Page 55 of Aine

She’s gotten incredibly cocky recently, proudly marching into the fields every morning and showing up to the dining hall every night. Everybody ignores her, but she doesn’t seem to care.

At one point she even tried to help us garden, but Damien came around and shooed her away. He seems to be the only one she listens to which aggravates me more than I care to admit. I want to know what’s going on between them.

Her presence has more than thrown Alex for a loop, the man constantly pulling me into the kitchen pantry to hide. He refuses to talk about her, and it doesn’t help that Damien refuses to discuss why he’s allowing her to stay, either.

“She’s been coming to my house at night trying to speak to me, but I haven’t let her in,” he finally answers, his voice quiet.

My lips purse, but I keep my less-than-kind thoughts to myself. At the end of the day, she’s still his mate, and I don’t want to risk offending him by talking badly about her.

Alex takes the vegetables from my hand and sets them in the small bucket on the shelf. Today was a big day for tomatoes, and I’m excited to see what the cooks do with them.

“How was your date with Damien?” Alex asks, changing the subject.

I shrug, a light blush tinting my cheeks. I’ve told Alex a thousand times it wasn’t a date, but he insists on calling it that.

Besides, Damien hasn’t spoken to me since that evening. I’m still embarrassed I shared the information about my abortions with him. I hoped speaking about the abuse would help lay the framework as to why I had to kill Henry, but all I ended up doing was admitting my inability to produce a male.

I should’ve used a different example.

“It was uncomfortable,” I admit.

Alex shakes his head before letting out an unattractive snort.

“I heard you rushed to eat then immediately ran up to your room.”

I huff, annoyed with how much he knows. Did Damien tell Alex the secrets of my children, too? I was under the impression the two men were fighting. Alex leans against the shelf as he waits for my reply, his face impossible to read. Is he annoyed by my treatment of his brother or not?

“He told you that?” I ask, neither confirming nor denying the statement.

“Olivia did,” he says. “Why didn’t you enjoy your meal? She said he worked hard trying to make it nice for you.”

I shrug, not quite believing that. I don’t think Damien’s worked hard on anything a day in his life.

“I don’t trust his motives,” I say. “He hasn’t exactly been nice to me.”

Alex rolls his eyes. It’s frustrating how nobody seems to understand my hesitance toward Damien, dismissing my concerns the second I voice them. Even when they do seem surprised by what I report, they’re quick to come up with some excuse for his behavior.

“At least he’s trying now?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s better late than never.”

I shrug. Damien’s attitude will change again when he inevitably discovers the reason for my execution.

Alex and I loiter in the pantry for a while, neither of us in a hurry to leave. We don’t acknowledge that we’re lingering as we rearrange the shelves for the thousandth time and fidget with all the stocked food.

A quiet knock on the door has me jumping, my pulse racing as I turn to see who’s here. Olivia looks uncomfortable as she peeks inside, her eyes darting around the room before landing on me.

“Damien sent me to get you. He’s in his office,” she mutters.

I watch as she glances nervously in Alex’s direction, her face turning red as he murmurs a quiet greeting. He gives me a subtle nod, and with a shaky sigh, I turn and follow Olivia. So much for avoiding Damien.

“Do you know what he wants?” I ask.

Olivia shakes her head.

I can’t tell whether she knows and is keeping it from me or if she genuinely has no idea, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s keeping it a secret. She and Damien work close enough together that I’m sure she’s heard something.

My palms are soaked with sweat by the time I push open Damien’s office doors, and I hope he can’t smell my nerves as I step inside. Damien barely glances at me before gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

I don’t sit.

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