Then I could feel him retreating, as he always did. He seemed to realize what he’d said, as I’d figured he might, but I merely pasted on a smile and pretended. Which I was becoming very good at these last few weeks.
“You’ll be late,” I reiterated, offering up an easy escape route on a silver platter.
“Yes, I will be,” he said softly, helping me dismount off his lap. As he swung his legs over the edge, rising, I knelt on the bed, clenching my thighs together so I didn’t make a mess of the blankets.
“I’ll go wash,” I said, maneuvering on wobbly legs to the attached washroom, which was the size of my entire cottage in Stellara. “See you this afternoon?”
He shook his head when I turned to regard him, and I watched him request a specific outfit from the Halo tablet in the wall. A moment later, he opened up the hidden dresser, which tucked into the black paneling seamlessly, and pulled out the perfectly pressed vest—dark maroon today, gray pants with silver stripes running down the seams, and soft leather boots.
He usually always stopped by the cottage at some point during the day. To check in on me, even though it took him away from his duties.
“It will be a long day,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I hid my frown and nodded. Smiling, I said, “See you tonight.”
Then I disappeared into the washroom, closing the door behind me. I washed leisurely, trying to ignore the dread in my gut that told me this would not end well, that told me Kythel of House Kaalium would absolutely crush me into a million pieces in a week’s time.
But I must’ve been a masochist because the thought of walking away from him now—even if it was the logical, smart move—hurt even more.
After I washed and dressed, Kythel was already gone. Sighing, I made my way out the door of his private rooms to a quiet north wing. Passing a few keepers on my way to the kitchens, I nodded at them in greeting, giving them bright smiles that they didn’t quite return. No one knew what to make of me, I realized. I was a blood giver to theKyzaire, but all of them would know by now that I was warming his bed too. They would all know what I was to him. His blood mate. But not his wife.
Pushing that thought away, I saw Telaana mixing a thick soup at the stovetop as I joined her.
“Good morning,” I chirped.
“Ah, Millie,” she said, distracted as she poured in a little too muchkannospice into the soup, in my opinion, but I bit my tongue. “A message came for you from the markets.”
I perked up. “Oh?”
“About an off-planet delivery?” Telaana asked, confusion written on her features. “Did I hear the messenger right?”
“Yes,” I said, excited, surprised the ingredients had arrived so quickly, though I might have implied in my order that they were for aKyzaireof the Kaalium. “I’ll go right now to pick everything up.”
“What are you up to?” she asked, shooting me a conspiratorial but insanely curious look across the kitchen.
I snagged a seasonedlaakegg and a puffed piece of circular bread I’d helped Telaana prep last evening, showing her a kneading technique I’d learned from a culinarian on Jobar.
“It’s a gift for theKyzaire. But promise you’ll keep that a secret,” I added, throwing her a small wink.
The culinarian of Erzos Keep didn’t make me that promise, but I walked toward the side door of the kitchen anyway, already munching on the pillowy softness of the bread, pleased they’d turned out just as I’d remembered.
“He’s different, Millie,” Telaana called out suddenly. “He’s different with you here. I know it’s not my place to say, but we’ve all seen a change in theKyzaire.”
I stilled, hand still on the cool handle of the door that would lead out to the back gardens.
“He is?” I asked quietly, around a mouthful of sweet bread. “How?”
She seemed hesitant to say. Then again, Telaana was an interesting soul. Just when I had her pinned, she did something to surprise me.
“I won’t say he was like a cyborg,” she said, raising a shoulder. “But well…he was. He wasn’t natural.”
A laugh of disbelief left me.
“And I’ll keep your promise about the gift if you promise me to never tell theKyzaireI said that,” she added, pointing her metal spoon at me, splattering soup onto the floor.
“I won’t say a word,” I vowed.
She turned at the stove, perching her hip perilously close to the flame.
