Chapter 16
Kaylee
I yawned and stretched out, enjoying the sensation of the soft grass beneath me, and the warm rays of the sun beating down on my back as I laid out in the gardens, reading the book I’d selected from Rook’s hoard.
I forced myself to read slowly, savoring every word: I’d noticed there were only a few romances in his library, and I didn’t intend to skip a single syllable.
I still couldn’t quite believe he’d let me walk out of there in one piece, never mind with one of his precious books in tow. I’d half expected him to examine my choice before letting me leave, but by the time I’d made my selection, he was gone.
I also couldn’t believe I’d forgotten how pissed off with him I was: both for not letting me know he was skipping out on breakfast, and for tormenting me about my reading preferences before telling me not to let people torment me about my reading preferences.
Asshole. But he’d let me borrow the book, and it hadn’t just been some cruel joke to get me excited and then watch the disappointment crush me.
He’d been close enough to see the excitement in my eyes, and probably smell it seeping out of my pores, and I didn’t even want to know what the fuck that low growl of his had done to my scent, because I sure as hell knew what it had done between my legs.
Which were not going to be wrapped around him any time soon, and I was not going to be climbing him like a tree.
Because I was totally not going there. Ever.
I started as a shadow fell over me, and before I could roll over and look up at its owner, the same low growl that’d had such an effect on me in the library sounded again, but this time it sounded distinctly pissed.
“If I’d known you’d take the loan of a book to mean you could cast off all your duties, I wouldn’t have allowed you to borrow it.”
My mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ as I fumbled for words, staring up at him and then past him, trying to work out how long exactly I’d been out here. The sun was definitely not in the same part of the sky as it had been when I’d started reading. Crap. I scrambled to my feet.
“Or maybe you think you’ve fallen into a fairy tale and the food will cook itself?”
“No, Lord As—I mean, Rook.” My face started to burn as I caught my slip. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
“Good. Because when I attend my dining hall, I don’t expect to do so alone.”
“Well that makes two of us,” I said, and then froze when my words caught up with me. Across from me, Rook matched my stillness for a long second, and then his face hardened.
“Is that what this is, Tribute? Some form of petty rebellion?” He advanced on me, backing me up against the garden’s wall.
I swallowed as his hands slammed against it on either side of my face, caging me in.
“Because let me make one thing clear. You wait on me, not the other way around. Is that clear, little wolf?”
“I told you, don’t call me that,” I spat, jerking my chin up to glare at him.
“Tribute, or little wolf?” he said, eyes not leaving mine as he canted his head in a predatory stare.
“You know which,” I said, my voice unsteady, my body weak from his proximity but simultaneously thrumming with a power I couldn’t quite tap. “I’m not a wolf.”
“You are whatever the fuck I say you are,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. “And that includes dead.”
I’d pushed it too far this time. I could see it burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth but I had absolutely no fucking words to undo the monumental fuck up I’d just made. He ignored me, leaning in close to snarl in my ear.
“So get your ass into the kitchen and get back to work before I decide to rethink my mercy.”
Before I could say a word—not that I could think of any—he dropped a hand from the wall and plucked the book from my grip.
“Hey!”
“Let me make something clear: books are a privilege. Servants who fail to serve do not earn privileges under my roof.”
I scowled at him, but when he dropped his other arm and stepped back, I did the first sensible thing I’d done since he’d shown up out here, and scurried past him, making straight for the kitchen.
Fighting the urge to scream the whole damn way.
I had better things to be doing than making food.
Or at least, I did have until he stole my book. His book. Whatever.
How was I supposed to be focusing on making soup when the enemies were about to become lovers? And so what that I’d spent the afternoon reading? He was the one who gave me the book in the first place. Which I’d thought was generous until he’d snatched it back.
I stalked around the kitchen, snatching up pots and pans at random. I wasn’t about to waste my best efforts on a book thief. If he wanted preparation, he should try being nice.
…Like lending me a book.
Ugh. This was dumb. Sure, I could deliberately burn whatever I ended up cooking—I could probably burn water if I put my mind to it—but that was just going to put him in an even worse mood.
And both of us in a bad mood would do me no favors at all.
Also, I’d skipped breakfast on account of him not showing, and skipped lunch while I’d been busy pampering myself.
Now that I thought about it, I was famished.
All right, so intentionally sabotaging dinner was out. But that didn’t mean much, seeing as how ninety percent of my sabotaging was entirely unintentional. Ah well, best see what I had left to work with, at least.
I stepped inside the cold room…and stopped dead.
This morning, the shelves had been near empty—testament to my heavy experimentation over the last week—but now they were crammed with food of every imaginable type.
Some I recognized—carrots, potatoes, more of those wretched mushrooms—and others were going to be entirely guesswork.
There were dozens of cuts of meat, which would be making me salivate, if my experiences over the last week hadn’t been enough to entirely change my perception of food.
I pushed my surprise aside and ran an assessing eye over the array of ingredients.
Given that Rook was already pissed at having to wait, I was going to need something I could cook quickly.
Stews and soups were out…but that was probably for the best. I gnawed at my lower lip for a moment, then my gaze snagged on some venison steaks—already cut.
Perfect. I grabbed them, along with a handful of potatoes, and headed back into the kitchen. Quick and simple, and—hopefully—easy.
I threw the steaks in a pan and turned on the heat, then got started peeling and slicing the potatoes.
It wasn’t long until the meat was sizzling, and the potatoes were doing something similar in their own pan.
I’d cut them thin, so I hoped they’d cook quickly.
Moving quickly, I grabbed a couple of plates, then prodded at the steaks for a few minutes until I decided they were probably cooked.
Serving was as straightforward as cooking—I just tossed the food onto the plates, grabbed hold of them, and hurried from the kitchen
Rook’s eyes smoldered as I stepped into the dining hall, his nostrils flaring as he scented something, presumably the food. He wasn’t pulling a face, at least, so that was something.
I set his in front of him, keeping my eyes cast down.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” I told him honestly. “And for messing up after you loaned me the book.”
He grunted in reply, and I kept from rolling my eyes through force of will alone. Fine. I’d made the effort, at least. I should have known better than to think he’d actually appreciate it, far less show it.
I moved towards my preferred seat, the one closest to the door, but he stopped me with a word.
“No.”
“I’m…sorry?” I said, turning back to him.
“Not that seat,” he clarified, and then gestured to one seat along from his. “This one.”
Ducking my head, I set my plate down where he’d indicated, and slipped into the seat, uncomfortably aware of our proximity.
With just one seat separating us, we were close enough to touch.
Not that I had any intention of touching him.
Not in this lifetime. Gods, why did I want to touch him so badly?
I snatched up my cutlery…because I was hungry.
Not because I needed something to stop me reaching out.
Oh man, I was in so much trouble with this guy.
Something about him threw me completely off kilter.
He wasn’t even that h— Well, okay, he was ridiculously hot, with that sharp jawline and those stormy eyes that always seemed to see straight through me, and the shirt that fit his body like he was born to wear one, and I knew damn well what was hiding under it, and—
Not the point. I’d seen hot guys before, and they didn’t do this to me. Especially when they were assholes, which, granted, described just about every male I knew.
Anyway. Food. I forced my eyes downward.
“This looks…edible,” Rook said, his voice uncharitably suspicious.
“Well, you should have seen what you missed for breakfast.”
“No need. I smelled it when I walked in.” His nose wrinkled. “I consider myself fortunate I was elsewhere.”
I dropped my cutlery back on the table with a clatter, glaring at him. “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” He looked halfway between puzzled and pissed, but I definitely had him beat when it came to the anger.
“Yeah. Fuck you. I’m trying, okay? I’m doing my best. You know I’ve never cooked before coming here, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to expect me to be suddenly able to prepare perfect meals in the space of five minutes when I don’t even know what half of the ingredients are and I never had anyone to teach me, and now suddenly you’re acting like my life depends on it, and… ”
I sniffed. Fuck. When did I start crying? Rook stared at me mutely for a long moment, horrified, and I wished the fucking ground would open up and swallow me. Why was I crying about food?
“You’re crying.”