But my deepest secret was one I could never dare speak of.
Stepping closer, I reached for his pauldron, but he brushed my hand away and stood. "Ladies should have the bath first. I'll give you some privacy. If you need me, I'll be pulling all this off in the other room." Grimacing, he reached for the straps of his chestplate.
"You've already seen all I have to offer," I blurted out, gesturing to my wound. "You can stay."
Reese froze, gaze fixed on my face.
I turned, horrified. Not even the village idiot would think I'd been doing anything but flirting.
"Besides.” I cleared my throat. "Bathing with this wound will be a pain. I could use a hand."
A moment of agonizing silence passed before he answered. "You never did get to enjoy the benefits of my servitude, I suppose." He turned his back, hiding his wicked smile. "At least suds up the water, lest you kill every religious soul in the country."
I chortled, grabbed a bar of soap, and dipped it into the water. Aenir folk weren't half as prudish as our neighbors. Of those in the Forlaith alliance, we were still the youngest. The Empire's strict religion had only bound us for as long as I'd lived.
Father had once told me of the festivals thrown beneath branches strung with lights. Young men gathered before shrines of the Hunt Saint and invoked its blessing before chasing the women they were courting. A faint smile had touched his lips as he described the giggles dancing through the trees as women fled their men, of my mother and how she effortlessly slipped away before reappearing to offer a new challenge.
Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the bath and sank into the water. A tiny voice at the back of my head chided me. It sounded an awful lot like Liam.
‘You idiot. What are you doing? Stop.’
Too late. I would have been a disappointment at the Hunt Saint's festival, offering myself up on a platter rather than playing coy and dancing away.
The last of Reese's armor hit the floor. He walked to the head of the tub and rolled his sleeves up over his elbows. I pointed to a nearby pitcher and held up the bar of soap.
"Here you are, serving boy."
He snatched the soap from me. "You're lucky you're injured."
Closing my eyes, I leaned back as he poured a pitcher of warm water over my hair and lathered soap through it. His fingers were warm and gentle.
It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever experienced.
He chuckled softly. "Enjoying yourself?"
"A little to the right," I murmured.
"Anything for you, Sunshine."
His coy tone made my mind wander elsewhere—even if I were too injured for such activities.
Shoving the improper thoughts away, I lingered on the magic surging in his prosthetic arm, the myriad stories burned in his past.
"I feel so uninteresting, next to you,” I mused. "I've spent most of my life doing nothing. Being nobody." My eyes flew open. "I have no idea why Cierthine picked me."
"Really?" Reese tilted his head, trying to meet my eye. I avoided it. "I pictured you spending your days dancing at balls and attending grand theatres."
"Well, yes. But none of that really matters."
That wasn't true. It had meant everything back then. Appearances, luxury, and noblemen I could court.
In the face of death and war, it felt meaningless. Frivolous.
Warm water poured over me, washing the soap from my hair.
"From the moment I met you." Reese ran his fingers through my hair, combing the soap out. "I've understood exactly why it chose you. Maybe one day, you'll see it, too." He leaned on the tub. "I still feel like I don't know much about you, though."
"What, the little things buried beneath my titles?" I shot him a sour glare. "You're one to talk." Before he could respond, I thought of something to say. "I adore the color purple. I tried to learn the flute as a child, but I was terrible at it. Happy?"
