“That’s because you haven’t had to see me be the High Warden, Hawthorne.” He smirks again, and I roll my eyes at his obvious teasing.
“Am I allowed to use that free pass I’m still owed to get you to leave me alone?” I turn away from him now, returning my attention to the soil.
“You can’t hate me forever, Hawthorne.” He shuffles over to the workbench. “Besides, are you sure you want to make me leave you alone when I brought you coffee?” he says.
“You brought me coffee?” I ask, surprised.
“I did,” he replies. I narrow my eyes at him, unsure if this is his way of apologising or just calling a truce.
“Fine. You can stay.” He winks at me, handing over the coffee, struggling to hide the smile that erupts as my senses are filled with the smell of it. “Thank you,” I say begrudgingly, taking a sip. I know Mara had joked about him getting me some, but normally he was too busy with his duties. In fact, he rarely visited me here at the glasshouse, just left Thomas to monitor me.
Speaking of, “Where is Thomas?”
“Thomas has been reassigned.”
“Reassigned? What does that mean?”
“It means he will no longer be monitoring you here in the glasshouse,” he states, his gaze wandering over the empty pots of soil.
“Oh. So I’m here alone now?”
“No.”
“No?” I repeat. “Well, who is watching me now?”
“I am.”
I groan aloud, letting my head fall backward as I take a seat at the workbench.
“Great. That’s great,” I say, sipping my coffee slowly and trying to decide if I feel this way because I’m still annoyed at him or it’s because I don’t trust myself around him. The silence lingers between us. By the time the coffee cools in my hands, nearly an hour has passed. And I think I might actually miss Thomas. Sure, he cared more about his duty than helping me. But he didn’t interrupt me, left me to work, and only really got in the way if it was urgent. Rowan is the opposite. Instead of staying outside the glasshouse like Thomas, he is sitting watching me at the workbench. His stare is piercing, and I feel more exposed than I ever have.
“You know, Thomas used to just sit outside and watch the day pass by,” I say, pressing into the soil and wiping my brow. Rowan doesn’t answer straight away, but I feel his gaze shift away from me.
“That’s because Thomas was told not to be inside the glasshouse with you,” he says. I pause my planting briefly, turning to face him.
“But you’re in the glasshouse.”
“I am, yes. But I don’t take orders from others.”
“Um, do you know who the king is?”
“My duty is to him. That is not the same.”
I frown, turning the words over.
“It sounds very much the same to me."
“It’s not,” he says, fiddling with something on the workbench, the sound of a knife on wood splintering in my ear.
Turning away so he can’t see, I roll my eyes and go back to trying to change the soil acidity. Lifting all the equipment into my arms, I stand. I almost trip over myself before a strong hand grips my waist to steady me. We are both frozen, caught in a silent battle of wills. He grabs the tools from my hand, setting them down on the workbench before returning to whatever it was he was doing.
“This is the third seed now. I have only one attempt after this,” I say panic threading through my voice.
There is no use in trying to hide it.
“And since you have no faith in me saving ‘shit’, I’d be worried if I were you.” Rowan takes a slow and deliberate breath, standing over me.
“That’s not what I said. "
