Amaris laughed. “Yeah, right.” She gestured around her. “Prisoner, remember?”
“What if I told you no one would even know it’s you?” His sultry voice was so annoying.
“How?”
“The theme for the Conjugation is a masked ball.”
“Of course, it is.” She rubbed her face, releasing an obnoxious groan.
It hadn’t been long ago when she was sure she wouldn’t be in attendance. However, with Theodoric’s healing, she’d still be lingering. Again, something in her chest lifted at the thought of going to the party, as if a feather of relief had been plucked from her.
“So, you’ll go as my date?” Esaias asked.
“As your friend,” she corrected.
“Splendid! I’ll send your measurements for a dress.”
Her jaw dropped. As he stood and circled her, she burrowed within the cushion. “The fuck you’re picking out my dress. You’d pick some skimpy cloth!”
“If I had a choice, you wouldn’t be wearing anything besides a pair of heels, but we must all make sacrifices.”
She was going to regret it. He was going to put her in a tight-fitting, boob-busting, and ass-hanging-out dress, and everyone would know it was her.
“You can wipe the disdain from your face. The key is to blend in. You’re not the first woman I’ve dressed. It’ll be modest.”
She scoffed, “And I thought you only knew how to take a woman’s clothes off.”
“Oh no, I will have no need to undress you. You’ll be ripping your clothes off after the night I show you.”
Chapter 28
Theo
Nate’s body hungdecapitated in front of Theo, the hint of decay wafting from it. He’d already been dead when they’d severed it, but they’d placed his head at Theo’s feet for him to stare at for days. No food or water, only the lifeless eyes of his friend. He shouted a frustrated cry. An insect crawled through Nate’s sinuses. Theo couldn’t take it anymore. He should’ve been the one to hang there and be mutilated. He should’ve been dead, not Nate.
“Theodoric!” Amaris’s scream pulled Theo from the pain, the dungeons, his head.
Theo shot up on the cot, tears running down his cheeks. Pain instantly overcame him, and his vision faded. Sweat dripped from his hair, soaking his sheets. He gasped as his heart sped. He dropped to the cot, reaching his hand out for the bucket in the dark. He gripped the rim. He coughed and gagged at each memory, sensation, and smell.
Amaris lit a candle, coming to his bedside with a blanket wrapped around her. A few more were on the floor, along with a pillow beside the empty hearth.
“It was only a dream,” she whispered as he continued to spew his guts out.
He felt his branded skin stretch with each retch. Maybe the new scars from the whip would cover the burn marks and cuts scattering his back.
Theo hadn’t known her faint whisper was what he needed to sooth his racing thoughts. He gripped the edge of the bed, waiting for the nausea to subside.
He sensed her hand hover over his cheek and leaned into her touch.
She dragged the back of her hand over his forehead. “You’re hot.”
She pulled away, and instantly, pain raced up his back. It wasn’t like what he’d first experienced, but it had his jaw clenching. She returned with a basin of water and rag. She dragged it over his face and down his arms. “The evaporation will help cool you down.”
He tried to speak but couldn’t as she pulled back his blanket and peeked beneath the bandages. He was too exposed, but she only sighed and relinquished herself from his side. She retreated to a small pitcher on the table and poured a glass of water. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes over his panicked outburst or the ugly scars marring his skin. His eyes again trailed to the blanket and pillow upon the floor. Why was she sleeping in the tower?
She kneeled beside the bed, her long waves brushing his arm. He wanted to take one of her curls and wind it around his finger. Their eyes met as she brought the cup to his lips. Another wave of tears burned behind his eyes. He wanted to turn away so she wouldn’t see the anguish in his heart, but he couldn’t pull himself from her gaze. His hand shook as he reached for it, but she batted it away. There wasn’t pity in her eyes but understanding.
The pain from Rongstad had vanished once he’d woken, but his breaths were still labored as his body sensed the danger. He took another sip and watched her eyes linger on the jagged scar on his bicep, its contorted line, each cut and stroke.
