TWENTY-FIVE
The chamber wasn’t a dungeon, which Angela supposed was something to be grateful for.
More than anything, it resembled a hotel room stripped of all soft furnishings, with no nondescript paintings on the wall to fill the space that everyone ignored.
There was no thick carpet softening the floor, or even a television humming in the background, and for once she actually missed the overpriced minibar.
But it was still a cell.
The knock came just as Angela was busily inspecting her new room after Tamarr’s quick tour of places she struggled to remember.
The Great Hall, Magic Hall, Training Hall, to meet the elderly housekeeper, then back down through windowless corridors to some tailor with thick glasses and string for measurements because walking around in jeans wasn’t a thing.
It became more obvious when they made her stop before crossing into main walkways, to ensure no one else saw her.
Then she’d been escorted to this wing by a series of back doors, where furniture was being shifted in the hallway as men were being moved out, so she could move in.
But it was the first time she’d been alone since arriving in this place, and had this strange need to find another fire poker, that she hesitated before opening the door.
First, she was surprised it wasn’t locked.
Secondly, it was Zarek holding a tray of food.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“How did you—” she stopped. Right. Tamarr.
“May I come in?”
Did she have any choice? Angela stepped back anyway.
Zarek walked inside, kicked the door shut, and set the tray on the small table by the window. Then he pulled out a chair and sat. “Come, sit. This is for you.” As if warriors who could read minds and burn people with their touch, routinely shared meals with their prisoners.
Angela sank into the chair across from him.
“Eat.” He pushed a plate toward her. “We are quite spoiled by our Keep’s kitchen.”
She picked up the fork more to look busy than eat. Yet, the plate of roasted meat and vegetables was surprisingly good—while every bite she swallowed was under the weight of those impossible sea-glass eyes.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
“I ate earlier.”
“Then why—”
“You shouldn’t eat alone. Especially on your first night.”
Angela set down her fork. “Is this some manipulative tactic? Or a Paradox custom, checking to see if I have table manners? Or is it a prisoner thing to make sure I’m not on some food protest?”
His jaw tightened slightly. “You are not a prisoner, Angela.”
“Are you sure?”
“We have dungeons for prisoners. And they would never put prisoners next to the Captain’s rooms. I’d rather not give you a tour of those places.” He shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable with her seeing that side of him. “Please eat.”
Again, she picked up her fork, took another bite, chewed, and swallowed without tasting anything, while he watched.
“Well, if we’re going to do this, you should at least pretend to eat.
It’s weird watching you watch me eat. In my world, we share a meal.
” To think, not that long ago she’d learned to eat alone in restaurants because she’d routinely get stood up on her dates.
Now here was a guy who hand-delivered her food and was watching her eat.
A smile flickered on his face too fast to be considered a smile.
Wait? Could he read her mind? Sure, he’d told her he could read others. But hers?
Zarek reached for the bread, tore off a piece, and bit into it without breaking eye contact.
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable; there was way too much heat from how he watched her, that the awareness crackled between them.
As she continued to eat, he’d reach across and pluck things off her plate to snack on while watching her. There was no small talk. Not that much could be said, because she was hungry.
Of course he knew that too, just by the sly grin he wore when she emptied her plate.
He removed the tray holding the cleared plate and cutlery. “I’ll have Tamarr bring breakfast. And your new gowns will be ready by then.”
“What? No personal delivery by the Captain?”
He paused in the doorway, his back to her. “I have an early patrol along the Veyll’s Wards. But I will see you tomorrow. Do me a favor?”
“Really? When I’m already doing you a favor by behaving as part of our treaty.”
“Don’t wander these halls at night. If you need anything, knock on that door to my room, and I’ll help you.”
“Why? Is there some big, scary monster kept in the halls you let out like a guard dog to keep prisoners inside?”
“You are not a prisoner, Angela.” The door closed behind him.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, hating the bothersome thought that part of her had wanted him to stay. Guessing this wouldn’t be the last time he’d show up with a meal tray.
What’s worse, she hoped it wouldn’t be.
Ugh, she was lousy as a hostile prisoner.
But then the room became bigger while she felt so small, trapped in a world that wasn’t her own. She grabbed the fire poker, locked her door and faced an empty room.
How soon before she could go home?