When we arrived in the antechamber leading to his room, I realised it was my first time there. It was on the same floor as mine, but at the opposite end of the wing.
“Now I see why we stay in my bedroom,” I said, halting at the threshold. “This place is a disaster.”
He gave me a half-smile, his eyes flicking around the room. Clothes and towels were strewn across the floor and draped over a chair. In the next room, more clothes lay piled on one side of the bed. Mugs and books were scattered across the nightstand and desk.
A frame sat on the desk, its photo side turned down. The furniture matched the dark wood of my own room, but the blankets and cushions were deep grey and coal-coloured. A balcony connected to the room offered a view of the city below.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he said, sounding exhausted.
“I’ll let you bathe.” I turned toward the hallway.
“Would you stay?” he asked.
His voice was so unsure, as if he wasn’t used to asking for this. For company.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” I said, removing my cloak and shutting the door behind me.
He strode to the washroom, unclasped his own cloak, and tossed it onto the floor.
A white bathtub was already filling with water by the time I joined him and leaned against the wall tiles.
He stepped into the water and grabbed a bar of solid soap, scrubbing harshly at the stains on his shoulders. Tension radiated off him, leaving his skin red and raw.
Before I had time to second-guess myself, I was there, kneeling beside the tub and grabbing the soap from his hand.
“Let me do it before you scrub your skin off,” I said, firm yet gentle.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you going to bathe me?”
“You expect me to believe you didn’t ask me to stay for this reason?” I dipped the soap into the lukewarm water. “Lie back.”
Reagan’s mouth twitched, his gaze lingering on my face as I brushed the soap over a bloodstain on his shoulder, far softer than he’d been with himself.
He leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “Giving orders seems to come naturally to you,” he remarked.
I met his gaze. I had no idea what possessed me to offer to bathe him. It was a sudden urge I didn’t question, as if I could rinse away his misery along with the grime. And somehow, it seemed to work. His shoulders had relaxed.
I lathered the soap in my hands and smoothed it over his chest. Reagan’s gaze didn’t leave me.
“You wore that in the woods?” he asked, his eyes flicking to my cotton lawn dress, to the short silk sleeves, thin enough to see through.
“I didn’t exactly have time to change,” I replied, pursing my lips. “I was worried when you ran.”
He seemed to grip the edge of the tub before releasing it with a sigh.
“I’m sorry. It’s just...The wards should have worked. Every time I think a problem is resolved, it’s like I imagined it. It comes back again and again, no matter what I do. It shouldn’t be this bad. I’ve already—”
But he stopped himself, shoulders sagging.
“It wasn’t only you. Everyone thought they were working.”
“And yet, they failed, and Silas is tainted with a cursed existence. So much for my attempts.”
“So we keep looking for what’s breaking them. Maybe your patrollers can inspect the area.”
“The wards are on me,” he said, his voice taut with frustration. “For them to fail again, and for a decent man to die, it’s unforgivable. And now we’re left to deal with him in that cursed estate.”
My chest tightened as I watched him sigh, a hand dragging down his face. He knew all too well how it would feel.
