“It must help with digestion,” I grumble, putting the cup down. “What are you so happy about?”
“This, sitting here with you to eat and drink? It’s a treat.” His voice goes quiet, and his gaze drops to the bowls on the tray. “Being with you is a treat.”
My throat closes. A terrible sadness comes over me, a longing for something I can’t have, a nostalgia for something I’ve never experienced.
Being with Valen. Staying with Valen.
It’s not possible, and we both know it. We come from different worlds, even though we live in the same place, even though I’ll be able to see the mountains where the dark fae live from Lord Eorl’s manor.
I’ll stare and imagine being with him and miss him. Gods, I’ll miss him.
What’s wrong with me? I’m about to start bawling into my stew over a future that hasn’t yet arrived.
“Princess?” When I look up, I find concern in those golden eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I lie. “Perfect.”
“Sorry about the wine.”
“The wine is fine.” I smile my most convincing smile and take another sip. “Let’s eat.”
“Yeah, let’s.” He smiles back, and the flash of his sharp canines has me shivering. A strangely pleasant shiver. “I’m ready for bed.”
And… that brings us back to the issue of having a single bed… for both of us.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ROSAMUND
One bed. It may be wide, but I’m not even sure both of us fit on it. Valen’s shoulders alone will take more than half.
This is bad. Even worse is the fact that I haven’t put my foot down and demand we sleep apart.
Then again, I’ve just bathed naked with him and touched him... everywhere. No, not true, but in certain places that do matter.
Will I ever stop feeling too hot and awkward around him after this? If there was any chance of it happening before, it’s highly doubtful now. I’ve seen him naked... and aroused. I’ve caused pleasure to tighten his muscular stomach, his legs... his handsome face.
I’ve made him groan.
Now I want to hear him moan.
I don’t recognize myself. What is happening to me?
With shaking hands, I lift the cup to my lips and finish the sour wine. It warms me up inside and calms the weird panic a little. Then I grab my bowl and the spoon it came with and stuff my mouth, hoping it will stop my spinning thoughts.
The food isn’t bad. The realization is a background whisper. Truth is, I’m barely paying the stew any attention. Isurreptitiously observe him as he eats, my gaze helplessly drawn to the tendons shifting in his strong forearms as he handles the spoon and the cup, the way his silvery and white hair falls in his eyes, the way his square jaw flexes as he chews.
I’m gone. Obsessed with this man. It scares me so much that I should be ready to beg to touch him again, that I want to push the tray away and crawl into his lap, feel his hands on me.
Is this what covetousness is? Mania, compulsion... passion.
Delirium.
Maybe this is a strange dream. Me, on the run with a werewolf, and lusting after him? Ridiculous. Who’d ever believe such a thing for real?
Except if they met Valen. Then they’d have to believe it, I think, watching him lick his lips, that silver stud in this tongue flashing. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man in my life.
And how many men have you met?I almost hear Valen’s teasing voice inside my head.A woman of the world, are you? Cosmopolitan? Spending your time in the capital, visiting banquets, and making your debut in society? How can you judge male beauty when you’ve only met a handful of men?
