‘I’m starting to believe you, Rose.’ He meets my gaze, but it’s only when he lifts a hand towards the side of my face that I realise what he’s going to do.
He’s going to kiss me again.
‘Jonas …’
‘You don’t want this?’ he asks softly.
I don’t. But I see the hope in his eyes. The last thing he needs is rejection today. If I tell him no, I could send him back into the pit of despair he’s been wallowing in.
So I manage a smile. ‘Not here. Not now.’
He nods. ‘Right person. Wrong time?’ he says hopefully.
‘Something like that.’ My chest tightens. I hate that I might be leading him on, even a little, but the truth is, I don’t want his lips on mine. I want Kyor’s.
I stand and gently remove my hand from his. ‘Get some sleep, Jonas. We’ve still got two trials. We’re going to get through them. Together.’
With that, I kiss the top of his head and leave the room.
There’s someone else I need to see tonight.
More than once I’vewondered where Kyor’s room is. I know he’s way too much of a stickler for rules not to be sleeping in the barracks, so though he’s not in the dorm rooms, I’m certain he’s nearby. Given his absence upstairs and his affinity for the basement kitchen, as evidenced by ourmultiple run-ins there, I’ve concluded that he must be somewhere downstairs.
Betting on my hunch, I head down to the kitchens and find several of the cooks working over the stoves.
‘I’m looking for Prince Kyor,’ I say.
They exchange a look that tells me I was right. Heisdown here somewhere.
‘I just want to talk to him. I’m a … friend.’
The word chokes my throat. Of all the things we are, we’re not that. I have zero platonic feelings for the prince.
‘It’s fine, ladies. She can come through.’ His voice carries from the far end of the kitchen where he stands by a door. He pushes it wide open before stepping to the side. My own royal invitation.
Butterflies swarm through me, most likely trying to make me see sense, but I ignore them as I offer the cooks a brief smile of thanks and slip through the door. As it shuts behind me, I tell myself the roaring in my blood is from apprehension and nothing else.
There are no windows, given that it’s in the basement, but the lamps offer more than enough light to see by. It’s a simple room. No decorations, nothing to soften the stone-grey walls, but the bed is a damn sight larger than the ones we’ve been subjected to upstairs. Yet despite the scarcity, the space somehow still looks well lived-in, with books stacked high, clothes draped over chairs, and a wardrobe with its doors open. This doesn’t look like a room that’s been occupied just for the weeks of the trials.
‘This has always been my hideaway,’ he explains casually. ‘Close to food, away from my father. Win-win.’
My eyes fall on the desk in the corner of the room, its surface covered with scattered paper and charcoal. Silently, I move over to it, and a breath of surprise snags in my throat at what I find.
‘Elska.’ There is no mistaking the image. Even in black and white, the two tones of her eyes and ringed irises have been captured perfectly. I move to see the paper underneath, but he catches me by the wrist and tidies the sketches away.
‘Did you do these?’
He offers a casual lift of one shoulder. ‘It passes the time.’
I turn to look at him. ‘What are you going to do?’ I ask. ‘About everything. About me.’
He takes a step forward. ‘I don’t know what you’re talkingabout,’ he says, his voice low. ‘We were on the battlefield. It was … difficult. Ice, fire, ghosts, flying daggers. I saw nothing.’
He takes another step towards me. He’s so close now, his chest only inches from mine. My heart hammers behind my ribs.
‘So is that why you came here?’ he asks. ‘To see what I saw?’
‘It’s one of the reasons.’
