A frown pulls at my lips. On the opposite side of the bathroom is a large mirror, hung over a massive sink. For a heartbeat, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection. My dark hair is longer, curling in loose, damp waves over my shoulders. My once-pale skin has a healthy tan, a light pink flush painted across my cheeks and nose, darkening the light smattering of freckles. I’ve lost weight—my cheeks are hollowed, my collarbones protruding.
My eyes are the same, though—bright blue.
Determined.
Untamed.
With soft steps, I leave the bathroom.
I stop in my tracks.
Zev’s standing in the middle of the bedroom. Waiting for me, apparently. His molten eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. My skin burns under the heat of his gaze as it lingers on my bare thighs, where the hem of my too-short nightgown brushes my skin.
I cinch my robe tighter around myself.
He doesn’t move, smoldering gaze riveted to the naked expanse of my legs. I shift my weight, and his eyes flick to mine as he rubs his neck.
“Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely. He clears his throat, and his eyes wander to my bare legs again.
“The bath was nice. Aggressive, but nice.”
He frowns. “I can assign you different handmaids, if—”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “They were fine, truly. And so are the guards outside. Thank you.”
Zev chews the inside of his cheek, his heated gaze pinned to my face. Is he waiting for me to say something? My brain is exhausted after the ‘change of plan’ his father announced. His eyes fall to my thighs for a third time, as if he can’t help himself, and a startling thought flits through my mind.
Is he here to…?
“We’re not married yet,” I say, clutching my robe tighter. “So, um…”
His eyes widen, and he takes a half-step back. “I’m not here forthat, Mayah.” He clears his throat again, pointedly staring at the wall above my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Whyareyou here, then?” I demand.
“If I know my brother, he’ll pay you a visit tonight.”
“Oh.”
He’s protecting me.
He doesn’t expect me to lie with him. Tonight, at least.
I hate the vulnerability in my voice when I ask, “And tomorrow? Will you expect …that… from me tomorrow?”
His eyes soften, his hand wavering at his side, as though he wants to touch me.
“I’ll never force you to do anything, Mayah,” he murmurs. “I’ll only come to your bed when you invite me.” He gestures to the bed in question. “Throw me a pillow. I’ll find an extra blanket and sleep on the floor.”
And he does exactly that.
Zev takes a bath, too, emerging with damp hair and fresh clothing. After a month of seeing him cloaked in dark leather and armor, the soft shirt and sleep trousers look strange on his large, muscular frame. He settles on the floor beside the bed as he promised.
Even in the dark, I’m aware of his presence. After all the nights spent in his arms, my body has grown attuned to his—from the steady hum of his breathing to the emotion driving every twitch of his lips.
“This is stupid, Zev,” I mutter, cocooned in soft blankets, staring at the dark ceiling.
“Hmm?”
