“I like that your features are n-not perfect,” I murmur. “I like that your face shows me of your life and helps me understand what kind of person you are and why.” The longer I am caught within the intensity of his gaze, the more I am convinced I will burn and burn and burn. “The ridge on your cheek reminds me of the earth, which is beautiful despite its cracks. The color of y-your eyes reminds me of black opals.” Rare in Marles, incredibly rare. “And I like your smile,” I add teasingly.
Eurus stares at my mouth. “I never smile.”
“I know.” Naught but a whisper. My stomach is doing strange acrobatics without my consent.
“But your smile… yours is one I would definitely remember,” he murmurs.
I lose my train of thought at the curving of his mouth. “I should… Um. I should w-wash…” Snagging the gift box, I slip into the washroom and shut the door.
The bathing chamber is quite roomy, with a carved bench to place one’s clothing, a sink and toilet, shelves of soaps and plush towels, a wall mirror, and an enormous marble tub sunken into the jade-tiled floor. After running myself a bath, I shed my clothes and submerge myself into the scalding water with a gratified sigh, enjoying how the heat scratches at my skin.
Arms, legs, chest, face—all scrubbed until they glow pink. When I am done, I climb from the tub, pull a comb through the long strandsof my hair, dab powder and lip rouge onto my face, then slip on my new gown. It slithers over my skin like falling rain, bathing me in the most beautiful blue hue.
The back gapes open, in need of buttoning, but I struggle to secure the fabric. A sigh of frustration leaves me. If only my arms were longer.
“Everything all right, bird?” Eurus sounds as if he stands just outside the door.
Again, I reach for the fastening to no avail. “I can’t get my dress buttoned.”
“Can I come in?”
I suppose there is nothing indecent about it. I am dressed, as is he. And Eurus has very long… arms. “Yes.”
He opens the door.
I startle. “Your cloak.” He has done away with it. In its place is a body that is even more impressive in fitted clothing. His long-sleeved gray shirt is tucked into the waistband of his trousers, a brown leather belt emphasizing the cut of his hips, and those boots he is never without. “You look n-nice.”
Eurus rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Thank you.” Our eyes catch and hold.
Head ducked, I turn, presenting him my back.
His touch, when it alights, sends a shivering cascade of sensation along my bones. The roughened tips of his fingers brush the vertebrae of my spine, each risen hill, and I tense, breath held as the warmth of his exhalation stirs the crown of my head. I expect Eurus to button the fabric. Instead, he grazes the lines of welts marking my back, all kissed by the cold leather of Lady Clarisse’s lash. I shudder, fighting the urge to lean back into his solidity.
“Your wounds have healed well,” he comments.
I nod. Too enthusiastically, perhaps. “The manor left me a strong healing salve. It helped with the pain.”
Down, down his hand drags, halting at the base of my spine, the rise of my backside. I can’t breathe, I can’tbreathe.
His hand falls away, and Eurus begins securing the buttons from mylower back to the stem of my neck. My heart beats with new awareness. The salve, and my wounds, and his observation of them. His knowledge of her ladyship hurting me. “The manor left me the salve,” I whisper, “right?”
Still, the East Wind elects for a non-response.
“Eurus—”
“You were in pain,” he explains. “It was the only thing I could offer you at the time.”
I turn to face him. How can I not? Gazing into his eyes, I wonder how it is possible to judge someone so wrongly. The East Wind noticed my suffering when I’d believed him to be immune. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He searches my face as I search his, likely for the simple pleasure of exploring its terrain. Then his attention slides lower, across the gown draping my body. The design does the impossible and grants me hips, even a small bust.
The East Wind’s mouth curves in what isalmosta smile. I dearly hope it is not the last. “You look lovely, bird.”
The affection in his tone sets fire to my cheeks. “As do you.”
He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
Together, we depart the palace and wander the streets as eve bruises the eastern horizon. A winter-kissed breeze coaxes out heavy coats, including my own, but I revel in the sting on my skin, the tip of my nose, all reminders that I am alive.
