He grabbed the bread from the breakfast plate and tossed it on my wet lap. “I’ll be back in less than an hour. Don’t drink anything in themeantime. If that bread isn’t all gone when I return, I’m not saying a word,” he threatened, and then he turned to leave the room.
Stefano stood before him at the entrance, his features pale. When the door closed behind Harthon, I thought I heard the low murmurs of conversation, but it was too quiet to make out. The water began to clear my lethargy, and I slowly tore off pieces of bread and ate them, failing to feel the satisfaction I thought I would.
My plan had worked, but I felt like utter horseshit, and Stefano was probably in trouble.
When I finished eating a long time later, I walked to the mirror, already feeling more steady on my feet. Using the comb Felda had brought me yesterday, I smoothed my hair into a simple braid that fell to the top of my chest. The bruise from Koerlyn’s man had turned an ugly yellow on my cheek, and the raw wounds on my wrists had become crusty scabs. My face still held the dull hollowness I’d noticed in Carmen, and dark circles still rimmed my eyes, but that was more from refusing water and food for the last two days than Harthon’s treatment.
The liquid pools of violet and gold, though, were as vibrant as ever. A little over one week later, they were still a shock to see, a slowly shrinking part of me expecting them to suddenly be brown again.
The door opened, and nerves settled in my cramping stomach as I studied the man through the mirror. Harthon was completely clean, his hair hanging in wavy, water-darkened tendrils to the top of his shoulders. The top of his hair wasn’t tied back, and he wasn’t wearing tan leathers. This was an entirely different version of him.
He wore a stunning ebony ensemble that tickled something in my chest. Trousers hugged powerful legs and met practical leather boots, while his tunic was embroidered with swirls of gold along the center line. Black leather straps held knives across his torso and thighs. The darkness only highlighted the scruff of his jaw and the intensity ofhis gaze.
It was a clear image of power.
This wasthePrinceps Harthon.
The one I’d just threatened by refusing to eat or drink, and the one who’d marched into my room, covered in the blood of slain men.
Chapter 8
Ispun around, but the room didn’t stop when I did. My hands scrambled for purchase on the dresser behind me, barely managing to catch my weight.
“You need to sit,” Harthon observed. Judging by the ire in his tone, he still wasn’t pleased by my actions.
“I figured that out,” I mumbled. When the dizziness finally subsided, I walked back to the lounge chair, sinking into the cushions as Harthon reached me.
He placed a steaming bowl on the small table beside me. “Broth is better for hydration. It won’t sicken you like water can,” he explained, handing me the metal spoon. “Will you actually be able to get it into your mouth?”
Rolling my eyes, I dipped the spoon into the broth and shoved it into my mouth.
He pointed at the bowl. “You’ll keep eating while we speak, or I’ll stop talking.” Then he sat in the seat across from me, crossing an ankle over his knee.
“You know it wasn’t Stefano’s fault,” I said, spooning more broth. As the one responsible for keeping me in this room, Stefano was another enemy. Yet some part of me felt almost bad at the thought of him stuttering over his explanation of why I was wasting away. Hereally was just a boy.
Harthon merely raised a brow. “He was responsible for your safety. You made things unsafe under his watch. I don’t see how that isn’t his fault.”
“It was my decision. He would have had to force my mouth open if he wanted me to drink, andthatwould have made things far more unsafe.”
“Are you telling me this because you feel guilty?”
Maybe.“It’s not about guilt, but fairness.”
“I hold my men to high expectations. Stefano knows what happens when he falls short of them.”
I rested the spoon in the bowl. “What does that mean?”
“He’ll be punished.”
At that, my heart dropped. With those big eyes and rounded cheeks, he was too young, toonice, to actually be punished for what I did. “What’s the punishment?” I asked with bated breath.
He slowly smirked. “You do feel guilty.”
“It’s not his fault. If you refuse to blame me, then blame yourself, because you didn’t come to speak to me as quickly as you promised,” I snapped.
Light sparked in his eyes, and he leaned forward. “Would you rather I have let Koerlyn’s spies infiltrate the city?”
My brows furrowed. “Spies?”
