Page 22 of Blackwarden
I read it twice more, each word searing into my memory before I slipped the page back into the book. I felt as if I’d peeked into something far more private than I should have, even though I had been searching for some clue of what was going on. A piece of me needed Keres to be the cruel Dark Fae monster he was supposed to be. But this?
Now I needed to decide if I was willing to expose my snooping and confront him or continue to pepper him with questions he likely wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.
Chapter 11 ~ The Details
Rosalin
––––––––
I stood in the hall, heart racing. The mural was...different. At first, I thought I was going crazy, but the more I studied it on my way to the dining room, the more I was certain I wasn’t. It was definitely different. The creatures had moved, and now different humans were being chased and restrained. The demon who had been approaching me now loomed over me, reaching with hungry, taloned claws.
And there was no doubt it was me. The details were so more crisp. Nothing was hidden. I was completely naked, like all the other humans in the mural and I knew the shape of my own body, the curve of my nose, the roundness of my face, the unruly curl of my hair.
This. Was. Me.
My cheeks burned so hot I covered them with my hands, unable to rip my eyes from the image of my unclothed body, the expression on my face in the painting one of absolute terror. Was it the Gatehouse that created this mural? Who else could conjure my appearance so flawlessly? Who had seen me naked enough times to be able to paint with such accuracy?
Not even Bastion could say this.
I tried to make out the details of the beast chasing me but other than black skin, demon horns like Keres’, and a towering, toned body, the details seemed impossible to make out. The head was turned away, leaving the face obscured by the back of its head. A head covered by long, flowing dark hair that reached nearly to the middle of its back, hanging between massive sinewy wings.
I squeezed my eyes closed, taking long, deep breaths to try and calm my racing heart. I needed to get to the dining room before I missed breakfast, but when I opened my eyes again, I couldn’t stop staring at the contrast between the dark monster and myself. The fact that the face was woefully hidden, while mine was entirely exposed.
I pried myself away, rushing down the hall to the dining room. I’d have time later to sort out who and how and...who.
Keres looked as if he hadn’t slept. He had dark circles under his eyes; his lips set in a frown that trapped my questions in my throat. He likely wouldn’t answer them anyway. Something changed yesterday. Something happened between us when he’d held me in place with his magic. I wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me. I resolved myself to attempt to keep my questions tucked away as best as I could, but my hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
By the time I took my usual seat at the table he had already summoned his eggs and toast. My thoughts were still twisted up around the naked image of myself from the mural, and it took me several seconds to think of something edible. Once I managed to summon a bowl of strawberries with clotted cream, I ate in silence, trying my best to avoid his eyes. As soon as I’d finished my breakfast, I bolted from the dining room, determined to sulk in my suite until the next meal.
Lunch went much the same, pleasantries only, as if some code of conduct dictated that he at least asked me how my day was fairing. I responded with short answers as I continued to hold myquestions back. But by dinner, they had begun to fester within me. He was waiting when I arrived, hands folded on the table in front of him, the same exhaustion written across his face. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to push all of the confusing thoughts away. The mural, Keres, his eyes, his hands.Keres.
Why did I burn with the need to know why he’d missed both lunch and dinner the day before? Why did I care that he looked so tired?
Why. Did. I. Care?
“Where were you yesterday?” I asked, forcing aloofness into my voice.
He tipped his head to the side, his expression unchanged. “Was I not where you expected?”
“Don’t do that?”
“Do what?”
“That!”
“I honestly don’t know what I’m doing that’s frustrating you, Ms. Greene,” he said it with such genuine uncertainty I almost believed him.
“Answering a question with another question instead ofactuallygiving an answer.” I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Why did you miss lunch and dinner yesterday?”
The pause that followed drew my eyes to his, those black wells of mystery threaded with glittering silver. I hated them yet craved them at the same time.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
That didn’t seem possible, but he couldn’t lie. I reminded myself of this, over and over again as he continued to watch me before finally lifting his spoon to plunge it into the bowl of stew he’d conjured for himself. He couldn’t lie. I knew he couldn’t lie, so it had to be the truth.
But that didn’t seem like the only reason. He took slow intentional bites, his eyes seeming to find me each time he drew the spoon from his lips. My skin tingled and the hair on my neck roseup as he chewed with intention. Every time he swallowed my eyes were drawn to the column of his throat. My fingers tightened around my spoon as I imagined my teeth dragging down the length of his chest to his navel.
He cleared his throat, his eyes seeming to attempt to focus on the stew in front of him, but his breathing was...unsteady.
