“Yes, my lord.” Nissa set the basket on the floor, then backed out and shut the door.
The room grew dim and Gwennore took a deep breath. They were alone again. In bed.
With a gasp, she suddenly remembered the dagger underneath her pillow. Why hadn’t she thought of that last night? She could have used it to chase Silas away. Why hadn’t she? Had she been too busy eyeing his chest?
“Is something wrong?” he whispered.
“I just recalled I have a knife under my pillow.”
“Ah. I guess I’m lucky I survived the night.”
She nodded. “I missed my chance.”
“What a shame. But there’s always tomorrow.”
“What? You intend to come back?”
“Of course.” He leaned over her and stroked her cheek. “How could I resist?”
She pushed his hand away. “Don’t tempt me.”
“To do what? Kiss?”
“No. To use the dagger.”
With a chuckle, he sat up. “So is it the one from Lord Romak?”
“No.” She motioned toward her bedside table. “That one is in the drawer.”
“Holy Light, snookums. How many knives do you have?”
“Keep calling me that and you’ll find out.”
With a smile, he stretched out beside her. “I enjoy being with you, Gwen.”
Her face grew warm. Goddesses help her, she enjoyed his company, too. But there was no future for her here. Only heartbreak if she fell for him. “We should be focusing on our mission. Instead you keep wasting time, trying to prove a fake relationship with embarrassing scenes.”
There was an awkward silence, then he scooted across the bed. “Since you find our fake relationship embarrassing, I’ll be on my way.”
She winced. Had she hurt his feelings? “It’s not you that embarrasses me. Well, the snookums stuff is a bit embarrassing, but the real problem is the fact that everyone thinks I’m … that I’m…”
“Having the best sex in your life five times a day?”
She huffed. “You must think highly of yourself.”
“I have to. I keep getting rejected, and it’s crushing me.”
“I—we hardly know each other. How can I be hurting you that badly?”
He was silent for a moment, sitting at the edge of the bed. “That is a good question.”
A few more awkward minutes passed, then Gwennore said, “Please understand. I was raised in a convent. I have no experience with men. So it is only natural that I would be embarrassed for people to think I’m behaving in a wanton manner.”
He nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Thank you.”
“But we have a saying in Norveshka that the chicken has already been plucked. Meaning the feathers can’t be put back on. It’s too late now to convince people that we’re not…”
“Copulating?”
His mouth twitched. “That’s a nicer word than I was going to use. But I like the way you talk.”
She snorted. “Because my speech is archaic?”
“Because it’s one more reason for me to think you’re beautiful.”
Her gaze met his, and for a few seconds, it felt like the air was sizzling between them. It made her feel hot, breathless, and … needy. As if she desperately needed something.
“I’ll get the fire going.” He tossed back the covers to get out of bed.
She turned away, fanning herself. Good goddesses, but the fire had already started. When he picked up the basket of firewood, she ventured a quick glance at him. Long muscular legs. White linen underpants that clung to the contour of his buttocks.
Don’t look. She pulled the sheet up to her brow and listened to the sound of him working by the hearth.
After only a minute, the room flooded with light, and she lowered the sheet. There was a blazing fire in the hearth, and he had put on his breeches and pulled open the curtains.
“How?” She glanced at the fire. “How did you get it going so quickly?”
“I’m good with fire.” He scooped his shirt off the carpet and strode toward her. “I’ll see you at the midday meal in the Great Hall, all right?”
She nodded, her eyes widening now that she was seeing his bare chest in full daylight. There were indeed some interesting ridges across his abdomen. The battle scars she’d discerned during her reading were there. One on the shoulder and one below his ribs.
And the tattoo was there on his left shoulder. Goodness, it was big. “Is that a dragon?”
He glanced down at it. “Yes.”
“You had it done because you can communicate with the dragons?”
He motioned to a bell pull by her bed. “That’s attached to a bell in the small room next door. Your maid’s room. She can help you get dressed.” His mouth curled up. “Unless you’d prefer my help.”
She scoffed. “You may go.”
With a sigh, he trudged toward her dressing room and his rooms that lay on the other side. “Rejected again.”
* * *
After shaving and getting dressed, Silas hurried to the Great Hall, where only a few courtiers were having breakfast. Most of them were sleeping late, since last night’s dance had kept them up well past midnight.
He helped himself to some eggs, ham, and bread with jam at the buffet table, then sat across from Dimitri at a small table.
Dimitri shot him a wry look. “Congratulations.”
“Why?” Silas took a big bite of eggs.
“You’ve become a legend due to your phenomenal performance in bed.”
Silas choked, then managed to swallow, his eyes watering. “What?”
“You survived the night in Lady Gwennore’s bed,” Dimitri muttered. “So the servants have spread the word that you avoided being stabbed to death by wearing the poor woman out. Now they’re laying bets on whether she’ll be able to walk.”
Silas coughed, then quickly downed a cup of cider. “I barely touched her.”
“But you did climb into her bed,” Dimitri grumbled. “You barely know the woman. What the hell are you doing?”
Silas scoffed. “Are you my mother?”
“If you care about her at all, stay away from her. You know what happens to women who marry into the Three Cursed Clans.”
Silas sat back. “Who said anything about marriage?”
Dimitri grimaced. “Don’t fall for her, all right?”
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Silas spread some strawberry jam on his bread. He’d always been careful in the past
