“I don’t hear you putting on those pants.”
“Fuck the pants?—”
“I’d rather not.”
“—how do youdo that?”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there, boot tapping.
“Anyway,” I said, “you’re wrong. I was picking it up. It would have been stupid of me to try again now.”
I heard something like a scoff or a chuff from him, but nothing else.
I breathed out and stood with the pants in hand. Unfurled, they looked exactly my size. I’d only met one female—Rhiannon—but she’d been at least half a foot taller than me. I plunged my foot into the first pant leg.
“I do it,” he said, “by listening.”
I paused, half in and half out of the pants. He was answering my question. “You couldn’t have known where my fingers were headed by listening.”
“Those aren’t what I was listening to, rabbit.”
I considered this for a moment. Then I stuck my other leg into the pants. They were perfect on me, supple and not too tight or loose. Like they had been crafted for my body. Next I slid on one of the boots, which was dark leather with thick laces and twined with tough bramble-cord. The insides were pliant and even moreremarkably fitted to my feet.
“You’ll need this, too.” Dorian tossed something else over his shoulder—a brown leather belt. I almost didn’t catch it.
“I’d rather use my own.”
“That bloodied, battered thing?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I don’t care what you use. Just get it on, and fast.”
I grabbed my own belt from the pile of my clothing beside the bed. I had received this on my first day in training with the guard, and I’d cherished it since. It wasn’t fine, fat leather like the belt he’d thrown me—it was worn and probably used by someone before me—but it had a sheath for my short sword and a pouch for my knife. I had practiced with this belt on every day of my time as a trainee and as a guard.
I strapped it on over my tunic. As soon as I did, the weight and position of it sent a tendril of calm through my body. “How did my wounds heal?” I asked him. “When I stepped through that gate last night.”
His shoulders rose and dropped. “The stag wished it.”
Thestag.Rhiannon had spoken of a stag last night. “What is the stag?”
“You’ll find out once you’re dressed. May I turn now?”
I crossed toward the door, grabbed up my knife, and replaced it on my belt. “You could always walk away. I don’t think either of us would mind.”
He turned back toward me. He held my gaze for a moment that grew, his dark eyes shifting between mine. “You despise me,” he finally said. No tone, no question—just an observation.
The words were so clear, so unmitigated, so true, I nearly lowered my gaze. I didn’t speak, didn’t nod or shake my head. But my lack of response was clear enough—if he was as observant as he claimed to be, he’d see it in my eyes.
The ghost of a crooked smile appeared. His mouth was the only feature on his face that wasn’t hard, unyielding. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s better than fear. It gives you power.”
Power? He wanted me to havepower?
I could have spat. Mostly, I was just fucking bewildered.
My voice came out low, angry. “You’ve locked me up.”
He turned toward the doorway, one hand flicking out toward the unmade bed and bathing chamber. “Looks like you didn’t have the worst time of it.” He nodded to the left, then turned down the hall. “This way.”
