My eyes start to sting. Seven means he’s not even counting himself. Or maybe he’s not counting Kellan. “How many friends do you have?” I challenge.
He stares at me, no heat in his gaze. “Absolutely none.”
I inhale sharply. I guess he wasn’t counting himself then. “Stuart would be disappointed you feel that way.”
Bale closes his eyes again. Shadows swirl around him, darkening the night. “We train tomorrow morning, first thing,” he rumbles, utterly changing the subject. “You need to practice.”
My eyes don’t sting again from his criticism. They do not. “Why am I even here if I’m so useless?”
Blazing eyes pierce the gloom again, brightening Bale’s whole face. I can’t tear my eyes from him—his corded neck, square jaw, strong nose, and hard gaze, staring straight back at me. His inner fire seethes like it wants to roll out of his mouth and burn me alive. Voice a flat menace, he tightly utters, “Don’t ever say that again.”
Glaring at him, I drag my legs up under me. I can keep myself warm. “I don’t know what to make of that. You just told me I need the practice.”
“Everyone needs practice. That’s how you get better, stay sharp, win. You want to win, don’t you?”
“Of course I want to win,” I grind out. “Who doesn’t?”
He grunts in answer. He doesn’t speak again, and the silence feels so thick it coats my skin.
We sit there, the night stars crawling overhead, the moon small and bright. I’m too aware of Bale and stupidly try to guess his thoughts. My body confines me like a prison I need to escape, and my mind races, going back over our conversation enough times that I start to regret certain things I said.
Near dawn, my stomach rumbles. I ignore it because I don’t have any food. I’d assumed we’d go back to the inn for breakfast and rest, but now it seems we’ll be sparring in the morning, and I’ll have to do it on an empty stomach.
I close my eyes. Maybe I can at least get a few minutes of sleep before I get my ass kicked by the Dragon King.
A swirling of crisp autumn leaves and fiery wind teases my nostrils, and my gut tenses. Those dry, woodsy scents always cling to Bale like a second skin, and I open my eyes, finding him right in front of me. He holds out an apple, arching his brows as if daring me to take it, and my heart flips wildly. The fruit looks black in the pre-dawn light, but I know it’s red. I only eat red apples because green ones make my tongue feel numb.
Has Bale noticed that preference too?
My mouth waters, and my insides rumble again. “Why do you have that?”
He eyes the apple with exaggerated longing. “It was for me, but I think you need it more.”
I snort, smiling. “Never in your life.”
He smiles back, and damn if the sun doesn’t crest the horizon at the exact same time.
“Fine, it was for you,” he reluctantly admits. “Just in case.”
A little fire blooms beneath my ribs. “I wish I could eat like everyone else.” Maybe it’s a family trait that I can’t.
“Being like everyone else is overvalued. The best thing you can be is you.”
A lump rises in my throat as I take the apple from him. “How do you always say the right thing? Years of diplomatic training?”
“I don’t know about that,” he says wryly, sitting back on his heels with his arms draped casually over his knees. “We argue a lot.”
“That’s all right.” I shrug. “We’re not friends.”
His mouth thins. “Idallia…”
I wave off whatever he’s going to say—or not say—and take a bite. I can’t help the face I make. I can barely chew and have the strong urge to spit it out.
“What’s wrong?” Bale leans toward me again. “Is the apple bad?”
Shaking my head, I force down the mouthful. “I don’t think so. It’s me. Nothing tasted right yesterday, either.”
Frowning, he reaches out. “Do you mind?” His hands hover near my neck over the torque.
