* * *
At some point, the sound of waves softly lapping at the ship turned into a crashing, though the ship did not rock.
We’ve picked up speed, I thought sleepily.
Then I fell into the dark pit of sleep. Alone.
Chapter 18
The sound of the door opening jolted me awake. Mind still foggy from sleep, I thought I might be reliving the previous evening, because Harthon was in the doorway again, and I was alone in bed.
Then all that fog cleared, and I realized that the blanket had pooled at my waist and my entire bare chest was exposed to him. Harthon wasn’t taking any efforts to avoid the view. I yanked the blanket up, as if I hadn’t willingly bared my body to him last night as he tended to my bruises.
He noted my hurried movements, but rather than teasing me, he only said, “We’re here.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve reached Sixth.”
Rubbing crust from my eyes, I struggled to understand. “I thought this was a three-day journey.”
“It normally is. The seas were favorable yesterday, and overnight, we were given a strong following wind. We moved quicker than anticipated. Much quicker.”
He sounded displeased, which I couldn’t understand. We were one day closer to entering the Domus. This should be a good thing.
He began to retreat.
“Why didn’t you return last night?” I blurted. Weeks ago, I wouldn’t have allowed the question, but for the second time now, I’d woken up disappointed with an edge of something like hurt.
Just hours ago, his body had begged for my touch. Yet he didn’t return here to sleep, even though these were his quarters and no argument was had.
He froze, not speaking right away.
“You needed rest,” he eventually said, voice flat. “I had Joris outside your door. You were protected the entire night.”
“You sleeping here doesn’t disrupt my rest.”
“If I was suddenly needed, it would have.”
It was like talking to a stone wall. Why was he being like this?
My shoulders stiffened. I was sure he noticed. He was too observant not to. Yet he didn’t say anything to ease my discomfort, just looked at me with a blank expression that was so starkly different from last night’s reverence.
I was baffled.
What is this, between us?I wanted to ask. But he was watching me with too much apathy for the words to come out, so I asked instead, “Did you mean what you said back at the Citadel? About not allowing yourself to hurt me?”Because you are.
His fingers tightened on the door, and I prepared myself for a denial. His lips parted to respond. No sound came out.
A rock lodged in my throat as I said, “You’re not the type to say words you don’t mean.”
He stepped back into the hallway, my fragile question unanswered, until he gritted out a quiet, single word just before the door closed.
“Yes.”
The wood slammed shut.
I stared at the entryway, entirely thrown. As the seconds passed, confusion morphed into frustration, which morphed into anger, because howdarehe?
