Chapter 18 #2
Instead of getting to work, I sniff out a private spot in the small parlor parallel to the showers.
There’s a rug here, versus tile, and a chair set in front of a full-length mirror.
My bones settle as I sag onto the corner behind the chair, drawing my knees up to my chest and resting my head on them.
My cheek presses hard against scratchy fabric.
It’s never going to get any better, either. This will be my existence until I’m worn out and tired, like some of the other maids I’ve seen drifting around the castle like ghosts.
They don’t know they’re already dead.
They think they’re living but what kind of life is this?
I’ve aged a decade since coming here.
This is nothing I ever thought for myself, that’s for sure. If I dream hard enough, then I catch a whiff of clover warmed by the sun, mixed with the scent of warm horse flesh. And in the back of my mind there’s the thunder of hooves punctuated by a happy neigh.
In my dreams, I’m a rider, chosen by one of the most powerful unicorns the herd has ever seen, even more powerful than Himself.
I never wanted to lead but now the desire is there, like a crystal suddenly seeing the light of day for the first time after an eruption in the earth. Maybe it’s been there the entire time and I buried it too deep to notice.
If I led, if I actually did something to deserve this pendant around my neck as the firstborn instead of Elspeth, then I’d launch an attack on General Ryson. I’d launch a systematic takedown until he fell in front of me and died at the point of my unicorn’s horn.
What would the owner of the notebook have to say about that? If the author had more than the smallest inkling of what I am and what I want to be? Would he or she be so easy with their answers if they knew?
I sniff and adjust, stealing a semblance of comfort on the floor.
The author might be a woman for all I know. Either way, I can’t get the messages out of my head. The responses came quickly, within a day of my last round of questioning.
I appreciate those thoughtful notes.
Fantasies fill my head in the cozy softness of half sleep until the pounding rush of a shower pushes me violently out of sleep.
Where am I?
I shift and wince when my muscles protest, frozen too long in an uncomfortable position. The cold floor leaches into me and I slowly stretch out my legs with a swallowed curse. Then the full impact of the situation strikes me like a blow to the head.
I fell asleep. And now someone’s here. Showering.
Someone is naked a few feet away from me. I’d stashed the cleaning supplies, and they hadn’t seen anything, thinking they were alone and letting down their guard in one of the most vulnerable ways.
Adrenaline pushes a flood of panic into my head and whips things around.
I roll to my hands and knees with a grunt, keeping low. I’ve got to get out of here and make some kind of excuse to Mrs. Milkin about why I didn’t finish the job. Or start. She’ll never listen to me but it’s better to try than to let it get ahead of me and have someone else tattle.
There’s only one way out.
I can’t think, can’t focus.
The curl of my braid drags along the floor as I crawl and a moment later, a deep voice echoes, muttering words I can’t distinguish over the pulsing water.
Ether curse it all.
I stop where I am, the curse a hiss on my tongue. A bitter tang fills my mouth. One way out and it’s past the shower and the person on the other side of the gauzy partition.
Creeping past the shower is the task of my life. I latch my attention on the floor as the rushing pulse of water grows steadily louder. My heart thunders in my chest.
No, no, this is bad.
This is what happens when you let your guard down and fall asleep in places where you definitely don’t need to be sleeping. Chastisements grow increasingly severe in my head, and I glance up to see if I’m anywhere close to the arch to the locker room yet.
Nope, not by a mile. But I am several feet away from the curtain drawn across the first shower.
A three-inch gap between tile and curtain shows a glimpse of tan feet standing in a puddle near the drain.
And if I arch my neck a little to the right—
Legs. And…Void.
A line of male strength and curved flesh, water sluicing down through dark leg hair. I can’t look away. My gaze travels higher to the strong, muscled planes of his shoulders.
The voice shifts into a hum and a song I can’t place even if I thought about it. The individual pieces of my brain drift apart.
The man drops his head back, scrubbing long fingers through strands of nearly black hair.
My mouth goes dry.
I know the hair and the shoulders. I watched him enough on the battlefield to understand the play of tension in his limbs as he moves, even something as slight as washing his hair. The growling baritone of his voice sends horrible skitters of awareness along my spine.
Kieran is naked and showering.
Kieran under the pulse of water, unaware that he’s being watched.
I can barely blink, let alone look away. Water cascades along the carved muscle of his legs. He shifts, flexes. From this angle, only a sliver of his chest is visible, decorated with another smattering of dark hair. Water spills across his face and his closed eyes, around full pink lips.
A layer of stubble decorates the angles of his jaw and the corners of my lips twitch. My fingers curl above the tiles. I clench my teeth and tense on reflex.
Stop looking.
I shake my head and my eyes refuse to tear away from Kieran and the quiet of the moment. His walls are down.
Because he thinks he’s alone.
My breath catches and my lungs shrink to a tenth of their size when Kieran angles away from the wall, ducking his head to wash the suds from his hair. I catch a flash of his hipbones, the tightness of his thighs—
I shoot my eyes to the floor.
I shouldn’t be here. I need to get out instead of watching, instead of leaning into the tightness in my chest and tipping back on my toes to get a better view. Instead, I turn back to the shower and drag my pained eyes over his calves.
Kieran hums to himself under his breath and turns again before I catch a glimpse of his front. His back straightens. My eyes track the movement. How would it feel to wash those muscles, to rub the knots in his neck, replacing my gaze with my hands?
To feel something beyond anger or forced indifference?
I go still.
Not with him. Never with him.
Those desires belong to someone worthy of respect, not a man who’d look more appealing with steel through his ribs.
It’s ridiculous to stay, to place him into a category where Kieran becomes someone desirable. My lungs groan and I start breathing again. I squeeze my eyes shut. The nervousness moving my muscles disappears bit by bit and my stomach turns but not in a bad way.
My hands shake.
Something small and soft flutters low in my belly.
The fantasies threaten to carry me away. They need to disappear and never resurface. I have no business wondering how he’ll react to my trailing touch along his bicep.
Shame immediately replaces the nerves.
He should pull the shower curtain all the way closed and I should disappear while I can, before he finds me. Cut a hasty escape.
Kieran is an attractive man. All right? I admit it.
We don’t like each other.
He threatened to rape me in the cave and brought me here to this scorched heinous place. That alone makes us enemies, if his father’s identity did not.
I shake my head and scoot forward. I make it about an inch before Kieran’s humming stops and I flinch.
Busted.
He switches to a whistle, heat from the spray belching puffs of steam underneath the edge of the curtain. Eyes averted, teeth grinding, I crawl away from the shower and into the main locker space.
My mop bucket and scrub brush are still nestled to the opposite side of the bench.
I’ve seen Kieran naked and outside of the guilt, there’s something else. I grab my tools and rush to the door. I should have realized.
The truth has been right there in front of me this entire time.
The private gym I’ve been using every night belongs to him. Which means I could have been caught at any time.
Watching him shower will seal my fate if anyone finds out, and my punishment may end up being worse than the mines.