How pathetic was that?
Frustration bloomed, more with myself than him. “Having a tangled mess of hair also wouldn’t look verymagvis-like.”
He dropped my hair. “No. It wouldn’t.”
When he didn’t say anything more, I made to move around him, needing to retrieve my dagger so I could complete the task. The fingers that’d held my hair snapped around my forearm, just above my wrist, which was still bruised from the Koerlyn’s restraints.
What could he possibly want?
Staring at the ground to hide my discomfort, I said, “We both agree the knots need to go. If you’ll release me, I’ll get my dagger and take care of it.”
His hold remained, and it occurred to me he might have stopped me to punish me. I’d thrown my dagger at the Princeps of Fourth Territory, and he had yet to do anything other than touch my hair.
“The knots do need to go, but not with your dagger.”
He couldn’t possibly meanhewould do it. “Like I said, I’ll take care of it,” I affirmed, not wanting his help and doubting he intended to give any. Perhaps he wished to teach me a lesson.
He confirmed my fears when he gruffly ordered, “No. Come with me.”
With his grip on my forearm, I had no choice but to follow. He didn’t release me as we came to the outskirts of the camp, nor as we wove through it. Harthon received respectful nods from every person we passed, while I kept my chin high, unwilling to let anyone think Harthon was carting me around.
No. I was themagvis,and I was following him by choice.
As if that were remotely true.
We passed North, who was seated with a group of men sharing stories by a fire. The bearded goliath glowered at me, hatred stark in his gray eyes, dancing with flames. Fortunately,we continued on, Harthon only slowing once his horse came into view. Tied to a tree, the massive animal stood beside a sleeping mat, a wide, empty berth around the bedding.
Had Harthon not set up his tent?
His hand finally left my arm, and he gestured to the mat. “Sit.”
It was his bed, then. He was Princeps, yet he hadn’t had his tent erected, nor was he using the cushioned mattress and luxurious furs that came with it. Instead, he slept like the rest of his men: on a thin mat on the hard ground, exposed to the elements.
I cautiously sat on the padding and watched as he rummaged through his saddlebag, knowing my immediate fate was tied to whatever he found there. He removed a vial of shadowed liquid, not a dagger to cut my hair. Then he grabbed his horse’s reins and led him around me. The result was some semblance of privacy, the stallion and tree trunk shielding us from the rest of the camp.
Confusion ratcheted my unease as he came behind me and kneeled in the dirt. If you were an enemy, Harthon was not a man you wanted at your back. We weren’t necessarily enemies, but we also weren’t…what we were before.
Whatever that was.
When I heard the cork pop from the vial, I could no longer stifle my anxiety. Quietly, I asked, “What are you doing?”
He poured some of the vial’s contents into his hands and rubbed it between them. “Face forward,” was his curt reply.
“If you’re planning to smother me, I’d like to see it coming.”
“It would make no difference whether you saw it coming or not. Now face forward.”
Ass.
Considering I’d just thrown a blade at him, name-calling wasn’t wise, so I faced the tree with stiff muscles as I waited for him to act. When he did, it wasn’t at all what I was expecting.
My scalp prickled as his hands landed on my hair and messily parted it into two clumps. I closed my eyes, remembering his rough touch with the mud. But rather than yanking, his fingers slowly wrapped around the end of each bundle and carefully tugged downward, smearing them with whatever coated his palms. He repeated the motion, sending a tingling sensation over my scalp. Then he brought his hands higher, flattening them over the roots of my hair before sliding all the way down. A scent reached me, a grassy, bitter aroma that was unfamiliar.
Palms were replaced by fingers that separated small bunches of hair from the mass. His fingers began to comb, starting at the bottom and working their way up, gently separating the intertwined strands as if my hair would break at the slightest pull.
The shivers in my scalp spread, washing down my entire body in an unsettling rush that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, actually.
“What are you doing?” I asked again. My whisper was shaky, though I thought I knew the answer.
