She shoved the bowl at my lips again, and when I finished and was set back on the pillow, I took in my surroundings. This was not my room. The tan and gray walls were the same, as was the painted ceiling, but the drapes surrounding this bed were dark. Mine were gauzy and white.
“You’re in Harthon’s room,” Ana’s voice informed me. I slowly rotated my head to see her perched on the edge of the bed. Her pretty face was pinched in worry. “I know, it’s disorienting when you first wake up. And before you ask, the boy is fine. Stefano is recovering from his injuries, but he’ll be okay in a week or two. All of your attackers are dead.”
As relief set in, I processed the first part of what she’d said.
Harthon had brought me to his room.
To hisbed.
The last—and only—time I’d been in here was when I discovered the spiraled scar marking one cheek of his well-formed ass. The same scar that marked the man who’d murdered my parents while I hid in a chest as a young girl. The discovery had come just hours after he’d kissed and touched me in my own bed.
I didn’t want to be here.
But his scent was everywhere, and it…it felt like safety.
I shifted, needing to move. Pain burst.
“I wouldn’t advise moving,” Ana warned.
Ignoring her, I tried to sit before giving up and collapsing against the headboard. “How bad is it?” I asked, shocked at the hoarseness of my voice.
“You’re okay now, but those wounds were serious enough to kill you. You rested for well over a day. You should stay in bed for at least another.”
I glanced down. A heavy blanket had fallen to my waist, revealing an oversized tunic draped around me. Bulky bandages on my forearm and side formed uneven lumps beneath the loose fabric. With a subtle shift of my legs—one that sent searing heat through my thigh—I realized I wore nothing else.
“Whose tunic?”
The side of her lips hitched just so. “The same person who owns this room. Well, all the rooms, technically.”
I was in Harthon’s bed, in his clothes.Again.
Wait a second. “Did he dress me?”
“I wasn’t here, but my guess is no. The healer and chambermaid were responsible for your immediate care.” The chambermaid being Felda, who’d apparently left the room in the last minute. Ana cocked her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Harthon didn’t leave this room for a long time, but he isn’t the type to look or act without permission unless completely necessary.”
“He made it clear that I’m a prisoner again. Prisoners don’t give permission.”
She gave me a droll look. “We both know that, regardless of what he said, you’re anything but a prisoner. Especially to him.”
I stared at her, silent. He’d called mecarellaagain. And he’d lingered in this room. But why would she, of all people, imply something like this?
Confused, I said, “He thinks I betrayed him by going to Koerlyn. He doesn’t trust me. Hence, prisoner.”
“It broke some of his trust, yes,” she confirmed. “But more than anything in this world, Harthon wants to protect those he cares about. You robbed him of that opportunity, and while the big, bad Princeps Harthon will never admit it, you scared him. It’s an emotion he’s not accustomed to. And like any bullheaded man, he doesn’t cope with it well.”
“He was scared because without me, he can’t enter the Domus.” The statement was habit at this point.
Emerald eyes scanned my face. “Tell yourself whatever you want.”
An unexpected snap of frustration surged, and I said something entirely stupid. “Koerlyn told me about you and him—how he refused you. A man like Harthon isn’t capable of feeling anything significant. You of all people should know that.”
Ana’s eyes widened, her lips forming an “o.” With my revelation hanging between us, regret swept in. She was here as a friend, to comfort me, and I’d dredged up a painful part of her past while lying here inhisclothes inhisbed.
She may not be outwardly jealous, but skies, she couldstilllove him right now.
I was an idiot.
She quietly said, “I knew there was something else you’d learned in Koerlyn’s Territory.”
