“A bit of luck and practice breaking up bar fights.” I can’t help but crack a smile as Dietan chuckles.
He shakes his head. “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re kind of a badass.”
I flush with pleasure. That’s the first compliment he’s given me that sounded truly sincere. “Pure luck. But it still doesn’t make sense that it worked.”
Dietan cocks his head to the side contemplatively and scrunches the sandwich paper in his hands. He leaves the wrapper on the seat next to him, and I scowl at it.
He notices the look on my face. “What?”
I pointedly glance at the crumpled paper beside him and the crumbs littering the carriage floor around his fine, polished boots, and then back at his face. His wide-eyed innocence and handsome confusion are not enough to sway me this time. My lips twist. “Really?”
“What?” he asks again.
“I suppose you grew up so used to everyone picking up after you, you hardly think about it.”
Dietan studies me for a moment, his eyebrows slowly rising.
I imagine this is one of the few times anyone, let alone a peasant, has called him out on his privileged upbringing.
“If my lady commands, I’ll have someone clean the carriage the next time we stop to rest,” he says.
Wait, he’s not even going to pick up after himself? I let out a disbelieving grunt and rest my head on the window. “Do you have to be such an asshole?”
“Me? An asshole?” he asks, feigning mock distress. “Look, you’re free to do whatever you’d like here, too, fiancée. No one is stopping you. Do I dare suggest thatyoucould clean it up? If you wanted to, of course.”
I shoot him a look that would freeze even the most powerful Kilandrar in its tracks.
“I rescind the suggestion,” he says putting his hands up in the air in surrender.
The urge to pick up the paper, to tidy up after him, is like an itch I can’t scratch. My hands clench together in my lap, but I refuse to budge. I do like things tidy. I like organizing the pantry, and I like stacking cups to look nice and orderly, and I like having the floors of the Beak swept and clean, even if the customers leave them dirty every night. But I refuse to be a maid to Dietan, not even for Albion’s sake.
We’ve only been on the road for a day, and I already want to kill him.
With a great stretch that takes up most of the low-roofed carriage, he yawns, and his shirt creeps up above the waist, revealing a flat stomach hardened by lean muscles.
Not that I’m looking.
Not that it makes my own stomach quiver with butterflies.Get a grip.He’s probably doing it on purpose, to distract me from the mess. And it’s totally working.
My boots are still muddy, and I make a point not to look at Dietan as I kick them up on the seat next to him. Goddess bless the poor servant who will have to deal with it later.
“Oh, come on, I was just about to lie down!” he exclaims in annoyance.
It’s so immature, but it feels good giving it right back to him. It reminds me of how Ophelia used to tease the blacksmith’s son.
“What did you say? That I can do whatever I’d like here? Well, I want to stretch my legs out…like a princess.”
He brushes the dirt off the seat with the back of his hand, but the dried mud is too fine and only becomes more ingrained in the fabric. He lets out a huff. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to join you on your side.”
This is not at all how I’d planned this to go, especially not when Dietan grunts and settles in beside me. He, too, kicks up his feet, crossing them at the ankles, and grins. “Better.” His shoulder presses into mine.Ugh.
“How much longer until we reach the next town?” I ask.
“Couple of hours, give or take.”
“Hours?” I’m really starting to regret traveling with him in such close quarters for such extended periods of time. He’s just so…close.
“Unless you want to get out and walk. You’ll definitely be able to clear the way with that glare of yours. Everyone will be so afraid of you.” Dietan chuckles, folds his arms, tucks his chin toward his chest, and closes his eyes.
