Page 48

My skin tinges pink from the heat of the spray, and I jerk my face to the side, the scalding water burning my neck.

“Do you understand me?”

I nod, my breath hitching.

He lets go, and for a second, I can’t move. My body leans heavily against the tile with water sluicing over me.

He waits until I turn around before fixing the water temperature. “There’s soap in the niche.”

A whimper threatens to escape me, and I peek over my shoulder, watching him strip off his drenched clothes. Damp hair falls across his face, droplets glinting down his neck, slicing through the hard planes of his chest. His wet shirt lands on the floor with a slap. My eyes skitter away, heat rising in my cheeks.

I’ve changed in crowded barns, washed in rivers with a dozen eyes on me. I was stripped and humiliated at the blood bank and again in front of King Zander and his guards, but trying to fight for my dignity in this broken world comes at a grave cost. I have told myself stubbornly a million times that I don’t care about nudity, but this feels far more intimate than it should.

When he notices my stare lingering on his bare chest, he steps forward. I take a step back, tucking my arms over my breasts. His eyes don’t wander from mine as he approaches, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and yanks me closer.

A whimper escapes me, and his eyes lock onto mine as he drags my underwear down my legs. Slowly. Very slowly.

“Step out of them,” he growls.

I look away, face burning, and lift one foot, gripping his shoulder as I shift my weight to do the other. He tosses them out of the shower stall while I fight the urge to knee him in the face.

I wish I could say I don’t feel exposed, but I do, especially when I peer down to find him taking in every inch of me. Water streams down my back, washing grime and blood away in pink swirls as his hands move up my legs, igniting goose bumps in their wake.

Vulnerable is too weak of a word for this feeling. The cold tile. His hard gaze. My own skin, blotched with bruises and cuts I barely felt earlier. I’m more self-conscious now than ever before.

As I turn my back, he sighs and quickly rises, stepping back out of the shower. He doesn’t leave me to wash alone, he strips out of his wet pants before stepping back in.

The soap I find is gritty and rough against my ruined skin. Each touch stings, but I keep scrubbing, desperate to be done and fully clothed again.

When I peek over my shoulder, his eyes are fixed on my back with a murderous expression.

His finger traces one of the thickest scars down my spine, making me jump.

“Who did this to you?”

“I’m a servant,” I remind him.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“My old madam.” I wish he would just drop it and go back to his brooding silence. It’s not a memory I enjoy reliving.

“The one from where we found you?”

I shake my head. “No, Claudia was mostly good to us.”

“Why are there so many?”

I grit my teeth, not wanting to answer, but he grips my shoulder and spins me to face him. The movement is sudden enough that I nearly slip on the slick tiles.

He’s close, far too close. His body is a solid wall of heat. I push his chest, trying to create space between us, and my gaze drops, tracing the hard lines of muscle down to his abs.

The top of my head only comes to the center of his chest, and I’m acutely aware of how much bigger and stronger he is than me. He could pin me down if he wanted.

My heart stutters, caught between fear and a treacherous pull I would rather not acknowledge. Being this close to him is overwhelming. His scent, his warmth, the way his presence presses in on me until there’s no space left to think.

I force my eyes away, heat flooding my face, ashamed of the way my body reacts. Nervous energy thrums through me, every inch of my body alive, every breath shallow.

“You must have done something terrible to deserve that.”