Her brows flew up to her hairline. “What?”
“Casual conversation, wife,” he reminded her.
“Having a favorite color also seems pointless.”
“So I can have white and pink and yellow garments procured for you, and you’d be fine with that?”
Her features twisted into something that could only be described as abject distaste. “You can, but I will not wear them.”
“Then you have color preferences,” he said with a smirk.
She studied him, and by the Fates, he wished he knew what she was thinking. Because he hadn’t been speaking like a fool when he’d said casual conversation can be as revealing as watching. You could only learn so much by observing from afar. More than that, he was incredibly adept at reading people.
Aside from her.
“I suppose I prefer the darker colors that Avonleya favors,” she finally said.
“That seems beneficial for the queen.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you prefer cakes or pies?” he asked.
A laugh escaped her. An honest and genuine bark of amusement.
“That is an absurd question,” she said, fighting a smile.
“But an important one, nonetheless,” he countered.
She’d propped her head in her hand, black strands framing her face. “Sweets were an unnecessary indulgence growing up.”
Cethin had to work to keep his shock from showing at her willingly divulging something of her past. But the shock wasquickly replaced with an excitement at having chipped away at her defensive walls a little.
Treading carefully, he asked, “Because your family did not have the funds for such things?”
“I was…raised with others. In a communal colony, I guess one could call it,” she answered, watching him as carefully as he was watching her.
He paused, praying to the Fates this wasn’t about to shut her down. “Like an orphanage?”
Her answering smile was sharp and joyless. “I think an orphanage would have been paradise in comparison. We weren’t left wanting by any means. We had food and beds and clothing, but…” She trailed off with a shrug. “I suppose one can never really say which is better without having lived both experiences.”
Cethin nodded, contemplating the best way to ask another sensitive question when they were interrupted by a knock.
Cursing internally, he answered the door, finding the male staff member and a few others with large buckets of steaming water. Another held a bottle of wine and two glasses, along with a plate of cheese, crackers, and nuts. After they’d hauled everything in and left, each with a handful of coin for their trouble, he turned back to Kailia, where she was still sitting in the armchair, head propped in her hand and clearly lost to memories or thoughts or both.
“As much as I’m enjoying our conversation, I will feel terrible if I have to summon someone with Anala’s gifts to reheat our water,” he said, her amber gaze sliding to him.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t object considering you are their king,” she replied.
“King or not, it would still be an avoidable inconvenience for everyone,” he answered while pulling the cork from the wine bottle. He poured two glasses as he asked, “Would you like to bathe first?”
“That’s not necessary,” she answered quickly.
“I didn’t say it was,” he answered, crossing the room and extending a glass to her. “But if you would enjoy a hot bath after the events of the day and evening, I’m going to insist you indulge a little, tiny fiend.”
She reached for the glass, her fingers brushing along his. She paused, as if surprised she’d done such a thing, and he fought a shiver. Because somehow, all it took for him to find himself aroused and wanting was a godsdamn brush of her fingers.
Taking the glass, he heard her murmur to herself, “Start small.” Then she stood so abruptly, he didn’t have time to take steps back to give her the space he normally did. She barely came to his shoulders, and she tipped her head back to peer up at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she clearly warred with herself to stay this close to him.
