Page 49 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Irate. I wasirate. “Ughhh,” I groaned. “At least help me carry all this to the reading alcove.”
Noble hissed through his teeth. “Not sure that’s a good idea. You better work here.”
I arched a brow at him.
His expression remained impassive.
Which only made me angrier.
This would takedaysto get through. Days of sharing space with him. Days of listening to the strike of his hammer and the hiss of steam and the steady thudding of my traitorous heart. How could I focus with him so near?
“Won’t I be in your way?” I asked.
“No.”
“What about our rules?”
“This is research related. We aren’t breaking any rules.” A meaningful pause. “Except rule number three.”
Court faces. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m angry.”
His smirk turned patronizing. “I have sight magic, remember? You can’t fool me.”
I groaned again. “You’re insufferable.”
Our exchange from fourteen years earlier seemed to echo in the space between us.
You like it, he’d replied back then. But now, he stiffened, his expression icing over. “Good luck with the notes,” he said, turning his back to me—returning to the forge.
I touched the corner of a page. “I’m not sure the Fates themselves would know what to do with these.”
Two hours later, I was seated on the floor of Noble’s workshop, surrounded by papers, with my head in my hands. Noble had left a while ago, not bothering to say goodbye—which was for the best, as speaking with him usually proved…insufferable.
You like it.
Iusedto like his goading—when we were adolescents, and there was a playful fondness to it. But here, his quips carried an edge, and the constant reminders of the connection weusedto have weren’t amusing—just painful.
I let out a long, aggravated, grumbly sigh.
“Everything all right?”
My hands dropped from my face. An apprentice stood in the archway. She wore an apron over a butter-yellow tunic that complimented her olive skin and black hair.
“Yes? No? I don’t know.” I gestured at the papers surrounding me. “Is it possible to perish from confusion?”
She walked closer, chuckling. “I see Phina has tasked you with organizing Noble’s notes.”
“Generous of you to call them ‘notes.’”
To my surprise, the apprentice lowered herself to the floor, sitting on her heels. She picked up one of the papers and gave it a once-over. “Fates, I’m not sure wecancall these notes.”
I laughed.
She frowned, still staring at the page. “This is practically meaningless.”
