A dirty lock of hair slips over my cheek, reminding me that it’s been a while since I’ve washed it. I finger my hair thoughtfully. Bathing has been difficult. For the first week or two, I struggled with getting myself dressed, medicated and fed. There’s been no energy for anything else. I’m settling in now, though, and I’ve been giving myself quick sponge baths with cold water but it’s not the same as a nice, warm bath.

And I’m not ready to go to bed yet.

Excited at the prospect of a warm bath, even if it means a lot of work, I haul the tub out into the center of the kitchen and start pumping water into one of the pots to boil. I hang it over the fire and then eye my tinderbox. It’s nearly empty.

Maybe a cold bath, then, before my candle dies on me entirely.

I pour the water into the tub, then continue to fill it with pot after pot of water. It must be warm outside, because the water itself feels like a tepid bath. It’s surprising, given that the tower stays cool at all times. Because of the darkness and the stone insulating us from the sun? Not that speculating on the weather does me any good. I run my hand through the water, then tug at the laces of my dress, loosening them enough that the entire thing will slide off my shoulders. It pools onto the stone floor and next to go is my sweaty chemise. I kick off my slippers and get into the water, sinking low into the tub. It doesn’t quite cover my breasts and the water is definitely cool and my soap is upstairs, but it makes me feel a little more human again to bathe. I relax and drag handfuls of water over my skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice says.

Chapter

Twelve

Perhaps it’s only because I’m already on edge that I don’t jump at the sound of that growling, furious voice. Perhaps part of me suspected that he’d emerge out of the shadows the moment I got naked. It seems like something he’d do, just to try and rattle me. Whatever the reason, I remain calm, dragging another handful of water over my breasts. They thrust out of the water, uncovered and bare, and I wish I’d made my bath a little deeper, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. My heart flutters in my chest but I put on my courtier’s mask and give him a lazy, indolent look. “Bathing. What does it look like?”

The shadows blink at me, nothing but a pair of shining, narrowed green eyes in the darkness. I can just make out the outline of a hulking form, but he’s deliberately avoiding my candlelight, the bastard.

And he doesn’t respond to my question.

I lift one leg from the water, arching my toes. I’ve never bathed alone in the past, thanks to many, many servants always being around. In fact, I’ve even bathed with a lover before. Never the enemy, though. That’s a new one for me, and yet I’m not afraid. If he’s trying to intimidate me, he’s failing. I’ve got nothing left to lose. “Did you come here to watch me bathe? Should I put on a show?”

The Fellian growls, the sound vaguely irritated. “I came here to talk to you.”

“Did you?” I lower my leg and sink into the bath, making the water lap at my breasts. I’m not built tall and willowy like Erynne, where the delicate court fashions fit her perfectly. I’m rounded and plump everywhere, but I do have very nice, full breasts. In this, I feel confident. “I think you’re lying.” I drag a finger down through my cleavage. “You could have talked to me when I went upstairs. Surely you can hear me when I go up the stairs. It’s not as if I’m ever quiet or subtle about it. So I have to think that this was deliberate on your part. You wanted to surprise the lady in her bath.”

It’s strange, but I actually feel…safe? The conversation with Balon earlier made me realize that if this Fellian was as monstrous as he’s supposed to be, I’d have already been assaulted. He’s bigger than me and no doubt stronger. If he was going to attack me, he probably already would have. He might be interested in seeing my tits, but I can handle a peeper. A peeper only looks his fill.

Frankly, I’m bored enough to let him look.

“I’m not here to play your games,” the green-eyed shadow tells me.

Sure you’re not. I shrug and cup another handful of water over my breasts. Why is it that I feel in control of my situation and in my element for the first time since I’ve arrived to this hellish tower? Is it because he’s a man and I know how to manipulate men? Or have I truly lost my wits?

Both, I decide.

I continue to bathe myself, rubbing my limbs with the cool water. When I glance up, the shadowy form is still there. “For someone who claims he doesn’t want to play my games, you aren’t doing a very good job of convincing me.”

“You said I am not a man,” he all but snarls at me. “When you spoke to your friend, you implied I was not a man. You think I am a demon? A monster? A malevolent creature who will suck your soul out if you meet my gaze?” His tone changes to insulting and dismissive. “Like the rest of your backwards kingdom?”

“I confess I don’t know what you are,” I admit cheerfully. “Seeing as you’re always hiding in the shadows and looming. What am I supposed to think?”

“I think you’re an immodest, immoral creature.”

“Says the creature interrupting my bath,” I retort. “How many times have I interrupted yours?”

He snarls at me, his clothing rustling with an angry flap, and for a moment, I’m afraid. Whoever this Fellian is, he has a temper. And yet, he’s still here. Perhaps I’m not as safe as I thought. Goosebumps prickle over my skin and I rub them away with a brisk motion of my hand. He watches that motion, too, and when I look over, those green eyes are still watching me from the shadows.

I arch a brow in his direction. Well?

The eyes narrow and I get the impression that he’s angry at me. “We are a people of the shadows,” he finally says, tone stiff.

“Well, I am not,” I say, sitting up in the tub. It makes my wet breasts bounce and sway, and his gaze dips to them again. Truly, all men are the same wherever one goes. “So come into the candlelight if you’re going to talk to me,” I say. “Or else go away.”

I truly expect him to disappear. For those eyes to just wink out and vanish and to leave me alone with my bath.

Instead, the Fellian’s gaze hardens, his eyes gleaming bright, and he takes a step forward. Then another.

And he comes fully into the flickering light of my candle.

I swallow hard at the sight of him.

I’ve never seen a Fellian for myself. I know their kingdom exists on the edges of ours, and that there was once a thriving trade agreement back in the days when the Vestalin line was upon the throne. I’ve heard that the kingdom of Darkfell is mostly underground, inside hollow mountains and winding caves. I’ve also heard that they are devils, so hideous and unholy to look upon that they avoid the Absent God’s light. I always thought those were foolish rumors, but as the stranger steps forward, I realize that not all of the stories told are lies.

He does look like a monster.

The green eyes glittering in his face are the only hint of color, and even those are almost drowned by the black sclera that surround them. The Fellian seems to be made entirely of grays and blacks. His skin is nothing but deep gray muscle, and his features are not entirely human. His oversized hands are tipped with thick, deadly claws and his feet are bare, tipped with the same claws and formed awkwardly, a bit like an eagle’s. His knees bend backward, his thighs heavy and obscured by the leather kilt at his hips—the only piece of clothing he wears. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at me, and his upper body is far more massive than any human knight’s.

Not even his face is truly human. His features are hard planes, his nose large and prominent and jutting down from his heavy brow like a blade. His jaw is heavy, too, his mouth wide. If he was a sculpture, I’d say he’d been carved with a heavy, angry hand and instead of using soft marble, he went for unforgiving granite.