Variuswokeslowly.Ithad been so long since he’d woken naturally that he panicked slightly thinking he’d been drugged, shoving upwards in bed. But that bit of adrenaline was enough to clear his head, and he felt—fine, actually.
Given the shape he’d been in, that was practically a miracle. He felt a stab of envy for the power of sorcerous healing.
Then his mind flashed back to Theira’s hands on him as part of that healing, and his stomach muscles tightened involuntarily.
That had really happened. Varius felt the blood rushing down to his groin at the mere memory.
So, that was working again, too. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for that, given how much she’d be able to see.
Varius had been dreaming of her for years, and the little taste he’d had only fired his imagination more.
He needed to be careful, because as the whole empire knew, he was not a man who gave himself by halves. She might only have a use for his body.
Then again, maybe that was all he could hope for, now.
Irritated with his own internal whining, Varius shook his head and scooted to the edge of the bed, looking around for the first time.
Theira had been right—once she’d stopped working on him, she’d barely had time to explain that the potions she’d applied pulled from his own energy to speed his healing before he’d nearly dropped asleep in the chair. She’d led him to this room, and he’d fallen face first onto the bed and been out in seconds.
He was a poor guest. He’d fix that today.
In the light of day, he took in the room. All the furniture here—bed, desk and chair, shelves—was wood, too, which had to be on purpose—he’d heard Castle Korossia was all gray rock. This room had splashes of color—a green blanket, a blue rug. The shelves were full of books on various crafts—woodworking, pottery—and some small plants.
It made a solid effort at coziness, with all the items a guest might need, but nothing that felt like it carried a sense of Theira’s self. Even the plants were too well contained for her. It all gave Varius the impression that she didn’t actually know what a feeling of “home” meant.
And why should she? Potential sorceresses were taken from their families as children and brought to the castle to fight for their lives, pitted against each other, and only the most ruthless made it to adulthood.
Even if Theira knew what a house was supposed to look like, she couldn’t know what it felt like—and she wouldn’t expose herself to someone who was a stranger in her life. And it was all impersonal, clearly intended for a guest.
Which made him wonder: What kind of guests did she receive here?
Varius shook his head at the bolt of jealousy the thought caused. Whoever her friends were, he wasn’t going to convince Theira he should count among the number of people she could trust by lying in bed all day.
He didn’t deserve to, anyway. He was the one who had brought the war back to her door.
Varius found a neat pile of clothes that turned out to fit him perfectly. He probably shouldn’t be surprised, given how close a look she’d gotten yesterday.
Definitely the most enjoyable tailoring session he could recall.
He appreciated the thought, even as taking off his clothes to change shocked emotion into him. Like he was shucking off the last of the empire’s hold on him.
Choosing a sorceress.
Starting fresh.
Which reminded him that despite his promise yesterday he hadn’t cleaned the floor for her.
Selfishly, he hoped she’d left it, so he could make good on that today.
Once he was as clean and ready as he was getting, he took a breath and opened the door.
Time to start doing something besides dragging Theira down with him.
Varius followed the sound of jars opening and a sizzling pan back to the kitchen.
The walls on his way were all bare, too.
Only the kitchen was different. Like Theira couldn’t help overflowing into any space she spent time in.
