Chapter Sixteen #2
I felt myself briefly go insane. I was like a caged cat, made crazed by my own helplessness.
My gaze fell from him to the heap of fabric piled on the floor—the bedding he planned to sleep in—and then, without fully understanding what I was doing, I was sweeping toward it, gathering the duvet and pillows into my arms.
His voice rose as I brushed past him, moving toward the window, which was still standing ajar from when he’d been smoking earlier. “What are you—”
I did not wait for him to finish. Reaching the window, I shoved the bedding over the sill—out into the open air.
The bundle fell quickly, weighed down by its own fineness. I watched it descend past the cliffside, soaring like a great white gull all the way down to the ocean, where it vanished soundlessly beneath the seething waves.
Noé made a small choked sound as the duvet disappeared into the water. I nearly balked when I turned back around to confront him—his face a mask of fury, his usual steadiness erased.
A flush rose to my cheeks as he pointed at me. “Now you’ve really done it.”
My chest tightened. Abruptly, he took off, stomping toward my bed. I watched on, uncomprehending, as he hoisted himself onto the mattress, reclining back on my pillows with his arms crossed behind him, and—
At once, I understood. “No.” Did he mean to sleep there, now that I’d gotten rid of his pallet? To share it with me? Rushing after him, I hurried to the bedside, hissing as I went. “How dare you—I will not allow this—”
“Then move me!” Noé interrupted rudely as I approached. “If you wish me gone, then remove me yourself.”
His gaze was firm, equal parts challenging and mocking—though spread over my duvet, his body retained its relaxed posture. He doesn’t think I’ll do it. The notion drove every logical thought from my head, whipping me into a frenzy.
A scream ripped from my throat. I shoved him—once, twice, my hands connecting with his torso.
Irritatingly, despite being slimmer and shorter than Eliot, he possessed a wiry kind of strength, his muscles defined beneath his linen shirt.
Determined, I pushed him harder, furious when the only sound it drove from him was a laugh.
I straightened, raising my hand—to do what with it, I knew not—but before I could move, he was surging upward, his arms locking around my waist and drawing me down.
I tumbled against him, my eyes squeezing shut instinctively on impact.
When I opened them again, he was on top of me, my body pressed against the mattress, my wrists trapped beneath his hands.
He breathed over me, near enough that I could make out the muss of his hair, the dilation of his pupils, blown wide by our fight.
“You cannot do it,” he said around ragged breaths.
“See how easily you’re beaten? If I were a silkwitch, I could cut your throat”—he released one of my wrists, drawing his pointer finger across my throat—“like that.”
I spat at him. Flinching, he let me go—though rather than the ire I’d expected my action to draw, he only chuckled, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Hate me all you like,” he drawled. “I am not leaving.”
Our gazes connected.
“Tamerlane,” Noé said softly, before I could speak again. “Stop playing games. You need help—I am offering it.” He shook his head. “Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I mean to be your ally?”
I didn’t answer. He was kneeling on the bed now, his knees on either side of my thighs, hemming me in. Hastily, I drew myself against the pillows, out of his reach.
“I have told you once already,” Noé went on as I retreated. “You made a deal with me, and you are a fool if you think I will allow you to exit it before you hold up your end of the bargain—via death or anything else. Do I make myself clear?”
I held his stare. There was no hint of deception in his eyes—he meant what he said, of that I was certain. I was unsure whether the realization made me feel better or worse.
“Then let Mia stay with me,” I said. My tone was sullen, my arms crossed over my knees like a child’s.
“Mia’s loyalty is untested,” Noé rebutted.
“She may be bought, or she might not be—we cannot know. Not to mention, do you think the likes of Clio Lavoie, or any of the others, would hesitate to kill your maid if it meant getting to you?” He sat back on the mattress.
“No, you need me here. I am the only one who can provide you with insurance—if they hurt me, they will have no one to marry when they walk down the altar.” He arched a brow. “You know I am right.”
I did, and the fact made me resent him all the more.
Manon’s attack earlier had been spontaneous, a crime of opportunity.
Whichever one came next, though, would likely be more intentional.
I could picture it: a silkwitch using her Wit to gain access to my room while I slumbered, unable to detect her entrance, and then…
Sighing, I rose from the bed. I would give Noé the response I knew I had to, but I was too proud to do it while looking at him.
“If I allow you to sleep here,” I said, angled away, “you will not speak to me.”
I sensed him perk up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You will not provoke me.”
“Wouldn’t dare to.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You will not touch me.”
He met me with a smirk, sly and victorious. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he said. “Why are you?”
I huffed, sidling back around to address him head-on.
“I am merely guessing the directions your twisted mind may travel in,” I answered.
“You seemed to enjoy my presence well enough during the Vainglory.” Shifting, I leaned a hip against my bedside table, stacked with letter paper and a fountain pen.
“Did you think I would forget it?” I questioned him.
“How constantly you sought me out? You seemed”—I bent closer, breathing my words—“desperate for me.”
Noé slouched against my headboard, as if momentarily disoriented by my approach. A second later, he collected himself.
“That’s what you call desperation?” he asked.
“I suppose Lear is rather stiff-lipped, even with his lovers.” Matching my advance, he lounged closer, his head tilting up toward mine.
“I was barely trying during the competition, darling. If I wanted you, Tamerlane, you would understand what it truly means to be desired—”
His voice caught as he took in the nib of my fountain pen, which I’d grabbed from the end table and was now pressing firmly against his throat.
Smiling, I pushed the tip harder against his skin, eliciting a wince.
“Don’t threaten me,” I mocked. “I could slit your throat like that.” I drew a line across his throat, mimicking the path he’d traced on mine, then let my arm fall.
“There is more than one type of strength, darling.”
I smirked as I left the room. Eliot’s coin was still tucked beneath my waistband, bleeding its chill into me just as it had been when I’d entered, but the small surge of victory had dulled its sting.
Though I couldn’t explain it, I felt slightly more alive than I had before.