Page 44 of The Ballad of a Bard

He let out a wry chuckle. “He’s not great, no.”

“Why don’t you tell Osira that?” She plodded over to the bed and sat on the end as he folded the linen of his shirt up to his elbows and came around into the other room. “I’m sure that if she knew how miserable her son was making you, that she’d assign you to another duty.”

West stopped messing with his attire. “Becausehe’s an asshole.I’m sure there’s a long line of people that would be itching for the chance to kill him.”

She smirked, “Yourself included?”

He lifted a finger to his mouth, shushing her with a cheerful glint to his eyes. “You can’t let anyone in on that juicy little secret.” He earnestly smiled at her. “There are days, that’s for sure. All I can think about sometimes is shoving his arrogant face into the wall, or running him through my sword. But those are all just daydreams, fantasies.”

“He felt… oily, if that makes any sense. Even his touch was slimy.” She could still recall the sensation of his skin against hers, and it drove her the wrong way.

His brown head perked up. “He touched you?”

She didn’t dare to assume that it was jealousy.

Crimson bobbed her chin, repeating his motions for him.“It wasn’t anything past a casual brush of his fingers, but it still felt dirty.”

“He’s testing us, I can feel it.” West leaned up against the doorframe, even if there was no door that connected his office and the bedroom. “You told him the story we concocted?”

“He found it plausible.”

“Good, good.” He muttered as he stroked his chin. Hisbarechin, she noticed. There was no longer hair around any part of his lower face, clean and shaved.

“You shaved.” She rose, claiming a few steps closer. “When did you do that?”

West paused his actions and glanced down at his hand, as if he’d find his missing hair there. “Mhm, yesterday morning, I think.”

“Why?” Crimson almost reached up for his face, to turn it and examine it even further but halted herself before she could make that mistake. That was far too intimate for them. They were barely friends, after all.

He ran a hand over his features. “Dream was the one who originally gave me the facial hair. I’ve never been much of a fan of it myself.”

“Either suits you.” She beamed up at him before letting her expression drop. There was a momentary pause before she asked, “West, where have you been staying? The bed is never messy and I never see you in the morning.”

“The couch, in the other room.” He jerked his thumb towards it, as if she didn’t know where it was.

“The couch?” She became flustered, easily too whenever he was around. “But it’s tiny! There’s no way you’re comfortable and even getting a wink of sleep on it!”

A funny picture of him appeared in the forefront of her mind. Of his body curled up like a cat in sunlight, all odd angleson the couch as he tried to get some peaceful sleep. There was no situation or position that she could seem to think of that would allow him to slumber.

“It’s perfectly fine.” West insisted, but she wasn’t sold on the matter. Crimson tugged on his sleeve, beckoning him to come with her as she entered the room and pointed to the couch.

“Show me.”

“Show you, what?” He tilted his head in confusion as she glared up at him with all the intensity she could muster up and pour into it, trying to convince him. “How I lay on the couch?”

“Yes.” Crimson said. “Now.”

“No.” His lip twitched upwards in humour.

“Convince me that it’s comfortable, that you’reactuallyable to sleep like that, and I’ll let it go.” She refused to back down. Here she was, inhischambers, inhisbed, because ofhim,andhewas sleeping on the couch likehewas the guest. It didn’t sit right with her. If anyone should have taken the cushions for a sleeping arrangement, it should have been her.

It became a staring contest, so she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Her hands found a place on her hips as she glowered up at him. There wasn’t much of a height difference, but there was enough to make it work. She’d faced men in the arena who wanted to kill Lyric, taken them down in a span of minutes and lived to tell the tale. A staring contest of confident wills with a living immortal felt like nothing compared to all of that.

“You’re stubborn.” West observed as he loured back down at her. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as that sort of girl.”

“You’re just scratching the surface,Saint.” Crimson pursed her lips. “Now get on the couch, and show me how you sleep or I’ll drag you over there and make you.”

His eyebrows flew up, his eyes sparkled like fresh nebulas.“Oh would you now, Heartstrings?”

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