And now I’d told him we could share a bed.
It’s not that I hadneverslept beside Raphael before. We’d shared a tent for warmth on the journey over; he’d slept with me under the bed after I’d over-imbibed. Even on this journey, we’d shared a room, but by then I’d been too tired to protest.
But this . . . this wasn’t a last-minute decision. This was something I’d agreed to.
Something I’d had hours to dread.
Maybedreadwasn’t the right word for the twisting feelings in my gut, but it was the closest I was comfortable naming.
I rubbed a hand over my own bare shoulders. My blouses were dirty from travel, so all I had were dresses. But Raphael . . . I turned to the wardrobe we’d decided was his. Several shirts greeted me on hangers, clean, and more importantly, long-sleeved. I plucked a black one and slipped it on. I thought of tying it up, but it was actually longer than my nightgown, so I left it loose, the buttons undone. The slight cedar spice was comforting in a way I hated.
Would it be better to be in bed or out of it when Raphael reemerged? If I was inside it, I didn’t have to get in it in front of him, but I’d be there, lying awake, until after dawn. If I sat outside, I’d have to climb in with Raphael. Which was worse?
Being in the bed was its own ordeal.
I faced the mattress and swallowed, a sharp jagged pebble somehow caught in my throat.
The doors of the bedroom slammed open, the wood splintering.
“Traitors!” the guards snarled as they barged through the chamber doors. The same guards I’d known all my life, who had smiled when I passed by. “Ungrateful whore.”
Their boots thundered over the padded carpet.
My mother, who I’d shared a bed with, sat up and shrieked, “This is an outrage!”
One of the guards backhanded her. “Shut your mouth, traitor.” Then he reached for her, grabbing her in a viselike grip around her bicep, which made her gasp in pain. “You’re coming with us.”
My tiny hand wrapped around the edge of her nightgown, trying to pull her back.
It made no difference. They pried her from the bed with ease.
“The girl?” one of the other guards asked as my mother was hauled away.
“Both are traitors to the Crown,” the leader snapped. “Take her.”
“Leave my daughter alone! We’re innocent!” my mother screamed.
A lady does not raise her voice,she had told me.
She was smacked again, and the guard closest to me ignored her as he pulled me from the warmth of the bed. Wet sheets brushed my leg as I was hoisted away. I hadn’t even realized I’d soiled myself.
They dragged us both out of the room. My mother kept yelling, no matter how many times they hit her.
I just cried, useless, as they twisted my arms and pulled me away.
“Changed your mind?”
Raphael was behind me, his voice startling me from my memories. “No,” I said honestly. Once I made a plan, I tended to commit to it, for good or for ill.
“I can stay up. A few days is hardly a problem.” There must have been some truth to it—perhaps a few days weren’t a problem . . . but several more would be.
When I looked away from the bed, I studied his expression. His hair was damp, his chest covered by a white shirt that clung to the few droplets he’d missed toweling off. His red eyes were a bit dimmer than usual, gray shadows tugging under his eyes.
The immortal was exhausted. He hadn’t slept properly in days, and to make matters worse, he was in enemy territory, by his own admission. To survive, he needed to keep his wits about him.
He was willing to ignore that for me to feel safe, to indulge this irrational fear I had of sleeping in a bed.
“You have guards posted at the door. We should be okay.” It was the rational thing to say, even as I carefully avoided looking at the bed. Weshouldbe okay.
