His eyes search mine again. “Do you need me to choose, Lord Tycho?”
Maybe I do. “I’m very good at following orders.” I mean for it to be honest, but it sounds a little coy, and I can feel warmth crawl up my cheeks.
“In that case, come keep me company. An armed man broke in earlier.”
That makes me smile. “If I lie beside you, I rather doubt I’ll be able to sleep at all.”
“Good,” he says decisively. He steps forward and taps me right in the center of my breastplate. “You’ll be well suited to guard against intruders.”
I catch his hand and hold it there, then lean in. “I wouldn’t let anyone put a hand on you.”
His breath catches, and now it’s his turn to blush. “Go on then,” he says, and his voice is rough. “I can’t drag you.”
I let go, then take hold of the lantern and obey.
In his bedroom, Jax unbuckles the cloak and hangs it neatly over the back of a chair. I don’t pay this much mind, but then he jerks his linen shirt over his head. The golden light from the lantern traces the cords of muscle across his shoulders and down his arms. My brain entirely stops thinking. I’m frozen in the doorway. By some miracle I don’t drop the lantern.
I have absolutely no idea what I’ll do with myself if he drops the trousers, but he flops onto the bed and pulls a blanket over himself.
“Oh, stop with that look,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of soldiers undress.”
“Hundreds of soldiers aren’t you.” I ease the lantern onto the side table, then reach for my sword belt.
“True enough.” He gestures at my armor. “Surely all that is going to take a bit longer.”
I smile. “Less time than you’d think.”
I can—and have—removed armor in the dead of night in a snowstorm, so my fingers are swift and methodical, slipping buckles free. I lay the sword alongside the bed, within easy reach, along with two throwing knives and my dagger on the ledge above the pillows. My breastplate, bracers, and greaves are piled nearby, but I keep the folded length of leather containing royal messages and tuck it beneath the edge of the mattress.
Jax watches me the whole time, which is both unnerving and flattering, but his eyebrows go up when he sees me tuck the length of leather away.
“Messages from the king and queen,” I say. “Meant for Prince Rhen in Emberfall. I keep them with me always.”
“What happens when you’re not sharing a bed with a wayward blacksmith?”
“If I have to share a room with a stranger, or if I have to make camp on the road, I sleep in my armor.”
“Really?”
I nod and unlace my boots, then kick them free. When I straighten, my hands land on the hem of my shirt, and I freeze.
He’s right—I have seen hundreds of soldiers disrobe. And I’ve never hesitated to yank a shirt over my head before. My scars aren’t a secret.
But this isn’t the training barracks. This is Jax. And we’re alone.
“I’ve seen your scars,” he says softly.
My gaze snaps to his. His eyes are pools of darkness in the shadows.
He shrugs a little. “After you healed the damage my father caused. You removed your armor. I caught a glimpse.” He leans across the bedto douse the wick of the lantern, and the room plunges into moonlit darkness. “Do as you like, my lord.”
He eases back to the far side of the bed, then draws up the blankets.
I’m still frozen in place.
He puts an arm across his eyes. “I’m rather tired anyway,” he says, and yawns. “That brigand who broke in earlier woke me from a sound sleep.”
I smile, but it still takes me a full minute to force my limbs to move.
