Page 54 of Between Smoke and Shadow

“Goodnight, Rune.”

“Goodnight, Alven,” I say. I don’t watch him leave. Instead, I lay my head against my knees and close my eyes, willing myself not to cry.

“Rune.”

His voice is soft, like crushed velvet, and it doesn’t startle me like it should. I wake in a hazy confusion, but my body doesn’t panic. It’s as if it’s decided Harrick is a safe place to rest, even with Alven’s earlier warning in my head.

“Rune,” he says again.

I blink at him twice before remembering where I am and how I got here. I’m laying on the rug, my head nearly beneath the bed, and Harrick is knelt at my side. His hand rests next to my hip, and he’s looking at me with gentle concern.

Any thoughts of him forcing himself on me fade into the background.

“My prince,” I say. I’m finally alert enough to realize how shameful I’m behaving. Slumped over on the floor, probably drooling all over this expensive rug. I sit up, patting at my face to check for spit.

“Harrick,” he corrects. A wrinkle appears between his brow as he looks at me. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” is my only answer.

“The meeting went longer than I expected,” he says.

He moves to his feet and offers me his hand. I stare at him in shock, taking a moment too long to snap into action. I rest my palm in his and try to breathe normally as he helps me stand. We’re chest to chest, our breaths mingling, his lips tauntingly close. If I went onto my toes, I could kiss him. Instead, I step back, hugging my arms around my waist.

“I brought you food,” he says. He returns a moment later, holding a glass plate toward me. On it, there’s more food than I’ve had in days. Thick pieces of meat—maybe chicken or squab, a leafy purple vegetable I don’t recognize, and a mix of ripe berries. My mouth waters without permission. I glance at him as I slowly reach for the plate, bracing for the chance he might pull away.

Of course, he doesn’t. He settles the plate in my hands, offering me a small smile. I shovel the food down too quickly, not because I’m terrified he’ll take it back, but because I’m too hungry to help myself. The meat and berries are delicious, easily the best things that have ever touched my tongue. Servants are usually fed gruel, some disgusting blend of all the elite and guards’ leftover meals.

But this…this is purely decadent.

Even the leafy purple vegetable is good. It’s bitter and sharp, but I eat every speck of it.

“There’s more,” he says.

“That’s okay,” I say. I clutch the empty plate to my chest. “I…I’m full.”

It’s not a lie, either. I’ve eaten more than is comfortable, and there’s a good chance I’ll feel sick later.

“Here,” he says, reaching for the plate. I hesitantly give it to him, watching as he places it on the room’s desk. Only now do I realize the door is closed. My stomach swoops low, sending a tingling sensation up into my chest.

“Tell me if you want more,” he says. It’s a demand, but a gentle one. “Even if I’m sleeping.”

I nod. I’m sure he knows I wouldn’t dare.

He slips out of his shoes, and I stop thinking of food at all. His jacket goes next, unbuttoned and carefully draped over the desk’s chair. Harrick holds the bottom of his shirt, as if he’s debating whether to remove it. I tense without permission, and Harrick’s attention comes up at the movement. My insides war with each other, an uncomfortable blend of instinctual fear and tentative trust.

“May I ask something?” I’m so rigid, and from the crease between Harrick’s brows, he already knows I’m terrified.

“Always, Rune,” he says. He steps closer, and I force myself not to move.

“Am I to have sex with you?” I ask. My knees start to buckle at my question alone. I’ve only been kissed by Harrick, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The thought of being fully intimate is terrifying.

“Wyhel,” he says. He steps toward me, only to pull himself back. His mouth opens a few times, then shuts again. Finally, he takes a slow breath. “Gods, Rune,no. I told the guards what was needed to keep you safe. I am not going to harm you. Understood?”

“Understood,” I echo. My legs still tremble, but now, guilt creeps through me. Harrick has only ever been kind and good to me, and yet I constantly expect the worst. It must be exhausting, insulting, even. “I shouldn’t have…I apologize.”

“You don’t need to,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair, looking away from me, toward the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“It’s not?—”

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