Chapter 11 #2
She needed a bath. The grime coating her skin; the salt crusting at her temples; the way her clothes stuck to her body like a second layer of uncomfortable flesh. Whatever troubled Khaeric could wait.
As she headed for their bedchamber, her legs protested each step, the muscles tight and aching from holding Garran’s endless stances. The bedchamber door was closed when she reached it. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
She stripped off her boots first, then her tunic, peeling the damp fabric from her skin with relief. The trousers followed, and she left them in a heap on the floor as she crossed to the bathing chamber.
The pool waited, steam rising from its surface in lazy curls. Her body protested as she lowered herself into the water, but then the heat enveloped her.
Aeryn dunked her head under, letting the water close over her face.
When she surfaced, water streaming from her hair, she scrubbed quickly at her arms and shoulders.
The soap stung against her abraded palms, where the dagger’s grip had rubbed them raw.
She worked it through her hair, her fingers catching on tangles, then dunked under again to rinse.
The heat seeped into her aching muscles, loosening the worst of the tension, but she didn’t linger. She hauled herself out, water sluicing off her skin, and reached for the drying cloth.
When she’d dried herself, she wrapped the cloth around her body and padded back into the bedchamber. Her hair hung in damp ropes down her back. She gathered it in both hands and twisted it up, securing it into a high bun at the crown of her head.
Aeryn walked to her trunk and pulled out a garment. A nightgown unfurled in a cascade of pale blue silk. The delicate embroidery traced the neckline with silver thread worked into patterns of flowering vines. She’d forgotten this was packed into her trunks.
Letting the drying cloth fall, Aeryn pulled the nightgown over her head. The silk slid down her body, and the hem brushed her ankles. She knelt again and began looking through the remaining contents of the trunk. What else had she forgotten was in here?
The door opened behind her.
Aeryn glanced over her shoulder. Khaeric stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space. He said nothing. His amber eyes tracked over her—kneeling before the trunk, her hair piled atop her head, the nightgown pooling around her legs.
“Hello,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Silence.
Oh no. Something was wrong. The tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.
She should ask. But the directness felt too abrupt, and the morning’s training had wrung her dry. “I need to tell you something,” she said instead, keeping her voice light.
“I already ken.”
Aeryn twisted to look at him properly. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Did Garran tell you? He agreed to help me.”
Khaeric’s expression shifted—something dark flashing across his features before his jaw locked tight. He turned away from her, his fingers raking through his hair. “Garran’s helpin’ ye?”
Aeryn nodded, still kneeling before the trunk. “Yes. He agreed last night.”
He didn’t answer.
“Khaeric?”
“Last night.” His voice came out rough. “Ye asked Garran last night.”
“Yes?”
Khaeric stopped pacing. His shoulders rose and fell with a breath that looked like it took effort to control. “Lass... dinnae play wi’ me. No’ about this.”
“I thought you would be happy Garran is helping me?” She rose to her feet.
“Happy?” The word came out strangled. “Why would I be happy that ye—” He cut himself off, turning away again. Three steps. Turn. Three steps again. His shoulders hunched forward as though bracing against a blow.
Aeryn’s stomach twisted. Something was very wrong. This wasn’t about the training. “Khaeric, I don’t understand—”
“When?” The question came out harsh. “When are ye leavin’?”
The words made little sense. “Leaving?”
“Dinnae—” His voice cracked. He pressed his hand to his face before dragging it down. “Just tell me when. That’s all I’m askin’.”
“I’m not leaving?” Confusion threaded through her exhaustion, making everything feel distant, as though she were watching this conversation from somewhere outside her own body. “Why would you think I’m leaving?”
Khaeric whirled to face her, and she watched his mouth work, searching for words. “Ye were—” He gestured sharply with one hand, the motion aborted halfway through. Three steps. Turn. Three steps again.
“Last night, ye were actin’ strange. Quiet. Distant. And then in the baths—” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I thought maybe I’d pushed too far. Maybe what happened wi’ Mael there, maybe that was—”
“And then this mornin’ ye ran out wi’ the dagger in yer hand.”
Aeryn stared at him. The dagger. He meant—
“The dagger,” Khaeric continued, his voice rising. “The one I gave ye. The one that means—” He cut himself off again. His gaze dropped to where she stood in the nightgown. “And ye’re wearin’ one of yer courtly dresses.”
The observation struck her as absurd, given the circumstances. Of all the things to focus on? The fabric of her nightgown? “It’s just a nightgown. I found it in my trunk and—”
“Ye’re packin’.” His voice had gone flat. “Ye’re packin’ and ye asked Garran to help ye leave.”
“I’m not packing. I was looking through—”
“The dagger. The dress. Garran helpin’ ye leave.” Each word came out clipped, precise, like he was listing evidence. “And this mornin’ ye bolted out of here like the mountain was collapsin’ behind ye.”
The pieces fell into place—his mood this morning, Mael pulling her from training, the orcs complaining in the yard. “Is this why everyone was complaining about your mood this morning?” The question came out quieter than she’d intended. “Because you think I’m leaving you?”
Khaeric’s jaw worked. He didn’t answer.
“I’m not leaving.” She crossed the space between them, reaching for him. “Khaeric, I’m not—”
“What was the dagger for? Why did Garran agree to help ye?”
“I asked him to train me.”
“Train ye?” The words came out slowly, as though he were testing their shape in his mouth.
“Yes.” She gestured toward where she’d left the weapon by her discarded clothing. “I asked him last night if he would teach me how to defend myself.”
Khaeric stared at her. His mouth opened. Closed. His hand rose to drag through his hair before dropping back to his side. “Train ye,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“To fight.”
“Yes.”
“Wi’ the dagger I gave ye.”
“Yes.”
Aeryn watched the tension in his shoulders slowly ease.
“Then why...” Khaeric’s voice dropped. “Why were ye so distant last night?”
“I was upset.”
“About what?”
She’d spent four months trying not to think about it too much, trying to convince herself it didn’t matter, that she was fine, that she was building something new here and didn’t need—
“My family.” The words came out small. “I haven’t heard from them. Not a single letter.”
His gaze traveled down the length of her body, lingering on the pale blue silk. “Why are ye wearin’ one of yer nice courtly dresses?”
After everything, he was still fixated on what she was wearing. A laugh bubbled up, half-exhausted, half-hysterical.
Aeryn pressed both hands to her face, her palms covering her eyes as her shoulders shook. “This is a nightgown, Khaeric,” she managed between gasps of laughter. “Not ‘one of my nice courtly dresses.’”
Silence. She lowered her hands to find him staring at her, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and dawning comprehension.
“It’s a nightgown,” she repeated, wiping at her eyes. “I pulled it out of my trunk because I was sorting through what was inside. That’s all.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “And ye weren’t... ye weren’t packin’ to leave?”
“No.”
“Then what was that earlier this mornin’?” His voice had lost some of its edge, but tension still threaded through it. “Ye bolted from the bedchamber like—”
“I was late for training. Garran said dawn, and I had to drop off a letter to the courier first.” The laughter faded, leaving the familiar ache of exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Khaeric stepped closer, his hand rising as though to reach for her before dropping back to his side. “And last night? In the baths?” The words came out carefully, measured. “I didnae push ye too far?”
Her cheeks burned at the memory—his fingers inside her, the water lapping at her exposed breasts, Mael watching with that analytical detachment.
“No.” Her hands twisted in the silk of her nightgown. “You didn’t push me. I wanted—” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I wanted you to touch me.”
He searched her face. “Even wi’ Mael there?”
“Yes.” The admission sent a fresh wave of warmth through her chest. “Even with Mael there.”
The tension drained from his shoulders, like a puppet with its strings cut. He closed the distance between them in two strides, his hands cupping her face. His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones.
“I thought—” His voice broke. Khaeric pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I thought ye were leavin’ me.”
She raised her hands to cover his. “I’m not leaving.”
“I ken.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, his amber eyes searching hers. “I ken that now. But this mornin’, when ye ran out wi’ the dagger—” His jaw clenched. “All I could think was that ye’d finally had enough. That ye were done tryin’ to make this work.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been dreadin’ this day. I kept tellin’ myself I’d prepared for it, that I’d let ye go wi’ grace. But seein’ ye holdin’ that dagger... I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
“Would you have let me go?” Aeryn asked. “Truly?”
“Aye. I would have. I promised ye a choice, and I’d have honored it. But...” his voice cracked, “...it would’ve broken me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think... I should have explained where I was going.”
“No.” His grip tightened fractionally. “Ye shouldnae have to explain every movement. I just—” He exhaled slowly. “I overreacted.”