Page 25 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Your things are in the drawer to your left,” he says, standing. Moving back to his desk. “All of them. Even the blade in your boot heel—clever, that.”

“You’re not concerned I’ll use them?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice.

“Should I be?” He tilts his head. His hair falls across one eye. He pushes it back absently. “You said you’re here to protect me. Besides, if I was worried, you’d still be in chains.”

The casual confidence is fucking irritating.

My glare turns murderous and I bare my teeth slightly. Garrett only scrubs at his temple like he’s the one developing a headache.

“About earlier… I assumed if you truly objected, you’d free yourself and we’d come to blows. But you stayed instead of putting a knife in my throat. Forgive me if I misread what you wanted.”

What kind of apology is that? If it even is an apology. I suppose that’s the closest thing to remorse I’m getting from him.

I grit my teeth and say nothing.

“You haven’t done it in a while,” he says suddenly.

Heat floods my face and I look away, focusing on the books lining the walls. Anything but the way the lamplight plays across his features. “It’s none of your business.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of him. His grin widens just enough to make me want to stab him.

Fuck him.

The sound of his amusement scrapes across my nerves. He straightens and puts a few steps between us before perching onto the edge of the desk, one leg swinging idly beneath him. “So… what do I do with you?”

The thought of the crypt flashes cold through my head. I think of cold underground cells and bodies no one comes looking for. The memory of what they did to Shade’s mother crawls across my skin. If I fail, they’ll drag me down there until someone decides what parts of me to carve off first.

“Let me protect you,” I say quickly.

Garrett drums his fingers once against the desk. “Tell me about my father’s instructions. The specific parameters of your mission.”

“Keep you alive for fifty days. Identify who wants you dead.”

He lets out a quiet huff of amusement. “Everyone wants me dead.”

“Not everyone,” I say.

“No?” He slides off the desk, moving closer. “Name someone who doesn’t.”

“Your parents.”

“My father hired an assassin to follow me without my knowledge. My mother knew and said nothing. That’s not exactly reassuring.” The words are edged with something dark.

He’s standing directly in front of my chair now. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Something about the angle and proximity makes my throat tight.

“The people in the market. They love you.” I point out.

He leans down, hands braced on the chair arms, caging me in. “They don’t know the real me.”

“Which is?”

Garrett’s mouth twitches faintly but he doesn’t answer. He’s close enough that I can see the flecks of darker gold in the sea of his green eyes.

“Your father thinks you’re in danger,” I try again. I can’t fail this.

“My father thinks a lot of things.” He doesn’t move back. If anything he leans closer. “He thinks I should marry, produce heirs, secure the family line. He thinks I should be less... ”

His mouth tightens before he finishes the sentence “…less myself.”