They were nearly to their suite when Carver said, “I want you to stay in the hall with the guard while I search the room.”
Amryn glanced at him. The lanterns were sparsely lit this time of night, so most of his face was in shadow. It echoed his mood. “There was no assassin hiding in our room,” she said softly. “Ivan searched it before he left me there. And I would have felt someone hiding in the room.” It didn’t matter how silent an assassin had trained to be, they couldn’t silence their every emotion.
Carver’s grip on her hand tightened. She couldn’t quite read what he was feeling right then. Relief? Unease? Both, somehow? Amryn knew better than anyone that emotions sometimes tangled in strange ways. She just wished she knew what he was thinking right then. Was he relieved that she couldn’t be easily sneaked up on? Or was he uneasy about the fact that she had supernatural abilities?
She immediately rejected that thought. Carver had never treated her as other. Certainly not lesser. Still, when he glanced at her with such grimness set into his expression, her own unease fluttered. She couldn’t decipher the way he looked at her just then. Almost as if he were out of his depth, and he didn’t like it.
They reached the room, and Amryn remained in the hall, allowing Carver his thorough search. It didn’t erase the helpless feeling inside him, but she knew it eased his mind.
Once he was satisfied the room was safe, he waved her inside.
The remains of their interrupted dinner were still on the table, a reminder of the conversation they’d been forced to leave behind as well. But they were too tired for either at this point.
“Do you need Ahmi to help you prepare for bed?” Carver asked.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to disturb her maid at this hour.
He nodded once. “I’ll get this food cleaned up while you change. It’s late, and we both need sleep.”
Sleep.Her heart missed a beat. Saints, she’d forgotten there was only one bed.
Suddenly, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to fall asleep.
She ducked into the bathing chamber and found the white nightdress Ahmi had left out for her. She quickly changed into the sleeveless, ankle-length gown. It was simple, with a little lace at the neckline. Nothing like some of the more scandalous nightgowns her maids in Ferradin had packed for her, thankfully. There was a buzz under her skin, similar to the nervous energy she’d felt on their wedding night. Not that she expected anything to happen between them tonight, but just knowing they’d be sharing a bed had her pulse racing.
She prepared for bed as quickly as possible. Carver’s sandalwood scent was still thick in the air of the small room. His bathwater remained in the deep tub, and the clean, masculine smell of his soap made her knees feel slightly unsteady.
When she re-entered the main room, she drew up short.
Carver was shirtless, his back to her. The soft glow of the lone bedside lamp played over his bronze skin, highlighting his broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his back, and the long dip of his spine. He had changed into a dark pair of pants with a drawstring waist that rested low on his narrow hips. From this distance, she could just make out the raised crisscrossing stripes of the lash marks that marred his back.
He must have heard her or felt her eyes on him because he twisted to face her. His front carried scars too, but Amryn barely noticed them in the dim light. Especially when faced with the distraction of his body.
Carver had muscle everywhere. From the hard planes of his chest to the tight ridges that rippled over his abdomen, every part of him was perfectly sculpted. His arms were roped with muscle, and even his long-fingered hands looked strong. Standing there barefoot and shirtless, he should have looked vulnerable, but he didn’t. Not at all. This was the body of a warrior. Not just a general who commanded armies, but a man who fought and bled beside his men.
She’d seen him shirtless before—many times—and she’d even touched his bare skin. But something about this time felt different.
The stillness of the moment was broken when Carver’s arm lifted, corded muscles flexing under bronzed skin as he shoved a hand through his dark hair. An unexpected nervousness pooled within him, at odds with his usual confidence. “I can sleep on the floor, if you’d be more comfortable,” he said. “I have my bedroll.”
She blinked in surprise. “You would do that?”
“Yes.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Her stomach flipped; not just at his words, but the strong emotions that reinforced them. She knew he would sleep out on the balcony if she asked him to.
Any residual tension in her eased. Her voice was low as she said, “We can share the bed.”
She felt a thrill go through him, though a hint of nervousness remained. His expression, however, was carefully neutral as he nodded. “I’ll just be a moment.”
She sidestepped so he could pass her and enter the washroom. Crossing the room, Amryn pulled back the lightweight blankets and slid into the large bed, her heart racing as she lay on her back.
It wasn’t long before Carver returned, still shirtless. She knew she should stop staring, but she was unable to look away as he made a final circuit around the room, rechecking the locks on the doors—the main one, and the more delicate glass double doors that led out to the balcony. Watching him move was strangely mesmerizing. Every motion was graceful, but powerful. Controlled, yet fluid. Everything about him made her feel safe, even though she was currently in the heart of the empire.
He paused at the foot of the bed. “Would you mind sleeping on the other side?”
Distracted by her racing pulse—and the realization that she wasstillstaring—it took her an embarrassingly long moment to process his question. “Why?”
His lips twitched, amusement rippling. “Are you particularly attached to this side of the bed?”
