I blush at his words and turn around, catching his amicable smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Not everyone shares that assessment.”
He frowns. “Who are you talking about?”
“Her,” I say, nodding toward the door. “The black-haired girl. My... friend. She saw the marks earlier today and she looked appalled and terrified.”
The frown on his face grows stronger.
“Earlier today?” he asks. “When was she here?”
“Um... I don’t know, a while ago when she brought me the stew—”
“She was inside your room today and brought you stew?”
His voice is so loud and thundering that it makes me flinch in fear.
Why is he getting so angry at this? Did I do something wrong? Did she?
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
He steps forward, hooking his finger through the ring at my collar again to pull my face so close to his I’m forced to rise up on my toes, my shoulder pulled up to my ears with frightened tension as I meet his furious gaze.
“When, Petal?” he hisses. “When was she here? How long ago?”
“How am I supposed to know!” I snarl back at him. “You know I have no way of telling time!”
“An estimate!” he yells. “You can give me that, can’t you?”
“I don’t know! An hour maybe? Or two? No...,” I stutter, shaking my head. “No, it wasn’t that long. Less than two hours, most likely.”
His eyes turn to narrow slits. I haven’t seen him this angry since...
No, I’ve never seen him this angry before.