Chapter 20
Sleep, unfortunately, refused to cooperate.
I turned to my left.
Then to my right.
Then onto my back again, staring at the ceiling as if prolonged eye contact might somehow force my brain into silence.
It did not.
Why had he said that?
Why had he looked at me like that?
More importantly, why had he not asked a single question?
That was the part I could not understand.
Should he not have been suspicious? Shocked? Alarmed? Should he not have demanded an explanation after witnessing someone casually fling magic at a murderous beast in the middle of a forest?
Instead, what had he done?
He had removed a leaf from my hair.
Why?
Who does that?
And then, as if that had not already been deeply unsettling, he had said, When you’re ready, you can tell me.
Why was he being patient?
Why was he being kind?
Why was he making this difficult?
Suspicion, I could handle.
Distrust made sense.
Fear was familiar.
But understanding?
Understanding was dangerous.
Because what exactly was I supposed to do with someone who saw something monstrous in me and chose not to recoil?
What was I supposed to do with someone who knew I was hiding something and still stayed?
And why, in all seven hells, did that affect me this much?
I shut my eyes and groaned into the pillow.
This was bad.
No, this was worse than bad.
This was catastrophic.
Was I actually feeling guilty for lying to him?
Was I feeling… safe around him?
No.
Absolutely not.
That was ridiculous.
I sat up abruptly.
What if he was pretending?
What if this was all an act?
What if he was just waiting for me to lower my guard so he could ask the right question at the right moment?
That made sense.
That was logical.
That was comforting.
Actually, no, it was not comforting at all, but it was significantly better than the alternative.
Because the alternative was far more terrifying.
The alternative was that he genuinely meant every word he said.
The alternative was that Rhaevan had looked at my worst secret and decided to stay.
I stared into the darkness.
Why did that bother me more?
Why did that make my chest feel strange?
Why was my heart acting like it had forgotten basic rhythm?
Was I losing my mind?
Had the beast hit me harder than I thought?
Was this delayed brain damage?
I pressed both hands against my face.
No.
Enough.
This had gone too far.
I needed distance.
Space.
Clarity.
Most importantly, I needed to stop allowing one dangerously perceptive man to destabilize my entire nervous system.
I took a deep breath and arrived at the only reasonable conclusion available to me.
I was going to avoid Rhaevan again.
Properly this time.
No conversations.
No eye contact.
No forests.
No emotionally confusing late-night revelations.
This plan, unlike the previous one, would be strategic, disciplined, and foolproof.
I nodded to myself.
Yes.
Excellent.
Finally, reassured by my own brilliance, I lay back down.
Sleep still did not come. But at least I had a plan.
The next morning, I woke up exhausted, mildly irritated, and fully committed to my new strategy.
Avoid Rhaevan. Properly this time.
No unnecessary conversations. No lingering eye contact. No opportunities for emotionally destabilizing interactions.
Simple. Efficient. Foolproof.
In hindsight, I should really stop using that word.
To my immense relief, Rhaevan seemed to have reached a similar conclusion.
He did not approach me.
He did not initiate conversation.
He did not attempt to corner me with disturbing gentle questions.
Instead, he gave me space.
A lot of space.
It was almost suspicious.
Not that I minded.
In fact, I appreciated it.
I could work in peace, rebuild my mental stability, and pretend the previous evening had not fundamentally altered the structure of my thoughts.
Everything was going according to plan.
Then Fluff happened.
The cat had somehow integrated himself into the inn within a single night.
Miss Ann adored him.
Naturally.
By breakfast, he already had a small bowl near the kitchen. By noon, she had referred to him as “poor baby” no fewer than six times.
I watched this betrayal in silence.
Jeez. One more compliment and she might adopt him too.
Unfortunately, Fluff appeared to have developed a deeply personal interest in me.
And by interest, I mean hostility.
It started when I entered the kitchen carrying a tray and found him sitting on the counter.
He was staring at me. I stopped walking. He continued staring.
I narrowed my eyes. He narrowed his.
At least, I was fairly certain he did.
I looked around.
Miss Ann was kneading dough.
Rhaevan was stacking supplies near the back.
No one was paying attention.
Good.
I lowered my voice.
“What?”
Fluff blinked.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I felt judged.
“What are you looking at?” I whispered.
He remained silent.
Smugly silent.
That somehow felt worse.
I leaned closer.
“If this is about yesterday, I would like to remind you that you tried to eat me first.”
Fluff’s tail flicked once.
That was it.
Just one lazy flick.
And yet I was somehow certain he was being condescending.
I narrowed my eyes further.
“Don’t test me.”
Fluff yawned.
I froze.
Had this cat just… yawned at me?
Miss Ann looked up.
“Why are you glaring at the cat?”
I straightened immediately.
“I am not glaring.”
“You are.”
“He started it.”
Miss Ann stared at me.
Then at Fluff.
Then back at me.
“He is a cat.”
I crossed my arms.
“Exactly.”
Miss Ann shook her head and returned to her work, clearly deciding I was the problem.
Obnoxious lady.
I turned back toward Fluff.
He was still there.
Still watching.
Still unbearably smug.
Then, with deliberate malice, he extended one paw towards the cream bun I had placed on the counter.
My eyes widened.
No. Absolutely not. That was mine.
“Don’t you dare.”
Fluff looked at me.
Then, maintaining eye contact, he placed his paw directly on the bun.
I gasped.
The audacity.
“That is an act of war.”
He pushed the bun.
Just enough to make it slide.
I lunged. Too late. The bun fell. Straight onto the floor.
I stared in horror.
Fluff withdrew his paw and calmly began cleaning it.
I stood frozen, trying to process the sheer villainy I had just witnessed.
After a long silence, I spoke.
“I was wrong.”
Rhaevan’s voice came from behind me, far too calm.
“About what?”
I slowly turned.
He was watching us, and to my great annoyance, there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes.
I pointed at the cat.
“He is not startled. He is evil.”
To his credit, Rhaevan did not laugh.
His lips did, however, betray him.
Just slightly.
“He likes you.”
I stared.
“He destroyed my cream bun.”
Rhaevan glanced at the fallen bun.
“Perhaps that was his way of saying hello.”
I looked at him in disbelief.
“Your standards for social interaction are concerning.”
That finally did it.
He chuckled.
A quiet, warm sound.
And annoyingly enough, it did something unpleasant to my nervous system.
I immediately looked away.
We were not doing this again.
I grabbed another tray and marched out of the kitchen.
Unfortunately, as I walked away, one deeply inconvenient realization settled into my mind.
My avoidance plan had failed.
Again.
Not because Rhaevan pushed.
Not because he cornered me.
Not even because he tried.
It failed because somewhere between surviving magical beasts, arguing with cats, and hearing him laugh, avoiding him had quietly become harder than simply existing around him.
I did not appreciate it.