For the most part, I only caught a few interested stares—from nobles—who had perhaps recognized me from the party that Kaldur had thrown.
Those days, I would bring spiced tea and steam cakes to Syndras and spend the afternoons in her sitting room, as Braanelle stood stock-still by the door, even declining the comforts of a steam cake.
Syndras, for her part, looked delightfully put out by the entirety of her new staff. The sitting room, I noticed, looked much changed since that night Kaldur had found me here. All the dust was gone, the air felt cleaner, and everything gleamed. I knew that if I explored the rest of her ancestral House, I would find much of the same thing. During our visits, one of the keepers often came into the sitting room with a tray laden with food for us. All of Syndras’s favorites, I noticed, like marinatedlaakeggs and pillowy sandwiches spread with riverberry jam.
Syndras grumbled about it because of her pride. She’d accused me of giving into theKyzairefor her sake, and I had to assure her that it hadn’t been the case…mostly. We barely spoke about Kaldur during these visits. I thought she sensed that I didn’t know what to say regardless, how to explain everything that had transpired between us or even the strange relationship that had sprung up lately.
The truth was that Kaldur and I were friendly. If he came to my balcony at night or found me in the gardens in the afternoon or came looking for me in the keep, we were always civil.
I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed with our newfound relationship. It was easy to keep my walls up when we were just friendly. There wasn’t a threat of anything more. But after that night in the kitchens, after everything he’d confessed to me and after he’d held me as I’d sobbed my heart out…ithadfelt different even though I’d done my best to ignore it.
Sometimes during ourfriendlymoments, I would catch him studying me. Staring.Reallylooking at me as if it was the first time he was seeing me.
His leisurely studies always struck me as patient, as if he had all the time in the world to admire me. And he wouldn’t seem to be in a huge rush to fill the silence that followed, except I felt every half second like a throb of my heart. I always grew shy, tucking my hair behind my ear, asking why he was looking at me like that.
He always said,I’m just looking.
But it felt like something more. It felt like he was committing me to memory, every strand of my hair, every pore on my face. To be studied so closely, it was a delightfully uncomfortable thing.
I’ll stop,he would declare when he saw me shift. His eyes would gleam in amusement, his full lips twitching, and then he’d switch topics so expertly that it left me feeling a little dazed.
But as the week dragged on, I noticed more changes in Kaldur. His movements seemed slower, his face growing more shadowed, his cheekbones standing sharper.
I knew it was because he hadn’t been feeding. He’d eaten, of course. He demanded that we have our morning meal together, and I watched him eat enough for a small army with my own two eyes.
But I hadn’t realized how much a Kylorrneededblood. Some Kylorr, I knew, abstained from it completely. But that was easier if you were a hybrid or hadn’t fed on a lot of blood throughout your life, like Luc.
For Kaldur? I imagined he felt the lack of feeding quite acutely, and I could actually see the physical toll it was taking on him.
He hadn’t fed from me since that night he’d brought me to his bath, and even then it had only been briefly—a mere drop in comparison to what he usually took from me—to take the edge off his rage.
He had some strength from that feeding, but I’d watched it wane again. And I wondered…how had he gone nearly a month without my blood?
No wonder he’d nearly gone into a rage that night,I couldn’t help but think.
That evening, I was sitting on a bench in the garden, the air growing chillier by the moment. But I’d returned from Syndras’s an hour ago and hadn’t wanted to return to the keep quite yet. I wanted to watch the sunset, and I took up post at one of the higher elevations, surrounded by beautiful blooms that smelled lightly floral but spicy. It was one scent, I found, that didn’t turn my stomach, oddly.
When I felt a familiar flutter inside me, I pressed my hand to my lower belly.
“You’ve been quite active today, little darling,” I said softly, a smile crossing my face just as I heard heavy footsteps approaching me on the path to my right.
“So have you,” came Kaldur’s voice.
I glanced over at him, not surprised to see him here. If I was in the garden past sundown, he usually came out to retrieve me before it got too cold. Him fussing over me…I couldn’t lie and say I was indifferent to it. It felt nice to be fussed over.
Kaldur looked over at Braanelle, hidden partially behind a shrub. He nodded at her, and she inclined her head, dismissed from her duties for the evening.
“Good night, Braanelle,” I called out.
“Rest well,” she called back. I smiled at how it sounded like athreat. Everything she said sounded like a threat, truthfully, but I’d learned that it was just how she talked.
Kaldur stepped more fully into my view, standing before the bench to peer down at me.
“How are you?” he asked with the utmost seriousness. He dropped down, crouching until he was eye level. His hands reached for me. Well, not quite formebut rather for the baby.
His hands smoothed over the rounding bump, and I ignored the little quiver inside me. Kaldur, I’d discovered, was a lover of touching. He’d often brush his fingers across my cheek or tuck back strands of my hair or place his palm on the small of my back or loosely at my hip when we were walking together.
And with the baby…he was even more so.
