Page 25 of A City of Flames

“I know.” Are the only words he says as a slight smile pries the side of his lips—a smile I can’t help but keep my gaze on.

His chambers.

He’s taken me to his chambers on the top-level floor...

Oh, this is outrageously wrong.

Lorcan opens the door, strolling in first, and waits for me to enter. Once I do, I stay put, taking in what I can so far see. I know the general rooms in a different lot of the palace walls. It’s why I first questioned Freya on it, but Lorcan’s quarters is a view I’d dared not imagine.

An armoire sits to the left beside the enormous bed of blood-red silk covers, where terracotta curtains hang loose and a window just above the bed frame. The walls aren’t much different in the color scheme of things either, as lamps project their golden flames onto it. On the other side, an open doorway leads to the bath chambers of marble crimson and white décor.

All my life, I’ve bathed in wooden tubs. I never had the privilege, even with our father being a venator, to wash as a king or queen might.

I lightly shake my head, enough for Lorcan to notice as he drops his baldric of weapons atop a chair by a dressing table. He comes over and guides me to the sink before gesturing for me to sit on it, but I stare, vigilant and stubborn in doing so. This is still... wrong. What if someone had seen me enter? They’d think I’m wanting to seduce the second in command into giving me the position of a venator without the trial.

Lorcan takes a deep breath, pinching his lips together. Something that reminds me of what many would do when getting impatient with me—mostly Idris.

Exasperated over my mulish head, I march over. I feel his gaze on me as I unfasten my cloak and place it to the side before not so graciously getting up onto the sink.

I bunch my knees together and raise them to my chin. Lorcan stays soundless but tilts his head with sharpness as if I’m making it more difficult than it should be. Rolling my eyes, I drop my legs, so they dangle.

That makes him smile—hardly but still a smile as he reaches for a cloth next to me. Candles flowing down the sides of the bath flicker while he wets it. “Are you finally going to tell me what happened?” He asks, nudging between my legs and bringing the cloth up to my temple. I wince when it collides with my skin. He pauses but then continues.

“Are you going to tell me why you took me here and not the infirmary?” I try and focus on the lattice-tiled walls.

“You didn’t seem keen on the infirmary.”

“And you think taking me to your chambers would make a difference?”

He sighs, and I tap my knee impatiently before he says, “Either way, you’d protest, Nara.”

I would, but that doesn’t tell me anything I need to know.

“I tripped and fell,” I answer in a whisper after a minute of silence and after a minute of him cleaning my cuts.

“How does someone—” The word lingers off his lips like he knows it’s a lie “—who used to be a trapper... trip and fall so easily?”

“You’d be surprised to know I’ve had my fair tackles against a mere branch on the ground.”

His laugh is soft and gentle as he drifts his scarred hand over my left thigh. “May I?”

“May I what?” I ask, shooting him a glare and pressing my palms against the thin cotton material of my nightgown.

“There’s dried blood seeping through.”

I frown, but my chest hollows at the thickness in his voice and at his eyes dropping to my leg.

“Oh.” Nodding, I pull the nightgown up. Slashes, short and staggered, enhance the redness of where I fell onto dry grass.

As soon as the damp cloth hits the cuts, I inhale sharply. Not for any pain, but for the touch of his skin on mine as his thumb swipes the sides.

Again, this is soulfully wrong.

“You don’t have to...” I cut myself off at the distinctive rasp in my voice.

“I don’t mind.” His stare now travels from where candles glimmer on the top part of my exposed skin, under my collarbone, to my eyes.

My veins pulse with unfamiliarity. “Well, you should.” I’m not sure of what I’m even saying. “You’re a venator. This isn’t part of your duty.”

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