He hadn’t eaten since the news of his men.
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry,” I bit back at him as I sat and unfolded my napkin on my lap. “I told you to sit and eat.”
He stood quickly, irritated, but sat at the table. I poured us both brimming glasses of wine. Arlo took a sip. I did the same.
Then there was a long, deep silence. The absence of his arrogant remarks or quick quips was a new form of torture. Especially when there was so much to say. He only sat rigid, looking out that damned window, his true cell bars, as I served us both our meal.
“Eat,” I demanded again.
He let out a huff but obliged.
“Do you want to know the plan?” I asked.
He forked at his food and took a large bite. Good.
“We’ll need to get into Hylos’s bedchamber. That’s where the portal is.”
He continued stabbing at his food.
“Did you hear me?”
He was taking in another large bite but stopped and drank the wine to the dregs.
“I thought you weren’t hungry?” I said, trying the sarcasm that was so easy before.
“Didn’t say I wasn’t thirsty,” he snapped.
He was still in there. If he needed to be angry with me, that was fine. I could work with that.
“The sirens have a holy holiday at the end of the week. It’s the perfect time for us to follow through with my plan and make it out of here.”
“What’s the fucking point?” He poured another glass of wine for himself. “I’m captain of a dead crew, a complete and utter disgrace.” He leaned back in his chair, avoiding my gaze. “Once again.”
“It’s not your fault—”
“Not my fault? A captain’s duty is to ensure the safety of his ship and crew. Or die trying. Instead, I’m here on my ass, drinking wine and eating off fancy plates with a fucking princess.” He shoved the meal away.
“Arlo. It isnotyour fault.”
“I was too complacent.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “I sat back and let this happen. I could have fought them. Stopped them. But I didn’t. I did nothing. Just worked on a fucking instrument instead.”
“Is that what your men would have wanted? For you to give up?” I snapped. Delicate cooing was not working. “What of your daughter. Does she not need her father?”
He said nothing. I was losing him. He was walling himself off, brick by self-loathing brick. He needed to fight. Fight to leave here. Fight to save himself. Fight to live. We both did.
I slapped my plate off the table, sending it shattering on the floor and exploding into shards.
He looked at me, dark brows knitting.
Good. I had his attention.
He let out a controlled breath, then got up and stalked toward the bathing chambers.
“Where are you going?” I demanded, following him.
He walked faster, reaching for the door, trying to shut it in my face, but I wedged my body in the way.
His eyes widened, then settled into a glower. “Leave me alone.”
