“Try me,” he said, his lip curling into a half-smile.
“Fantastical stories about adventures, magic, romance,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up a little. She considered them silly stories next to the books she observed in Rooke’s library.
“Try the shelves next to the door on the left,” he said, pointing behind himself.
Corabeth turned fully now to see if Rooke was mocking her. Instead, he gave her a small nod, opened his book once more, and went back to reading.
Her steps were muffled by the plush carpet as she walked over to the shelves pointed out for her. True to Rooke’s words, there were countless books with titles that promised just what she wished for: great adventures, incredible magic, and earthshattering romance.
After some time, she picked a book bound in blue leather, its titleThe Dragon and the Drowned Queenin golden letters across its cover. She hesitated, considered returning to her room with it, but then she spotted the empty armchair across from Rooke. Was it an invitation, much like the cracked door?
Corabeth straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and walked over to the chair. She sat down like she belonged there. Her confidence shattered as soon as she noticed Rooke glowering at her. Or was he simply looking at her? It was hard to tell. His features made it look like he was always glowering.
“Is this alright?” she asked, muscles taut, ready to spring up as soon as Rooke gave any indication of discontent.
Rooke simply nodded and lowered his eyes to the page before him.
Corabeth let herself relax into the soft cushions and attempted to lose herself in her own book. She barely made three pages before she felt another headache bloom behind her eyes. The words began blending into each other, their edges becoming blurry. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Corabeth squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea hit her.
“What’s the matter?” Rooke asked, noticing her struggle.
“Just a headache,” she replied, trying to get back to reading. But the words wouldn’t stop swimming before her eyes.
“Does that happen often?” he asked with a tilted head.
Corabeth shook her head, the motion making her dizzy for a moment.
“Do you have any head injuries?” Rooke continued his questioning.
Corabeth was about to shake her head again, but then she stopped. Her hand lifted almost by itself to the side of her head, where a large scab was hidden under her hair.
“I was hit with a rock, I think,” she said, remembering that terrible night.
“They threw rocks at you?” Rooke asked, his tone suddenly cold. The change in him was sudden enough to startle Corabeth. She simply stared at him, eyes wide.
Rooke sighed, placing his book on the drum table between the two armchairs. He lifted himself slightly and reached for the book in Corabeth’s lap.
“If the hit was bad enough, it might have injured your brain. You need rest,” he said, sinking back into his chair, and opened the book Corabeth had picked out. Then he began reading out loud.
“You don’t have to,” Corabeth blurted before he could finish the first sentence. Rooke silenced her with a single look and continued.
It took a few pages of reading before Corabeth began to relax again. Rooke’s voice was low and a little gravelly, filling the room with unexpected tranquility. Corabeth turned in the armchair and pulled her knees in to curl up in her chair, enjoying the warmth radiating from the fireplace. A few pages more, and she allowed herself to close her eyes. Corabeth didn’t fall asleep, but she did exactly what Rooke had suggested—she rested. And it had been so long since she had been able to just rest.
A grandfather clock somewhere in the house chimed the time. Corabeth startled when she realized it was ten o’clock. Rooke, noticing her grow restless, stopped reading and lifted his eyes from the page.
“It’s late,” she remarked.
“Of course,” Rooke said after a beat, as if he had lost track of time as well. “You should rest. Properly.”
Corabeth nodded and stood, noting the slight stiffness in her joints from being in the same position for so long. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but leaving without a word felt wrong, too.
“Thank you. For reading to me,” she finally said, wringing her hands in front of her.
Rooke gave her a nod and replaced the book in his lap with his own.
“By the way,” Corabeth said, smoothing down the skirts of the same black dress she was wearing. “How come you have these clothes?”
Rooke gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
