Page 72 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
I just chose not to.
“It was an accident,” I repeated to the flagstone path ahead of me.
“You don’t even like sword training.”
“I’ve actually been having fun,” I admitted.
“With whom?” he tried again.
“Not important.”
“You didn’t think to ask me?”
“Are youjealous?” I glanced over my shoulder at him, my amusement dying when I saw the way he’d been staring at my bare shoulder: not with anger, but hunger.
He smoothed the expression quickly—but not quickly enough.
I turned away again. The sun was setting, splashing the glass panels of the dome with periwinkle and pink. The evening air was fresh, cool, and herbaceous on my tongue. “Oderin’s been training me.”
“Phina’s brother?”
“I asked her to see if he knew anyone who had time to train with me, and he offered to do it himself. It’s been a nice way to take my mind off things. Make me feel less…” I trailed off.
Noble’s fingers slid across my shoulder blade, following the edge of my strap, up and down. The contact was both soothing and mind-scrambling.
“Less what?” he prompted.
“Exposed,” I answered, wincing at my choice of words. “It’s eased my anxiety.”
“At night,” he concluded. “Your sleeplessness.”
“Yes.”
“So, it’s for self-defense.”
“Yes.”
Calloused fingers slid over the bruise, featherlight. “Does it”—he cleared his throat—“hurt?”
“I’mfine, Noble,” I assured him.
I wanted to turn around, to look into his eyes again, but an intensity had entered this conversation that I wasn’t sure I could face head-on. He was so much easier to talk to when I wasn’t looking at his handsome face and the expressions that broke through his carefully blank features.
“Just fine,” I repeated more softly.
“Good.” His voice was a satisfied rumble in my ear. “Good.”
Except—Iwasn’tfine.
I might’ve been fine physically, but inside I felt like a tangled skein of yarn. Over the past two weeks, I had thrown myself into my studies and the unique mindlessness of sparring, but no amount of busyness had truly distracted me from the knots in my heart. The constant questioning of what exactly Noble had meant under that archway.
I had intended to let it go, but who I was I kidding? Even Oderin hadn’t believed my denial. I was sick of burying my curiosity—my urge to have an honest conversation with Noble—under the guise of practicality and safety. Expressing parts of our history in mixed companycouldprove dangerous—but out here in the gardens, just the two of us, what was the harm in getting it all out in the open?
“Actually,” I blurted, and his fingers paused their slow perusal of my upper arm. “I’m not fine.”
“You’re not,” he repeated flatly. “Why?”
I spun around, suddenly needing to see him, needing to look up into those captivating eyes when I asked—begged—“What did you mean when you said I was wrong about how you felt back then? How you feelnow?”
