Page 46 of White Horse Black Nights

It took my breath away, and I might be inexperienced in the ways of men’s bodies, but even a rock would know that Basten wasfullyinvested in our tryst, too. In the weeks we’ve spent together, he’s only broken his absolute fealty to his master twice: the first time was to let me wear his shirt, and the second was when he kissed me.

Me.

I’m his weakness.

I’m the only thing that makes his resolve falter.

And maybe I can use this fact. It’s painfully evident that, given Basten’s powers, I’ll never escape from him. But there’s a chance that I could redirect his loyalty, just as Myst suggested.

I groan inwardly.She’d gloat to no end to know she was right.

Still, would it even work? Would Basten ever choose me over Rian? He’s so damn stubborn in his devotion to a man who clearly cares nothing for him. I want to shake him, to save him. To show him he’s better than someone’s servant. He’s smarter than even he realizes—he uses vulgar words like a brute, and he clearly had no formal education, but he has a naturally sharp mind, and he’s picked up polished language from his time around Lord Rian. If he wanted to, he could speak like a nobleman. Between his intelligence, stature, and godkissed abilities, he could amass more wealth and power than the Valveres. He couldrulethat family.

I wish he saw what I see—the potential of an uncut gem.

“In Charmont,” Basten asks, while keeping his attention out the window, “You said the Patron mentioned the Grand Cleric, didn’t you?”

I wonder why he’s suddenly thinking back on Charmont. “Yes, he said the Grand Cleric wanted to see me. I can’t imagine why.” I sink further into the tub, splashing the water gently so it makes a lovely rippling against my skin. Basten’s jaw twitches at the sound. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” But something must be on his mind, because not a minute later, he says, “What do they say in Bremcote about Volkany?”

“Volkany? The cursed kingdom?” What on earth has him asking about that forgotten place? It was walled off five hundred years ago after the war, and the only times I’ve heard it mentioned were in stories meant to frighten children.Bloodthirsty godkissed soldiers from Volkany will come turn your blood to ice if you don’t eat your cabbage.

“I don’t know—nothing, really. The Sisters at the convent believed Immortal Vale’s resting place was somewhere in the Volkish forest. That he’d wake soon, and fae would rule the earth again. The usual refrain. They also believed the moon was a giant firefly . . . I wouldn’t put too much stock in their words.” I give him a slant-eyed look. “Why, are you trying to give me nightmares?”

“Nightmares?”

“You know. Volkany’s beasts. Birds who spread disease like rain. Monstrous horses that summon fire. Or their vicious soldiers with a fondness for impaling their enemies, then making the corpses dance with magic?”

His forehead is so pinched that his eyebrows nearly touch.

I flick a small splash of water his way. “Come on, Basten. I’m only joking. All that happened centuries ago.”

“Hmm.” He scrubs his hand over his stubble, thinking.

I finish scrubbing my scalp and hair, and then dunk myself under the water to rinse off, coming up with a gasp for air. I climb out, dripping, and perch on the bathtub’s edge while I towel off. “You should bathe, too, while the water is still warm.”

I think he might press more about whatever has him concerned with Volkany, but he drops it. Without turning my way, he gestures toward the pile of clothes on the bed. “Dress yourself so that I can turn around.”

I deadpan, “Yeah, gods forbid you see me naked.”

He snorts, but still grants me privacy until I shimmy into the long white chemise that laces over my breasts, and then pull on a mauve wool outer gown that drapes over it. The fabric is new and clean, and as I smooth my hands over its folds, I marvel at how I feel like a different person wearing clothes.

It’s like I’ve been an animal these past few days, sleeping in the dirt, eating roasted meat from a fire, wearing nothing but bad dreams. Suddenly I’ve rejoined the actual world, and I feel both incredibly relieved and, strangely, a little lost, like I don’t know what to do with my hands anymore.

“Your turn in the tub,” I say.

After he turns around, Basten takes his time studying me in the dress while I finish toweling off my hair. I can’t quite read his expression. He looks like he’s trying to solve some secret code in a language he doesn’t know.

Finally, he says with a note of fascination, “I’ve never seen you in clothes.”

It’s true. Since he walked through my father’s gate, the most I’ve worn is a silk robe or his own oversized shirt. Heat blooms on my cheeks as I straighten a twisted hem on my left sleeve cuff. It’s ironic, but for some reason, I feelmoreembarrassed standing before him clothed than naked.

To ease the heavy silence, I blurt out, “If it’s true what is said about men’s lustfulness, then I’m sure my present state must disappoint you.”

I meant it as a joke, but Basten doesn’t laugh. He remains grave as he holds my gaze with an iron focus and says, “A wrapped present can be even more enticing than an unwrapped one, my lady.”

A shiver dances up my spine as I think of Basten taking his slow, intentional time unwrapping me from my coverings to pounce on the gifts within.

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