Our gazes locked.
“No,” he said.
Sources be damned, I couldn’t win with this man. “Elsedora said you’d say that. She also said you’d see reason eventually, but I’ve got my doubts on that part.”
“The two of you will be the death of me.”
The death of him. I very well could be.
“Who wants to live forever anyway?” I teased.
“You have something against immortality?”
I tilted my head, thinking about that. “Well, yes, I do. It sounds like a shit way to spend your life. What is the meaning if there is no end? To have all the time in the world and yet littlemotivation to live to the fullest—it’s ridiculous. What inspires an immortal to do today what they can do tomorrow? Or a hundred years from now?”
He laughed. It shook the chaise below us, and I couldn’t help but match his smile.
“What is so funny?” I squinted as the dim lamplight illuminated every hard line of his face. His facial hair had grown out a bit. Sources, when he smiled, he was even more attractive.
“I agree. I’ve just never heard someone put it so beautifully frank before.” He flipped the book face down in his lap.
I smirked. “Here lies Sybilla Wymark: She was‘beautifully frank’with a grumpy King.”
His expression sobered as his eyes traced my face and then fell to my lips.
“You’re beautifully something,” he said and swallowed hard.
I became acutely aware of how close I was to him.
“What?” He raised a brow.
“Well, I just about died from you paying me a compliment again. You better be careful. I may start to think you actually like me.” I mockingly fanned myself with one hand.
“I’ve complimented you plenty.”
I snorted. “Oh, yes. Ever the romantic,” I teased. He grunted a reply and folded his hands on top of the book.
“What will it be like...being married to you?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he ground out.
“Well, we are. So answer the question.”
“I’ll make shit company.”
“Obviously,” I replied.
“I’ll be no comfort to you.”
“You don’t need to be good company or good comfort to be good at conceiving an heir though. Do you?”
His jaw tensed in that telling way—I’d pissed him off already. “What exactly are you worried about, Sybilla?”
“Are you…” I could feel my face growing hot as I spoke. “Are you interested in the physical side of our marriage?”
His distance since having told me of the prophecy, his shortness and his abrupt departures from the bedchamber each morning as I lay pretending to still be asleep—had he changed his mind?
Why did that disappoint me?
