“Oh my God, you’restillnot dead?”
I almost fell flat on my face as I charged out of the palace and into the night. Evelyn was the only one still waiting for an audience with Lucien that would probably never come.
Balling my hands and trying to hide my trembles, I marched past her.
Her eyes dropped from mine, landing on the plastered wetness of my shirt. “Wait...did yousleepwith him? Why can I see your boobs? Why are you wet?”
My cheeks caught fire as I looked down. The sheer fabric barely covered anything, revealing just how cold I was and allowing a good estimate of what bra size I would need if I ever chose to wear one.
Snatching at the linen shirt and cami beneath, I yanked the wine-sodden fabric away. “It was an accident, that’s all.”
My head pounded,pounded.
I needed to lie down. As soon as possible.
“An accident?” She came toward me, anger flaring in her dark stare. “An accident that involved pouring water on yourself? What were you trying to do? Win a wet t-shirt contest?”
“I’m leaving,” I muttered, dashing past her to the stone steps.
Nausea hunted my every move.
I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien yelling at me.
His anger wasn’t new. It shouldn’t affect me whatsoever.
Yet after what’d happened between us...
“Wait.” Whirling to face me, her temper cracked just a little. Her performance of being a badass assassin faltered as she glanced at the hulking mansion. “Is he...what’s it like in there?”
My mind skipped over the long day of cleaning and the horrible realisation that Lucien Ashfall lived in a resplendent estate tucked in the English countryside, yet he dwelled in the middle of it—trapped in living quarters that were more of a jail than a palace.
“It’s fine.” I charged down the stairs, my headache crushing.
“Is he okay?” she asked, following me like a bad smell.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” I kept my head down so she wouldn’t see the truth that I’d fallen on top of him thanks to his bloody panther, only to end up flat on my back with him pressed against me.
“I’ve heard rumours he’s not well.”
“He seemed perfectly okay to me.”
As if I’d tell you anything.
“What else happened?” she asked, not letting me leave. “Aside from theaccident.”
No way did I want her following me back to my pavilion or seeing me pass out in the garden if I didn’t make it home fast enough. I spun to face her, gritting my teeth against the rush of vertigo. “Nothing happened.”
“Somethinghappened.”
“I did some cleaning for him. That’s it.”
“Cleaning?”
I crossed my arms, flinching against the wet fabric. “Look, I’m tired, hungry, and not feeling very well. I don’t have to answer your questions, so—”
“Is he dying?”
“What?” Words stuck in my throat. “W-Why would you ask that?”
