Page 70 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

“Why did you leave the royal family?”

“To join the army,” Ambrose replied without inflection. “Did you love any of your human lovers?”

“No.” I took a bite of toast. “I thought you started the army…?”

He shook his head. “No, I took it over. What about the man who brought you food in the dungeon?”

“What about him?” I countered.

“Did he love you?”

I laughed. “Not at all.”

“Then why bring the food?”

I grinned. “It’s my turn. Save your question.”

We were sitting at the breakfast table in the same cabin where our dinner had been interrupted several days before. Only I was eating, while Ambrose simply sat, his feet up on the table, watching me.

Somehow, my pretending to be Rosey was becoming easier with each meal and against my better judgment, Ambrose and I had fallen into something of a rhythm.

We didn’t interact outside of meals, not even when he came to the cabin to sleep at night. I’d thought perhaps he would stop watching me so carefully, after the gift of the new bed, but he did not. Still, he never so much as brushed against my side at night, giving me all the space possible. With time, I was beginning to think he was not quite so abhorrent as I’d originally thought.

Ambrose hardly ever asked anything serious, and steered noticeably clear of mentioning any of his family, especially Bael and Scion, or discussing my magic. He seemed to want to know only mundane things—my favorite food (I didn’t have one), did I prefer the morning or the evening (morning), and if I missed living in Aftermath (yes). This morning, he’d fixated on my love life prior to winning the crown, and wanted to know all about every guard who’d ever looked twice at me.

It could’ve been far worse.

For his part, he held true to his word and answered everything I asked him. The only problem was, he refused to give more than the most direct answer, forcing me to yank every detail out of him like pulling teeth.

If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was doing it on purpose. Perhaps trying to keep me at the table longer.

I put my fork down with a definitive clang.

Ambrose sat up slightly straighter at the sound, leaning forward to fix me with one of his bottomless stares. “It’s your turn.”

“I’ve finished eating,” I replied, scooting my chair back from the table. “Isn’t that how this works?”

He scowled, looking slightly aggravated, but raised a hand to wave me off. “Fine, go.”

My eyebrows pulled together. We’d been sitting here for several hours already, to the point that soon one meal would bleed into another and lunch would begin. Yet, for some reason, he seemed bothered that I was leaving. Perhaps if he’d ever asked anything serious, I would’ve understood, but how interesting could it be to make me recount my various likes and dislikes in excruciating detail?

I didn’t understand this male at all. Could he be all bad? What would have happened if I’d met him without all the preconceived opinions I’d formed, ever since losing my sister?

Except, there had to be more to it. He was still a killer, still the head of an army. Moreover, Scion hated him…there had to be some reason for that. I supposed, I would simply have to work up the courage to ask…perhaps during lunch.

I stood, and turned toward the door, ready to return to my cabin. However, I hadn’t taken more than a step when he called me back.

“Wait!”

I glanced over my shoulder, my hand on the door. “Yes?”

He was biting the inside of his lip, in one of the most distinctly human expressions I’d ever seen on his face. Having sat across from each other for several meals now, I’d come to notice that Ambrose often moved like a human. He fiddled with his utensils, blinked often, and slouched in his chairs. It was at complete odds with Bael and Scion, who’d never once looked human to me in the time I’d known them. Their posture was too good, their movements too fast. I had to assume that spending twenty or more years surrounded by mortals had forced the rebel king to pick up some habits.

With a start, I wondered if I would pick up Fae mannerisms in as many years? Had I already?

After an inordinately long pause, in which I began to wonder if I’d imagined him calling me back, Ambrose opened his mouth to reply, but did not get a chance.

Without warning, a tremor rocked the ship. Plates and glasses slid from the table onto the floor, shattering at our feet. Outside, I heard the distant sounds of other things crashing against the deck, then the beginnings of screaming.

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