I press a hand over my mouth as I come hard, falling apart on his hand, clinging to his strong shoulders like a sailor tossed over board.
When my breathing slows, he asks, “Did I do well, my love?”
I open my eyes and run my hand through his hair. “You did so well, Malric.”
He shudders at my praise, a moan escaping him that I did not expect.
“You like it when I praise you?” I ask teasingly.
His eyes open, and the emotions in there are a sight to behold. “Oh yes, I do,” he says simply and kisses me again.
“Hmmm, I guess I will have to—” Before I can finish my sentence, I hear people outside the door. Malric quickly moves behind it, just as it is being opened.
Two maids stand in the doorway, surprise written all over their faces as they see me. “Forgive us, Your Majesty, we had no idea we’d find you in…the laundry room,” one of them exclaims.
I smooth a hand over my skirts.
“Please do not worry, I sometimes come here to calm my nerves. There is so much hustle and bustle in the palace because of the celebration, I simply needed a quiet room to think.”
The maids bow and leave. I follow them and simply hope that Ashford can escape before the maids return.
Chapter 34
Ihave nearly reached the end of the corridor when I see Charles. He is speaking to a steward, who bows quickly and disappears the moment Charles notices me.
He looks at me with an expression I cannot immediately name.
“You seem well,” he says, approaching. “Better than this morning.”
“I am,” I reply. “The air helped.”
His gaze lingers on my face, then lower, as though he is assessing something beyond my appearance.
“You look flushed,” he adds.
“I have been walking.”
He reaches for me, intending to kiss me as he often does when he feels watched by others. There is no one here now, but habit persists.
I turn my head slightly. Not enough to insult, but enough to avoid him.
His hand pauses in midair. “For how long,” he asks quietly, “do you intend to keep me at arm’s length?”
“I have not kept you anywhere,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I have been recovering.”
“For nearly a week?” His tone is still calm, too calm.
“I do not wish to fall ill again before the ball,” I answer.
“You deny me,” he says. It is not loud or angry, but wounded.
The ring begins to warm. At first, it is subtle, a faint heat beneath the metal. Charles notices my stillness.
“Who is he?” he asks. The question comes out without preamble.
“What do you mean?” I stall, my voice shaky. It is the wrong thing to say.
The heat of the ring sharpens suddenly, searing against my skin. I cannot suppress the small intake of breath.
