Chapter 19
nineteen
Kas panics, a couple of times.
Kas returned later than he’d expected from lunch with his friend, Isahn. When he was a few steps from the room, he sent his magic ahead to open the door.
Nesrina yelped.
He slammed it shut, but not before catching a glimpse of her robe on the floor, and leg—bare leg.
Is someone there with her? The fire in him almost had Kas flinging open the door again, propriety be damned.
Instead, he knocked and asked, “Are you decent?”
He waited for her response and heard nothing but shuffling.
What if she did have a visitor? What would he do?
What could he do? Nothing, really. She hadn’t explicitly agreed to court him; he hadn’t even brought it up.
Maybe she didn’t feel the same way? How long could it possibly take for her to cover up or run into the washroom?
Was she stashing someone away? Helping them escape through a window?
“Yes. Sorry, come in.”
Kas pushed open the door, this time with his hand, to find Nesrina standing in front of the fire, wearing a plush white robe that nearly skimmed the carpet.
A discarded towel lay rumpled on the floor and her wet hair hung in honey rivulets that dripped in front of her shoulders and rippled over her chest.
Her breasts peeked out between the fold of the robe.
To think, until a moment ago, they were out and experiencing the world.
Kas dropped his gaze to Nes’s towel on the floor, blinking rapidly.
He imagined being the fabric: wrapping around her body, sliding across smooth skin, brushing over her, drying her limbs and— What the fates was wrong with him?
His gaze landed on her face as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. When he met her mossy green eyes, she was giving him the look of someone holding onto an unspoken question.
He stood, frozen, waiting.
“What time is dinner?” she asked casually, retrieving her discarded towel to dry her hair before the fire.
That wasn’t what he expected her to say. Though, to be fair, he didn’t have any firm expectations in the first place . . . only hopes. Nesrina’s inquiry was downright domestic, oddly disarming. He wanted to hear that same mundane question from her lips day after day, forever.
He craved her, enjoyed her company above all others’, and could only hope she felt the same.
Attraction was one thing, general interest another, but this all-consuming desire to befriend her, to hold her, and to have her at his side forever?
That was a whole other issue. A much bigger deal.
One that deserved far more consideration.
“One hour,” he finally replied.
“Oh, no.” She stood and faced him again, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, her last word lingering on her lips.
“What’s wrong?”
Grabbing a chunk of hair and lifting, she said, “This won’t dry for ages, and I still have to style it. Would you help me?”
Nodding, he did as he had in the library the evening he’d finally invited her to join him. Or rather, when she’d asked to come along, and he’d happily obliged.
Kas was more than happy to accept this request too.
It reassured him of her interest. It supported his hypothesis that courting was going well.
It felt . . . domestic. Curling a warm breeze toward her, he used one well-shaped cord to pluck the unnecessary towel from her hand and hang it in the washroom.
Her head swiveled, tracking the fabric as it floated across the room. “Ghostly.”
He chuckled, urging his wind to focus on her hair, letting the air ripple through her waves, pushing and twisting the curls as they took shape, drying nicely. She’d asked, after all. He intended to do a good job.
Nes whimpered, dropping her head back as he worked through her thick layers. “Feels good,” she murmured.
All he could manage was a grunt, as a twisting strand of air skated over her jaw and down her neck, before he snapped himself out of it and pulled back.
“All done.”
Her hands flew to her head, and she pranced to the mirror, finding her hair dry, and curlier than he’d ever seen it before. “Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You should leave it down.” The words were out before he even realized he’d been thinking them.
Her ribbon of laughter curled right around his heart. “I can’t do that! This may be a casual place but it’s not that casual. No one can see me like this.”
He flinched. “Am I no one then?”
“It’s not— It wouldn’t be— You’re— You’re you.” She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated.
Gods, he loved when she got flustered. But he loved that statement more: “You’re you.
” It wasn’t so much her choice of words as it was her tone, like she was speaking an undeniable, weighted fact.
He replayed it over in his mind while she selected a gown, the deep blue and bronze one that was his second favorite.
When Nesrina disappeared into the washroom, Kas noticed his favorite gown, the solid gold one, hanging in the open wardrobe.
He hoped that meant she was saving it . .
. for the gala. He hadn’t seen her wear it yet, and the dinners he insisted she attend at Stormhill provided ample opportunity.
Honestly, he was beginning to think she didn’t like it, but to find she’d brought it along . . .
After enjoying a meager drink, Kas decided it was high time he got himself ready for the night ahead.
The innkeeper had offered to send up staff to help them dress, even bathe if needed.
While Kas knew some nobility traveled with whole entourages to primp and prep them for events, that wasn’t his preference.
He didn’t think it was hers either, not based on what Aylin told him.
But, he realized abruptly, Nes didn’t grow up with a house full of servants. Maybe she did want the help? Oh, leneteki, damn it, he should’ve asked instead of making the decision for her.
He finished buttoning up his deep blue dinner jacket with the bronze closures that may or may not have matched her dress as the washroom door creaked open.
“Kas?” Her soft voice floated over.
His heart stopped for a good two beats, then he sucked in a shaky breath, earning a curious look from the woman of the hour. It was the first time she’d ever said his name like that. She’d called him Akkas, when she wanted to chop his head off, but not Kas, never Kas.
“Yes?” He hoped his voice sounded calmer than he felt.
“Could you help me button up my dress?” The little vixen padded out of the bathing chamber and made straight for him. “I don’t want to mess up my hair, or I’d do it myself.”
He nodded mutely, entranced by the way she’d twisted and pinned her locks up on top of her head. His eyes followed the thin velvet lines of the bronze ribbon she’d wound through her already enchanting strands.
Perhaps declining servants hadn’t been the worst idea. He recognized the sentiment was terribly selfish but thought so anyway.
As Nes approached, one shoulder of her gown slipped off.
His hand almost flew out to stop her before she fixed it and spun to bare her back to him.
The gown fell open to just above her bottom and he studied her creamy skin, the dip between her shoulder blades, the bumps of her spine beneath her nearly-sheer shift— It got so bad that he had to call on his magic to shove a breath down his frozen throat.
Kas wiped his clammy hands on his jacket and swallowed loudly before beginning the trying task of fastening up Nesrina’s dress when what he wanted to do was push it right off and turn her around to face him.
“Done,” he announced, some time later, hands shaking and trousers tight.
“Belt, please,” she added.
Kas chuckled in defeat before sliding his hands around her waist in an attempt to locate the damned bronze ribbons. “Leneteki, kalalitani,” he grumbled under his breath. “A little help here?” She had no idea what she did to him, did she?
“Sorry,” she yelped before handing him the two ends of the ribbon that, it turned out, she’d been clutching in her hands the entire time.
He growled as he tied a bow like a lady’s maid. Maybe he should have taken the innkeeper up on the offer of help. No. He liked this too much. But next time they traveled together, he’d ask if she’d like a servant. It was the right thing to do.
“All right, now give me a twirl,” he commanded through a smile.
She obliged, looking magnificent as always.
Kas entered dinner with Miss Kiappa at his side.
He’d been tempted to offer his arm, yet again, but had no desire for her to accuse him of infantilizing her by constantly escorting her from place to place.
Plus, he was so tall, and she was so short, it couldn’t have been comfortable for her.
He held off—that time. He hovered though, unable to help himself, overcome with a desire to touch her, to be as close to her as possible.
Like that. Her forearm brushed his thigh in the crush of the crowd.
From across the room, his brother-in-law’s voice boomed out, calling Kas over to converse. It didn’t seem like Ehmet had been watching for him to arrive, more like Kas couldn’t be missed when he did walk in, with his head poking high above the rest.
“Was that the king?” Nes asked, looking up at him.
He nodded.
Hot fingers grabbed his, latching on, entwining herself with him. “Lead the way. Don’t lose me.”
Her simple gesture sent a wave of warmth coursing up his arm to bloom in his chest. He was well and truly lost to this woman, and she hardly considered him a friend. “Not if I can help it.”
Ehmet was positioned at the front of the enormous public hall, atop an unassuming dais where a podium stood, awaiting him and his annual plenary address.
The king didn’t bother with thrones or even a fine chair.
He stood, back against the wall, in a casual but powerful stance as he surveyed the conglomeration of subjects flitting about on the hardwood floors.