Page 76 of The Ballad of the Vampire Prince

It’s there when we enter our room, long after she has taken her bath, and even as she prepares herself to go the sleep.

Rhianelle settles on the bed quietly, combing her hair quietly, not really looking at anything.

I don’t like that look. I wish she’d fucking talk to me. I can see her shutting me out again from her innermost thoughts, retreating into a place I can’t reach.

I kneel in front of her, and she releases the most delicious startled sound, her eyes widening. “Svenn?”

I move closer, but I don’t try to touch her. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine.”

I decide I fucking hate that word along with others of its kind.I’m all right. It’s nothing.

“You are shaking,” I tell her.

“I am?”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I urge again.

Who do I need to kill to make you feel better?

“It’s nothing,” she says, the light in her eyes dimming.

There she goes again.

“You can tell me if there’s anything bothering you.”

“Why?”

I don’t fucking know either, but I try the word Red used earlier. “Because you’re my wife.”

“We’re not really together, Svenn,” she says.

That cut me deeper than a honed dagger. I maintain a neutral expression as if her words didn’t just send a whirlwind of pain through me.

A better person would have left her the fuck alone when she wanted space. I am no such person.

I rise and move to the long table. “Have you had your meal today?”

“I think I forgot…” she mutters.

There are seven hundred and thirty-six ways I can torment a person with a blunt knife. I don’t know how the hell I did ended up cutting the crust over her bread, buttering them with berries. I pass the plate to her.

“Eat.” I try cutting the edge in my voice so I don’t hurt her any more than I already have.

I watch her munching the bread silently. The best part is that once she starts eating, she doesn’t waste. Rhianelle will consume everything to the tiniest crumb and grain.

The girl has built a cold impenetrable wall from me. I remind myself that I deserve it.

“I’m done.” She plants the plate to her bedside table and starts her ritual of piling dozens of throw pillows on the bed. Once her little fortress is built, she slides underneath the blanket.

Rhianelle is perfect to the outside world, but she’s herself when she’s with me. I hold on to the fact that she trusted me enough to share this private room with her, to let me look at her without her mask. Not goddamn Eyepatch, Tall One, or Red.

Me.

“Svenn,” she calls out.

My heart twists. It’s not even my fucking name but it floods me with so much emotion every time she calls me that. I look at the pair of lilac eyes peering at me from under the comforter.

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