Page 8 of Tears of Ruin

Hunger won out, and I blew across a spoonful of stew. When I took a bite, I noticed how Richard watched me. My eyes fluttered closed, savoring the best thing I’d ever tasted.

If it was poisoned, at least the taste was hidden in the best meal I’d ever eaten.

Chapter Three

Richard

I didn’t think anyone so small and thin could eat three bowls of stew.

After Noam had his first bite, his appetite took over. His movements were cautious at first—small, hesitant spoonfuls, as if expecting the food to vanish before he could finish. But once the warmth settled in his belly, the dam had cracked.

He still didn’t trust me. That much was obvious.

It was there in his wary glances, in the way he kept his back close to the bed as though I might suddenly lash out. Someone had broken him, reduced him to survival instincts, mistrust, hunger…

The kind that lingered long after the stomach was full.

When I reached for the tray to take his empty bowl, Noam flinched—barely, but I caught it. A trained eye would, just as I caught the way his fingers twitched like he was preparing for something to be snatched from him.

I ignored the reaction, careful to move slowly. This was a delicate balance, and I had no intention of making him feel weak while letting him know he was safe.

“Would you like more?” My tone was neutral. Steady. Non-threatening.

His eyes darted to the bowls then to me.

That hesitation told me more than words ever could.

Noam wasn’t just debating whether he was still hungry—he was calculating how much trouble he’d be in if he said yes.

Someone had made him fear asking for more.

That realization left an unpleasant weight in my chest.

While waiting, I kept my expression impassive, no pressure or expectation in my gaze. If he refused, I wouldn’t push. But if he said yes, I would keep feeding him until his body accepted the truth—he would never go hungry in Winterhaven.

Swallowing, he dropped his gaze. “No, I'm full.”

A lie.

His fingers clenched subtly in his lap, like he was restraining himself.

Careful not to let my expression shift, I took the tray. There was no point in calling out the falsehood. If Noam had spent his life rationing meals, one conversation wouldn’t undo the conditioning.

Trust was earned, not demanded.

“Very well.” I carried the tray to the side table. “I’ll have breakfast prepared for you in the morning.”

At that, Noam stiffened. As if eating twice in one day was a foreign concept.

I turned back, crossing my arms, leaning slightly against the chair. “Do you have any allergies?”

He blinked at me. Like I’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

“Allergies?”

“Yes. I’d rather not poison you.”

His face twisted in confusion before something flickered in his gaze. Amusement, brief but fleeting. There, then gone. I’d never seen anyone so afraid, and it gutted me. Noam was too small, too fragile for anyone to abuse. My anger flared, but I kept it from showing.

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