrosity closed at his chest and turned side to side. A dark brow rose. “Well?”
It seemed unfair that he could make something so ridiculous look good.
“I was right.” I shrugged and blew out a resigned breath. “It does look amazing.”
His brows lowered.
All amusement vanished from his face a moment before he darted to the mirrors at the back of the shop. “This is intensely awkward.” He returned with a smile I hadn’t seen before. “I know I shouldn’t, but I rather like it.”
That smile…
It was slightly crooked. A much-needed flaw in his perfection. Yet it was also endearingly fucking perfect.
As if realizing what had my attention, Brey wrangled his lips into his portrait-worthy smile. “I fear I must have it.” He plucked his hair free of the furred collar, then peered down at himself. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I fear you’ve created a mission.”
He looked at me. “Oh?”
“Give the keeper some coin.” Forgetting all about the gowns I wanted to try on, I took his hand and tugged him to the front of the shop. “Only a few hours of night remain, and we now need to find something that looks awful on you.”
But as the waking sun began to empty the cobbled street of high-end boutiques, all we’d managed to do was buy more items for Brey.
Nothing for me. Oddly enough, I didn’t mind.
His expression every time I picked something for him made ignoring anything I might have liked worth it. Of course, none of it looked awful. Clumpy scarves, spotted boots, patchwork vests, and even the gaudiest pair of jeweled pants I’d ever seen…
All of it looked good on him.
“That was exhilarating.” Brey’s arm emerged from beneath the pile of garments drowning his lap and the carriage seat. Plucking a striped sock from his shoulder, he said, “But I still think you’re wrong about the tweed jacket.”
Unable to stop my smile, I turned to the window. “I’m never wrong.”
Dawn bathed the sea in crystal sparks. I reached for the glass as the carriage began to bob toward the cliffs. Six more evenings, and I would return home. What those six evenings might entail, I now couldn’t begin to guess at.
I certainly hadn’t expected this evening to turn out the way it had.
“I sincerely hope that’s not true,” Brey murmured.
Looking back at him was a mistake. His eyes ensnared, pressing into my features with unabashed enthusiasm. The way he looked at me was akin to being undressed by a new pair of hands—eliciting a terror so mild it thrilled.
To rid the feeling, I blurted, “You really haven’t been shopping before?”
“Not like this.”
“How did you get all of your fabulous clothing?”
“Another compliment.” He grinned, yet it failed to touch his eyes. They appeared to dim—darken—as he said, “Tailors and personal shoppers, mostly.”
Intrigued by that and the change in his demeanor, I waited for more.
“Sometimes…” He averted his gaze to the garments covering his lap. Freeing his other hand from them, he ran his fingers over a silk robe. “Well, I’d sneak into a shop or two.”
“Sneak?”
“My father couldn’t know.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
His eyes returned to me. One side of his mouth tipped before he said, “Some secrets must always be kept, lethal.”
“And you don’t think I will wish to keep yours.”
As if also remembering our first meeting in my mother’s sitting room, his gaze clouded. He didn’t respond.
Beyond curious and a bit annoyed by his unwillingness to share, I looked back out my window.
As soon as the carriage rattled to a stop on the bumpy palace drive, I left Brey to struggle with his numerous new garments and went inside. It was then, while I was still distracted by what Brey had said, that the rumored palace ghost chose to scare the immortal life out of me.
He inclined his head. “Greetings, Lady Ethelsia.”
With a hand over my pounding heart, I choked out, “You scared me.”
A long and buttoned black coat swayed around his olive pants. The silver buttons trailed to a purple cravat that spilled over the stiff collar in a pretty bow. Slim and scuffed black boots adorned his feet.
It all looked real.
He looked real. Alive. If it weren’t for the way he’d appeared in the foyer, I’d have thought him a normal man in outdated clothing.
Endearingly, the ghost smiled. “Truly?” He tousled his mop of blond curls and seemed to blush. “It has been a long time since I’ve managed to scare someone.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
My dry tone rid the smile from his face. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his cravat. “My name is Groth, faithful steward to many generations of the Saltblood family.”
“I heard you cannot leave this palace.”
“I…” Groth blinked. “No, I cannot.”
“Then don’t you think calling yourself faithful when your options have been rather limited is something of—”
“Groth,” Brey interrupted from behind me. “Just the ghost I wanted to see.” He handed the mountain of clothing to the steward, then collected a sock that escaped to the hideous tiles. “You may flee now.”
With a scowl my way, the ghost muttered, “Thank you, Majesty,” and promptly vanished.
I blinked at where he’d stood before frowning at Brey.
His lips twitched. “You needn’t unsheathe your claws around Groth.”
Taken aback, I huffed. “Only you, then?”
“I happen to like your claws,” he purred. “Groth, however, is soft of skin and soul.”
I shook my head. “It was honestly just an honest question.”
Brey crossed the foyer. “I know, lethal.” As he neared, a hand rose to my cheek. Before he could touch me, I retreated. He tucked his hand into his pants pocket and rocked back on his heels. “Hungry?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m fucking famished.” With that, he walked down the hall aside the stairs.
I stared after him, tempted to follow, and not because I was hungry.
The realization sent me upstairs to his tower, where I kicked off my boots and flopped onto his bed.
It was like lying on a silk cloud of his scent. Unimaginably comfortable. Lace curtains swayed between the open balcony doors. Wanting to glimpse the ocean beyond the stone railing, I turned onto my side.
Lulled, I fought to keep my eyes open.
I wanted to know if Brey was consuming dinner or someone’s blood, and why I didn’t like the mere thought of the latter.
But sleep stole me in hazy bursts.
During the day, I woke to find Brey sprawled over his bed beside me. I watched him sleep until it claimed me once more, and when I woke for the last time, I found him watching me with drowsy eyes.
He smiled.
A smile that lifted one side of his mouth higher than the other while exposing a flash of his perfect teeth. A real smile. I stared in wonder. Not because of its beauty but because I knew it was rare to see.
Such perfect imperfection.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
The way sleep textured his silken voice threatened to make me shiver.
Although I didn’t usually eat after I woke, I hadn’t had dinner. So I said, “Please,” before rising from the bed to freshen up for the evening.
Seated on his chamber pot, surveying the mildew lining the tiles of the large bathing pool and even the stone basin, I startled.
My case of personal products sat beside the cracked basin.
As if expecting my quiet panic, Brey called through the bathing room door, “I thought you might want them. However, the rest of your belongings are still in your rooms.”
My rooms.
The returning weight of this marriage kept me from conveying my gratitude.
I cleaned my teeth, face, and applied a light layer of lash ink before brushing my hair. Due to sleeping without my curling ribbons, the maroon strands lacked their vivid volume. So I gathered half of my hair into an intentional mess atop my head.
The scent of eggs and sausage lured me to the balcony, where Brey sat at a small wrought-iron table with his legs crossed while sipping from a floral teacup.
His hair was woven into a loose braid and secured with a ribbon as glossy black as the strands. The breeze billowed his matching shirt, exposing a smattering of dark chest hair. His eyes came for me, pupils expanding, as I stepped out onto the balcony.
Quicker than lightning streaking through the sky, he set down his tea and rose to untuck my chair.
Stunned, I glared at him. So rarely did men in high society bother to do such a thing. Not only that, but he was a king.
He just waited.
I sat, then squeaked when he lifted the chair to tuck me in. His whisper caressed my cheek. “You look delicious.”
Before I could think to recoil, he was returning to his seat.
Dazed, I stared at my plate. The stone rim was chipped, and the cutlery splotchy as if washed carelessly. I picked the latter up, holding it stiffly while pondering the food before me. “This looks…”
“Hanna’s cooking tastes much better than it looks.”
Indeed. He’d already polished his plate.
“Hanna,” I said, looking up at him. “So you only have the one cook?”
Brey picked up his tea. “I see no need for more when so few people live here.”
“What about events?” I asked before remembering that there hadn’t been any held at this palace. At least, not in my lifetime. “We’ll need more than one cook for the wedding.”
“True. We may need to hire another for the occasion.” A gleam entered his eyes. “And for all of the events to come after that.”
A brow raised, I huffed. “Someone’s awfully confident I won’t take my leave after we see to the obligations of this marriage.”
“Determined,” he murmured.
A single word, yet it contained an infinite amount of promise.
Six evenings, I reminded myself as I carved into my eggs with unnecessary vigor. Just six more evenings, then I would be free of him and this palace.
For two weeks until I needed to return for the wedding and the wards.
Brey watched me eat with a sturdiness that said my discomfort was evident. But there was no point in trying to hide it. He wanted a week of my time. He never said I needed to be overjoyed about it.