“Thank you, Juniper,” Thyra continues. “For speaking your mind.”
I imagine Juniper’s smile as she replies, “I’m not insulted by your thanks.”
With that, her footfalls carry her from the room.
I pull myself away from the door, pressing the heel of my palm to my chest, checking the beat of my damaged heart, finding thethump-thumpsteady.
Still cold. Still in control.
I square my shoulders, wipe my expression clean, and exit the room.
Three metal bowls rest on the table, each covered to keep the warmth in, along with two plates.
Thyra sits in one of the chairs, facing me. She will be fully aware that I heard every word she and Juniper said.
But she remains relaxed, casually swallowing a bite of bread. “Will you eat with me?”
My voice sticks in my throat. “I cannot.”
I promised her I would, but there’s no way I can eat right now.
She raises her far-too-perceptive gaze to mine, a slow study of my face and tense shoulders, not a hint of dismay in her response. “Good. I want a bath.”
My brow creases as she rises from her chair.
She approaches me, not quickly but carefully, her footfalls barely making a sound, her Lethian armor humming peacefully beneath her training suit.
Gently, her hand closes over mine.
“I want a bath,” she repeats, speaking even more quietly than before, “and this time, I want you to stay with me. Will you do that?”
I’m slow to reply, even if my body’s response is quick, a desire I’ve been pushing away for days.
My question is ragged, but I need clarity. “What do you want from me, Thyra?”
“As much as you want to give,” she says, her blue eyes raised.
Her hand hasn’t left mine. Her heartbeat is incredibly calm, but when my thumb brushes across her sleeve, feathering her palm, her breath catches, her lips part, and her pupils darken.
I draw her closer, my palm pressing to her lower back, need filling my mind and body.
I told myself she must come to me. Free of coercion. Free of desperation. Free of the need to survive.
She’s stronger. She has accepted her sorrow and buried her father. She isn’t hungry or tired or fearful…
I ask the question that has been waiting on the tip of my tongue since she bathed in the Alak-Teah. “What if I want to give you every pleasure you can imagine? What would your answer be?”
Her heart suddenly pounds, but she doesn’t hesitate before she says, “I accept.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Thyra
Stellen’s heated smile quickens my blood.
He bends his head to mine, his lips feathering my cheek, seeking my ear, nudging the sensitive skin in front of my earlobe, a tantalizingly short contact before he draws back again.
His hand tightens across my palm, and the smile lingers on his lips, but as he speaks, a melody fills his voice that makes my toes curl. “You wanted a bath. Let me run it for you.”
