Page 77 of A Dagger in the Ivy

“A pinch should do the trick. Takes a few minutes to work, and it should wear off by morning.” He clasps his hands together in front of him.

I take a breath and then glance up at him, my heart thudding with concern. “Can I trust you to keep this between us?”

He dips his head, a small smile forming. “Your secret is safe with me.”

CHapter

Twenty-Seven

The hot water envelops me as I sink into the bath, the gentle steam rising around me, curling through the cool air. My hair is up, away from my aching neck, secured with hairpins. The tension in my muscles begins to unwind, the heat seeping into my bones, loosening the knots of stress and weariness that have accumulated over these past days. I close my eyes and let out a long, slow breath, my body finally relaxing, if only for a moment.

My mind, however, refuses to follow suit. It races with thoughts of my regiment, the men and women who look to me for leadership, now scattered and vulnerable without my presence. I feel a pang of guilt and frustration—I’m here in the castle, away from them, forced into this charade of courtly life while they are out there, facing threats and uncertainty.

I swirl my hand through the water, creating small ripples that lap gently against the sides of the tub. Each ripple feels like a reminder of the waves of responsibility pulling at me, tugging me back to the battlefield, where I truly belong. The sounds of the castle—footfalls echoing in the halls, the distant murmur of voices—seem so foreigncompared to the familiar clamor of the camp, the clang of swords, the rhythmic marching of boots, the camaraderie of shared purpose.

I miss the feeling of my armor, the reassuring weight of it, the way it molds to my body like a second skin. Here, in silken dresses and delicate slippers, I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that no amount of battle could ever make me feel. I am a warrior, not a courtier, and every day spent playing this role only deepens my sense of dislocation.

My thoughts drift to Torbin. I knew him as a boy, and when I first arrived, I believed our childhood bond would make our situation easier, that this forced marriage would manage to work out for the best. But he’s been acting strange, and there are so many questions that I have about him now. He’s a mystery, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to figure him out before the wedding.

I sink deeper into the water, letting it rise to my chin, hoping to wash away some of the weight pressing down on me. But it lingers, a stubborn shadow clinging to my heart. My soldiers need me. My people need me. And yet here I am, trapped in this gilded cage, playing a part that feels more like a prison sentence with each passing day.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, ornate and opulent, a stark contrast to the open skies I long for. The scent of lavender and rosewater fills the air, but it does little to mask the bitterness welling up inside me. How much longer can I endure this? How much longer until I can return to where I truly belong?

And then there’s Dante. I don’t know why he infuriates me so much. His words can bite, and his actions are not considerate. And more recently, he confuses me. One minute, he makes me feel unwelcome, and the next, he’s concerned about my safety. His claim that he promised Torbin he’d watch out for me is a statement I’m not quite sure I believe. And the fact that he embarrassed me by using his powers on me…

As the minutes go by, I know I must rise and face the reality waiting outside this room. But for now, just for a few more moments, I allow myself to float in this fleeting refuge, gathering strength for the battles yet to come. The heat eases the tension in my muscles.

Unable to escape the thoughts circling in my head, I decide I’ve hadenough. Steam seems to cling to my skin as I rise from the tub. Drops of water hit the tile floor and cut the silence of the room. The towel that’s been laid out for me by the servants is soft to the touch, almost a boast of the quality only Ivystone money can buy.

In need of fresh air, I wrap the towel around myself and traipse directly to the wide double doors that lead out to the balcony. The cool, evening air hits me as I throw the doors open, and I breathe in the refreshing scent of lilacs and magnolias.

The sky is painted in deep purples and blues, with the first stars beginning to twinkle. From here, I can see the other wing of the castle, its stone walls standing tall and imposing in the fading sun. The balconies on the opposite side are cloaked in darkness, their intricate railings just barely visible in the dim light. Below, the castle grounds are quiet, the trees and gardens casting long shadows that stretch across the manicured lawns. The lanterns along the pathways flicker softly, creating a warm glow that contrasts with the encroaching night. The serenity of the scene almost makes me forget the turmoil that lies within the castle walls.

As I turn back to my room, something catches my eye. In the reflection of the standing mirror, I swear I see a pair of eyes. Freezing momentarily, I suck in a breath and assess what I think I see.

The reflection shows me the balcony of the room across the courtyard. The space is draped in shadow, but my eyes adjust to make out the figure leaning against the balcony wall. I blink in wonder as Dante’s features barely come into focus. The darkness makes it hard to decipher completely, but I swear he gazes in my direction as he takes a drag of his cigarello. I don’t think he knows I can see him.

He’s watching me.

My fingers fly to my towel, cinching it tighter around my breasts. I don’t turn around but keep my focus on the reflection. He hasn’t moved, but I feel like he’s invaded my thoughts. The feel of his hands on me from the other night, the way his palms trailed down my sides to my hips, burns in my memory. It burns so hot that a fire sparks inside me—a confusing fire that I decide must be fury. What else could it be? He made me feel like a fool when he used his powers to manipulate my mind.When he made me think I was feeling things, urges, yearning.

Lust.

He laughed in my face.

How dare he?

I wish there was a way to get even with him. Give him a taste of his own medicine. To taunt him the way he taunted me.

I’m no siren, but I am a woman. In lieu of Dante’s seduction powers, I can use the tools the gods gave me.

I move my hand to my neck and gently massage the muscles there, tipping my head back. My other hand glides down the side of my breast, across my belly, and then slowly swoops over the tender flesh between my legs.

I dare to glance in the mirror and immediately find Dante’s eyes. I’ve got his attention.

Good.

I shift my hips, pretending to admire myself in the mirror. When I release the pins from my hair, damp tendrils of chestnut cascade around my shoulders, the tips brushing the swell of my breasts.

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