Page 92 of The Warlord's Princess
“You should be, but you’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “You have men competing to make you a work hut, and you can hardly eat at the tables without one looking for a spot near you.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to get at something?”
“It’s just that I may not be great at reading people’s emotions, but I am exceptional with patterns. Recognizing when things are off, and if there is a deviant from the norm.”
“Deviant from the norm? What even is that?”
“I’m just saying that after you and Ramsey got back, you both seem off.”
“Well, he did just get attacked…”
She nods in the direction of Ramsey’s hut. “Look at him.”
I glance over and see him standing, arms crossed over his chest, a sullen look on his face. When he catches me watching, he turns and shuffles back inside his hut.
“See?”
“I see nothing but your nosy, overactive imagination. Now go find Dogan, who’s likely stalking around the area, waiting to make sure none of the other Tempest men talk to you.”
“He does not?—”
“Oh, stop it. You talk about noticing patterns but fail to see what’s right in front of you with your own two eyes.”
She stalks away, and I almost run after her, but think better of it when Dogan pops out of nowhere to escort her.
Truthfully, she needed to hear what I had to say, and by Dogan suddenly appearing at her side, maybe she’ll see what everyone else already does.
A Tempest man named Argen approaches with a plate full of meat. “I see you are working hard and thought that you might like something to fill your belly.”
With nearly forty men in the Tempest tribe, I’ve yet to meet them all, and up until I returned, I swear he used to sneer at me.
“I’ve already eaten,” I lie, hoping he gets to the point.
He looks down at the plate of meat, frowning.
Perhaps I should accept the meat. It’s not like he’s been more rude to me than the others.
And this is what’s required of us.
“Maybe I’ll have a nibble,” I tell him.
Argen’s face lights in elation. “Here, take the choicest cut.”
As he hands me a chunk, I look over and see Ramsey outside his hut again, hands clenched, his silver eyes glaring daggers in our direction.
I take a bite of meat, sighing in satisfaction. “This is delicious.”
Argen smiles widely. “I will bring you food day and night, so your weaving is not interrupted.”
“That’s kind of you, but no thanks. I enjoy eating with the other women.”
His smile lessens, but before he can say another word, Amber exits the longhouse, cursing.
“Argen has some delicious meat he’s trying to give away,” I say, hoping he gets the point.
