Magdala wiped the blood away with a cotton pad. “How should I know?”
As she reached for the disinfectant salve, a voice in her head whispered,Forgo that. Tie the bandage loose. Let the wound spoil.
Magdala froze, her hand suspended over the glass jar.
You wouldn’t even have to give him the amenite. In a week, your father could be replacing the carpets, fussing over the torn curtains.
Asherton glanced over the top of his book. “Are you done yet?” he asked. “You’re taking eons.” His voice sent the devil fleeing, and she snatched the salve, applied an overgenerous smear to the bandages, and bound the wound. Frightened of herself, she stood and backed away from him.
Asherton inspected his hand. “Adequate.”
“It’s bloody perfect!” she said, too angry and too loud.
He raised his eyebrows. “You overestimate your talents.”
Magdala crossed her arms. “If the plant likes blood, then livers will be better for him.”
Asherton flashed her a wry smile. “I wouldn’t have put you down for much brain, Miss Devney.”
“Likewise, Your Highness.”
Setting the book aside, Asherton got up and crossed to the armoire, where he stripped off his sweater and dropped it onto the floor. Every nerve in Magdala’s body buzzed to snatch it up and toss it in the designated wicker basket, but she held onto the back of the leather chair and restrained herself.
Asherton was fit, well-built, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His taut abdomen and muscular back sent a sting of irritation through her. Magdala glanced at her feet and studied the carpet’s flattened pile.
“Oh, don’t be bashful.” Asherton grinned. “This isn’t the last time I’ll undress in front of you. According to my ancient mother hen downstairs, you’re not to leave my side. Zeph is jealous that someone else will murder me before he gets his chance. Poor Zeph.” Asherton ran his thumb over the scab on his throat. “Sometimes, I marvel that he hasn't smothered me already. I’m a bit like a stray cat that wandered into his house and he took to feeding.”
“He said as much.”
“Did he tell you that I annoy him to distraction?”
“He did not.”
“I’ll tell you then. I annoy him to distraction. Be prepared, I’ll most likely annoy you as well.”
“You already do, Your Highness,” Magdala said.
“Excellent. You’ll never meet anyone so inconvenient as I.”
Magdala couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 13
For the rest of the afternoon, Asherton busied himself with reading every book he could find on carnivorous plants. He didn’t sit while he read, but paced around the room, occasionally darting to a slate mounted on the wall and adding to a diagram of Anton he’d sketched, then pacing again. For hours, Magdala stood by the door, watching him with mounting interest and trying to decide if he was a genius or touched in the head.
As the sun went down, the door burst open and Zephyr stomped in, a large wooden box in his arms. He set it on the bedside table, shooing Anton away as the plant snapped at his elbow. “This arrived by dragon,” he said.
Asherton looked up from his book, blinking like he’d emerged from a dark room. “Gracious, what time is it?”
“Late,” Zephyr replied.
“I must have lost track of time.”
“He gets like this,” Zephyr said in an undertone to Magdala. “You have to remind him to eat, or he’ll forget. And sometimes I have to shove him into his bed, or he’ll stay up all night. Either he can’t focus on a single thing, or he can’t break away for days on end. It’s very tiresome.”
“Indeed,” Magdala replied. It nettled her when Zephyr called the prince tiresome. She didn’t know why. Hewastiresome—exhausting, even. But it wasn’t as though his frenetic energy and scientific curiosity were anyone else’s business. If he wanted to whittle the day away studying Anton’s anatomy, he was a grown man. He could do as he pleased.
“Eat something,” Zephyr said to Asherton, pointing to the tea tray Magdala had brought up hours ago. She’d covered it to keep the bread and cheese from spoiling.
