“Why not?” she asked, her jaw clenching.
Did he think her incapable? Did he not trust her to handle his wound with care?
His single dark eye bored into her own, as if trying to pierce her straight through. She met him stare for stare, refusing to bend beneath the weight of his attention. Refusing to be cowed.
He looked away first and muttered, “Because it’s beneath you.”
Those four words were like a punch straight to her stomach. They left her breathless and hollow in a way she didn’t fully understand.
Is that truly what he thought of her? Of him?
That helping him was…beneath her?
Swallowing hard against the rising lump in her throat, she pushed herself to her feet and wandered off toward the kitchen. The cottage was small and easy to navigate. Homey and quaint, though the fabrics were rather threadbare and the furnishings battered.
It didn’t take her long to find the things she needed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, clearly suspicious when she returned with a bowl filled with water and a wash rag.
She settled back onto her knees before him, careful not to let the water slosh onto the floor. Stiffly, she replied, “Aiding the true King of Drakmor.”
Their marital status aside, helping a fellow monarch washardlybeneath her.
But feet were disgusting. A man’s feet, doubly so. And that was before one accounted for the blood. She focused her attention on the floor rather than on the task at hand while she perched the bowl of water in her lap, peeled off Aldric’s boot and sock, and set about cleaning his wound.
He sat like a statue, perfectly still, obviously uncomfortable.
To distract them both, she softly asked, “How old is Reyla?”
“About your age.”
She peeked up at him with a frown. “Then why am I just now learning about her?”
Dryly, her Crow observed, “Probably because babies aren’t typically privy to politics, and you were a baby when shewas born.” When she pursed her lips, unamused by his quip, he sighed and admitted under his breath, “Because my father didn’t want one more broken child staining his precious bloodline. I can count on one hand how many people know about Reyla.”
A secret child, then.
Seraphina returned to her work.
She had more questions—many more questions. But she didn’t know how to ask them delicately. Finally, she settled on taking a page from Aldric’s own book.
Just being blunt.
“Is something wrong with her?”
She might as well have insulted his mother for the snarl that burst past her Crow’s lips. “Nothingis wrong with Reyla.”
“You know what I mean,” she whispered, chancing a look toward the bedroom. The three women there still seemed preoccupied with their own business. Sucking in a deep breath, she forged on ahead with her prying. “You just called her broken yourself. And families like ours don’t try to hide an heir unless something would be deemed amiss.”
In an effort to extend an olive branch of peace, she softly observed, “She looks positively perfect.”
“She is,” Aldric agreed. “Never gets sick. Has perfect balance. She’s an athletic thing—more athletic than I’ll ever be. Always has been.”
Seraphina kept silent, just letting him talk now.
And talk he did. The words spilled from him all in a rush, as though he were glad for the opportunity to discuss his little sisterfor once. “But she’s different. She was never like other children. Kept to herself. Preferred sorting the same things by color and shape over and over again rather than playing with them. She’s never spoken. Not a single word.”
He sighed. “It makes no sense. But yes, she is perfect. Very clever, just like you.”
