The stalwart form of Patrulha sat across from the prince. Clarysa noticed the captain kept stealing glances at him. Clarysa studied her in between bites, noting her chiseled bare arms and broad shoulders. Black leather bands circled both wrists. Her hair was the same color as Gretchen’s, though tamer, and still damp from the falling snow. She, too, bore the spectral pallor of one who languished far beyond the sun’s rays. Clarysa wanted to ask how she had lost her eye but ultimately thought it best to hold her tongue.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” Patrulha turned on her sharply and pounded the table. The boisterous group fell silent.
Clarysa blushed again, mumbling an apology.
Patrulha’s eye narrowed. With a final, quick glance toward Stellan, she abruptly stormed off in a huff. For a few awkward moments, no one spoke.
“Eh, don’t mind her,” said Hunter. “She’s had a chip on her shoulder long as I can remember.”
Clarysa dared not look up. Surely everyone at the table could feel the waves of heat emanating from her flushed cheeks. Alienating Stellan’s captain of the guard was hardly a way to make a good first impression. She finished the rest of her meal in silence.
An hour later, the last bite was consumed and the last of the table wine drained. Clarysa looked around with surprise as the men helped clean up. They carried plates into the kitchen, wiped down the table and mopped the floor.
A hand cupped her elbow. “Come with me,” Stellan said.
He led her to a private study, away from the noise and smoke. A comforting fire burned in the grate. The intimate chamber had better furnishings than the other rooms Clarysa had seen. Antique decorations lined the shelves, and tapestries hung on each wall. A plush crimson rug with silver embroidery drew the eye to the center of the room.
Stellan carried a jug of wine and two goblets. He filled one and gave it to her before pouring another for himself. Then he stretched out on the room’s red settee, one knee raised while the other dangled off the side. Clarysa watched his languid, sensuous movement with prurient interest. Stellan’s body lay open before her, like a book. Was it an invitation, or the alcohol speaking for him? She settled into a stuffed velvet chair to calm the butterflies in her stomach, sipping sparingly.
Neither one spoke at first. Clarysa remembered her apron and took it off. Stellan was staring at her from beneath drowsy eyelids. “Is something wrong?”
“Where did you get the dress?” His voice sounded dulcet, low–and slurred.
“Upstairs. From the royal suite. Is…that all right?”
Stellan nodded, staring at her. But he wasn’t looking at her face. As a vigorous heat spread across the exposed skin of her chest, she ached for the cool touch of his strong, graceful fingers to follow. But his attention shifted back to his wine.
Clarysa heard a yip, and then a large white wolf appeared from behind the settee. It bypassed Stellan and sniffed around Clarysa’s feet.
“How lovely!” she cried, reaching out to stroke its fur. She rubbed its cheeks and gazed closely into its light gray eyes. “There are some tasty bones for you in the kitchen. Have you tried them yet?” The animal licked her hand. Clarysa looked up and smiled. “What’s its name?”
Stellan smirked. “Wolf.”
Clarysa winked. “With an ‘e,’ of course!”
“I’m only going to say yes because I haven’t the energy to go running after you again.” A brief smile graced his lips. “Anyway, I suppose you’d like to hear about what happened.”
Clarysa raised a hand to her face. “Oh, yes, of course! Did you find Edward and Lionel? Was anyone hurt?”
Stellan shook his head. “To answer your questions, yes, and no, not in great numbers. We tracked down and destroyed as many of the infected as we could find. I advised Edward to increase security and alert healers across the kingdom. I’ll do what I can in the way of future patrols.”
“Thank you, Stellan. I’m indebted to you.”
Stellan absentmindedly scratched Wolfe behind his ears. “No thanks needed. By the way, Lionel sends his greetings. He said you’re very brave.”
“Really?”
“Really. He also said after the King is through punishing you, he’s got a few consequences of his own to administer.”
Clarysa laughed nervously. “He’s joking.”
Stellan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. They were sick with worry, Clarysa.”
Anxiety tightened her throat. “But I was only trying to help! What else could I have done?”
“You were right to contact me. But you chose the most dangerous way possible.” Stellan put down his goblet. He knelt before her, studying her face by the light of the fire.
Fingertips pressed at her cheeks and neck, the gentlest of massages. So close to him, Clarysa saw details she hadn’t noticed before. A pale scar across his left cheekbone. Flecks of gold in his emerald eyes. The sharp slant of his nose. She tasted the wine on his breath as it purred between slightly parted lips. Lips she desperately wanted pressed against hers.
After a few moments, he murmured a hoarse, “How are you feeling?”
Clarysa swallowed, feeling nervous and excited at the same time. His innocent, nurturing touches shouldn’t have caused pulsing swirls of heat between her thighs, but they did. “All better, thanks to you. I did everything you said.”
Stellan nodded his approval. His hands lingered against her skin. Their faces seemed only a hairsbreadth apart. She heard his breath quicken, or was it hers? Then his head angled to the right. Moisture exploded in her mouth. This was it. He was going to kiss her.
A flicker of desire ignited Stellan’s eyes, though he fought to keep them open.
Clarysa pulled back with a start and gazed at him sympathetically. He’s exhausted. Alas, it was time for more practical action. “You should get some sleep,” she said firmly, trying to mask her disappointment. “You can tell me the rest tomorrow.”
Stellan sighed, and some of the paleness returned to his cheeks. “That
