Chapter 14
fourteen
Kas and Nesrina confess.
Kas was stressed. He stood alone in his apartment, undressing after his sixth dinner with Miss Kiappa and the twins. He thought the distraction of Nesrina’s presence was bad when he had work to get done. He had been wrong, so dreadfully wrong. And Kas wasn’t often incorrect.
As his breathing grew tighter and faster, his clothes constricted around his middle.
Jaw tensing and teeth grinding, he fought with the brass buttons, until, in a moment of sheer panic, he ripped his jacket open, gasping as brass fasteners pinged across the room.
Lellin, lounging on the bench at the foot of his bed, lifted her head and huffed before drawing a paw over her nose.
“I’m sorry, old girl. I know,” he grumbled, breathing heavily.
He thought he’d be fine after he got through his latest project, that she was distracting him from work.
It turned out, his work was the distraction, offering a moment’s respite from the fascinating creature residing in his walls.
She could burn through a book a day, everything from whimsical novels about romance, collected by his mother, to dry texts on histories .
. . collected by him. She could play and get dirty with the children, then clean up for dinner, looking like a goddess.
The irresistible siren who—shit. He sat down hard on the edge of his bed to tug off his leather boots, tight around his calves.
Kas chucked his shoes clear across the room, as if the childish outburst would do anything to slow his accelerated thoughts.
He annoyed Lellin enough that she climbed down from the bench and went to lie on the sofa.
Flopping back onto the mattress, he stared up at the blue canopy. Her favorite color. He sighed.
The Symposium of Prodigious Minds was rapidly approaching, just two weeks away.
With a huff, Kas rolled to his feet and tramped over to his bar.
Desperation tugged at his shirt tails as he poured himself a whiskey.
He needed to extend an invitation to Miss Kiappa, and soon, if he had any hope of her agreeing to attend. But how?
He yanked off his trousers and tugged on a plush robe before throwing open the doors to his balcony and stepping out into the evening air. Lellin joined him for a fleeting head scratch before she trotted off, probably in search of her cousins, Vites and Enoth.
Nes had attended the symposium before—at least the one year—but she half-hated him for sending away that lecherous guard. She might deny him.
“You won’t know unless you find out,” his mother’s old words rang in his mind.
That’s the problem, Mum. She couldn’t be studied. There was no Book of Nesrina. If there was, he’d hoard every copy and pore over the pages.
When it came to drivel and surface-level conversations with the beautiful Miss Kiappa, Kas could handle his own.
Exposure therapy over dinner was working perfectly.
But when it came to ascertaining her interest in him as a friend—as more?
He didn’t know how to begin, where to begin, how to approach her, or what to say.
For a second, Kas considered chucking his tumbler out into the yard just to see how far he could launch the thing. But as another sip slid down his throat, he decided it would be a waste of a good thing. He rumpled his hair instead.
He was trying his best to enjoy his frustrated nightcap on the patio, trying his best to think of something different, anything other than her.
But in yet another variation on his new normal, he wondered no less than ten times what the odds were that she would walk onto the balcony above him—the one off her bedroom.
No, he chided himself. Go to bed.
At that moment, he swore a door closed up there, and Kas decided it was a good idea to send his magic . . . to check if he was right. Curiosity, nothing more.
If she was outside, he could go chat and finally bring up the symposium. Urging a wide, undulating breeze to the balcony above, he searched for her hands—and inadvertently brushed her breasts.
She shivered, and yelped. “Lord Kahoth?”
Panic seized him. Kas threw his whiskey into the yard, tumbler and all, and raced back inside, his wind, a grumpy little dust devil, whirling behind him.
That night, fueled by the stress of his magical error, by his burning need to invite Nesrina to the symposium, and by all the bits and pieces of his memories of her, he slept.
Kas sat in the duke’s apartment, sharing a nightcap with his father. The duchess, his mother, was off somewhere at the estate, probably reading in her sitting room.
“Kas, when the time comes, you will make a fine duke. You’ve led Kabuvirib well.
And Stormhill will be lucky to have you at the helm.
Pull your head out of the stars, son. The land needs you, the people need you.
” His father’s words echoed in his mind as Kas trudged up the hidden staircase to his own rooms.
He climbed into bed, trailing his finger lazily down the spine of the vixen who lay asleep beside him. A woman? Who? What year was it? There were two options: Ceylan, the banker’s daughter, or Makbule, the healer’s sister. Neither was likely.
Whoever she was, her nightgown was scandalous. He folded down the blanket. Barely there, two thin strips of fabric held up a too-short tube that stopped midway down her supple thighs.
She twisted, rolling onto her back. Awake? No, still asleep. Her lids fluttered for a fleeting moment. In the pale moonlight he could make out her face. Heart-shaped, freckled, curly-haired. Not Ceylan or Makbule. Someone better, too good to be true.
Kas leaned over to place a kiss upon her rosebud lips. She met him with shocking passion, tugging him down and wrapping him in an embrace. Her fingers snaked through his hair, and one of her legs hooked behind his back.
Together, they rolled to the side until they faced one another, still entangled, foreheads nearly touching. He gazed upon her placid face, eyes still closed in sleep, and he traced her jawline with his thumb. “Mi tilal.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her dreamy mouth, then pulled away to study her.
Her eyes opened in shock as she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back.
“What the fates?!” she shrieked, a knee connecting with his groin.
Kas rolled from the woman’s embrace and thudded onto the floor beside the green-curtained bed.
Confusion warred with dreamscape certainty as he blinked into the darkness.
It was only a moment before the painful throbbing between his legs and the nauseous feeling in his stomach clued him in to what he’d done.
Oh my gods. Fuck.
Two small feet, attached to two shapely legs, and capped with a swath of fine silk stopped before him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
Kas groaned as he pushed himself from the fetal position to sitting, his back against the side of her bed, which happened to be his old bed. “Miss Kiappa.” Mortification flooded him. “I am so sorry. I—I seem to have rediscovered my habit of sleepwalking.”
He chanced a glance at her to find her hands on her hips and disbelief etched in her brows. It was hard to say, given the lack of light, but there may have been a shimmer of mirth in her eyes. He wasn’t willing to test that theory though.
“Please, accept my apology. This won’t happen again.
” Slowly, Kas stood and focused on one of the barely visible paintings hanging behind her.
If he didn’t, his eyes might drop to her lips, or worse, her breasts, soft and rounded beneath her nightdress.
He’d bought that one for her, had been swayed by the modiste who promised sultry fabrics, and now was pleasantly surprised by the way it looked in person—even if she was murky in the dark.
“I do not accept.” She pursed her lips. “What possessed you to come here of all places? Why not Aylin’s room? The library? Your bloody office? Do you make a habit of sneaking up on ladies and assaulting them in their sleep?”
Chastised, he threw his hands up and stepped back, knees bumping the mattress, buckling them. With an, “Oof,” he collapsed onto her bed.
Her mouth popped open, white teeth glowing in the meager moonlight. “A habit then?”
“No!” Kas shook his head as he stood, this time moving away from the bed so he wouldn’t wind up there for a third time. “I’m sorry. Please, believe me?” He brought his fingers to his temple, pressing into it as he rubbed a tight circle.
“It’s highly inappropriate to turn up in a staff member’s room in the middle of the night. You know this, right?”
“Of course I know that, Miss Kiappa. I told you, I was sleepwalking. I had no intent of harassing anyone. Truly, I’m so sorry.” He’d never apologized that much in his life, and still he felt awful for pawing at her, doubly so because he couldn’t say he regretted it.
She sighed, dropping her hands from her hips to wring them together. Were the room bright enough, Kas suspected he’d see her rubbing her thumb against the nail of her forefinger, one of her most frequent nervous habits, so much so, he doubted she knew she did it.
“You believe me?”
“I suppose. Though I still don’t understand why you came here.”
Because you’re all I think about. “You know—” No, no. It wasn’t the right time.
“Iknow what?” Nes taunted, her eyes glued to his shadowed chest. Each time she tried to urge them elsewhere, they swung back, magnetized to him. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t follow her gaze in the dark.
Inhaling through her nose, exhaling through rounded lips, she fought to process the situation. He’d turned up in the middle of the night, dragging her from one dream into another, or so she’d thought.
Akkas came to her in her sleep, running a finger down her back, and she’d loved it. It wasn’t until he kissed her that she realized she was not, in fact, dreaming. Then she’d panicked.
Nesrina’s mind whirled at the clear and well-defined wish that she’d skipped kicking him out of the bed. Frustration had her directing her anger at him, which made sense, seeing as he snuck in.
What he didn’t know was she’d drifted off to sleep while picturing the two of them chatting in the library, walking around the gardens, sneaking beneath the willow, and— Oh! This was too much.
Lord Kahoth’s teeth ground together as he grumbled wordlessly, hopefully chastising himself for having kissed her awake, for confusing her. She didn’t like being confused; she liked answers, certainty, and a clear direction.
“You know I’m attracted to you, right?” he blurted.
Her lungs seized up. Never before had she been so grateful for night as she was at that moment. Her heart got confused and split her blood, sending half to her face, and half to pulse between her legs. Her sleep-addled mind tried to make sense of what was happening.
He didn’t move, just stared at her through hooded lids; she could make that much out in the dark.
Her clammy palms clutched the fabric of her nightgown, and she dragged her gaze from his face to his bare feet. They were enormous, twice the size of her own.
“You know I’m attracted to you, right?” His words looped in her mind, loud, thunderous.
Say something, you idiot!
“No. I didn’t know that.”
That wasn’t a lie.
Nes chanced a glance at the duke to find that he was still studying her, eyes squinted like he was trying to read in low light.
“You know I’m attracted to you, right?” How the fates was she supposed to handle that information? Nes’s toes found the edge of the rug and she traced it, left to right, right to left, left to right, right to— Gods! What was she supposed to say? To do? She could kiss him again. No! Terrible idea.
He was handsome, but he was also a duke! Off limits, a peer of the realm; while she was a tutor, a commoner. Attraction meant absolutely nothing—however possibly mutual it may have been.
As if the moment couldn’t get any more confusing, the next words out of his mouth nearly stopped her heart.
“Are you attracted to me?”
Who says that?! Oh gods, what do I do? What do I say?
“Yes.” Her mouth betrayed her. Nes felt chaos coalescing in her palms as her nerves got away from her. She forced her focus on her breathing until she could release the power that fizzled against her skin.
“Yes?” His voice was low, uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
Frustration at being stuck in such an uncomfortable situation welled up within Nesrina.
He’d been more forward than Rihan. But Akkas Kahoth struck Nes as the type of man who kept his nose in books rather than breasts, and something about that had her thinking torrid thoughts as her eyes wandered, yet again, to the gap in his loose shirt.
She was a lecher, like Rihan.
“Yes,” she admitted again, half-confident, half-defeated. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re a duke, and I’m a tutor.”
“What does—”
“No,” she cut him off with a raised palm, afraid she’d pounce on him if she let him stay, let him keep talking. “You don’t get to wake me from sleep”—with a glorious kiss—“and drop this, this, knowledge on me, then ask more questions! Oh, you infuriating man! Go, get out of here!”
“Miss Kiappa, I’m sor—”
“Nope! Go.”
He slipped past her and fled the room.
She could have sworn he walked down toward her washroom, but she refused to look back at him, and soon, a door closed.
Climbing back into bed, she yanked the drapes around herself. Sprawled out, surrounded by curtains that evoked the pine forests back home, she traced a finger over her lips, reliving that kiss. He’d pressed his mouth so gently to hers, in a move that completely and utterly upended her world.
Who Akkas was, or who he seemed to be, was so at odds with everything she knew about the aristocracy. He wasn’t smarmy; he seemed sincere. He wasn’t ingratiating; he was irritating. He wasn’t poised; he was awkward. If anything, Rihan had been the poised, smarmy, ingratiating one—and he was common.
That didn’t matter. What mattered was: everything had become far more complicated, and the sun wasn’t even up!
How the fates was she supposed to get to the symposium now? She wouldn’t be able to face Lord Kahoth without mortification blanketing every interaction.
Oh, that infuriating man, annoying me by day and by night.
Nes punched the pillow where he’d lain mere minutes before, then she sniffed it, to see if any of his cologne had transferred over.