I swallowed hard, pressing my foot down a little more, testing. The soreness was there, uncomfortable, butbearable.
I stepped out of the tub, spotting fresh clothing folded on a marble bench. I dressed quickly, my limbs jerky.
I moved back into the main chamber, my damp hair clinging to my neck and my skin tingling from whatever fae magic had been woven into the water. My steps were slow, my spine straight despite the exhaustion that pressed down on me.
Ashterion had moved.
He was lounging in an armchair near the hearth, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow rested on the armrest as he regarded me with that same infuriating calm. The shadows curled lazily along the floor, watching me without eyes.
With a lazy wave of his hand, a covered bowl of steaming stew appeared on a small table before me, along with a simple wooden chair. The scent hit me instantly—rich, savoury, spiced. My stomach twisted violently, both from hunger and from the wariness curling tight in my gut.
“Eat,” he said, his tone smooth. “Then we’ll talk.” He turned his attention from me then, plucking a book off the table and flipping it open.
My body was screaming at me to sit, to eat, totakewhat was offered, because gods knew when my next meal would come. But my pride kept me rooted in place.
“I don’t trust you,” I said flatly.
Ashterion didn’t even glance up. “Good,” he said. “Now, eat.”
I hesitated for only a second longer before finally stepping forward. Not because he had ordered me to, but because my body needed it. Because whatever came next, I wouldn’t face it weakened.
The chair scraped against the floor as I pulled it out and sat. The steam curled up from the stew, rich with the scent of meat and herbs, and my stomach twisted again, painfully hollow.
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t tempted to throw the entire bowl into his lap.
Instead, I took a small, cautious bite. The warmth spread through me instantly, filling the ache in my gut. But I kept my face neutral, a refusal to show anything that might resemble gratitude.
Ashterion let out a quiet chuckle. “See? Not so difficult, is it?”
I shot him a glare and shovelled another bite into my mouth to keep from snapping a retort that would make him retaliate in some unseen way.
The silence stretched between us as I ate, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of pages as Ashterionturned them. I stared at my food and refused to look at him, to acknowledge his presence more than necessary.
When I finally set down my spoon, the bowl empty, Ashterion closed his book with a snap.
“Better?” he asked.
I didn’t answer, just lifted my chin, met him with defiance burning in my eyes.
Ashterion gestured lazily to the armchair beside him. “Join me.”
I tensed.
It wasn’t a request.
I considered a refusal anyway, but there was no point in antagonising him further. Not when I was already at a disadvantage.
The chair was plush, far too comfortable for the cold tension that hummed through my body as I sank into it. My fingers curled around the armrests, bracing myself, but Ashterion merely leaned back as he turned his attention toward the fire.
For a long moment, we sat in silence.
I stared at him, at the way the light flickered against his features and cast shadows that only deepened the mysteries surrounding him.
I didn’t want to ask.
Didn’t want toneedto ask.
But the question had been clawing at the back of my mind since the moment I stepped into this fucking room. “Why the hell did you warn me?”
