"What would your court think if they saw you like this?" I tease. "Why, they may take you for a servant."
"But I am. A servant of the kingdom of Ravelyn."
I can only snort.
Pots, pans, and utensils tidied,I stand awkwardly, having nothing left to do to occupy my hands or my mind. On impulse, I open the treat cupboard. The cookie jar rattles when I set it aside, so I check it and empty its contents in the trash. I wash my hands and with a grin, retrieve a smaller jar, filled with Grandma Lyn's candied violets.
She made them herself in their winter blooms and they can last several years.
The first taste of tangy sweetness is a trip down memory lane. "Want one?" I offer, with some reticence.
There must be a dozen blooms in the jar, and once they're gone, no one can make them again. I'm not much of a cook, but I should have asked my grandmother how to make my favorite things.
"I'm not fond of sweets."
His loss. "More for me," I delight, crunching a second in my teeth and sucking it over my tongue.
Just one more. I'll save the rest for later. I bring the next to my lip, and right before I can eat it, Zale takes my wrist in his iron grip.
My eyes widen as he brings his mouth to my fingers and takes the candy.
"I thought you didn't like sweets." Why do I sound breathless?
"I used to be one thing, hold certain habits, and never questioned them."He lets go of my hand. "I have no idea what I like."
His admission is multilayered; he's not talking about the sweets at all.
I don't pretend I don’t understand him."So just like that, in two days, you've decided you've changed?"
Zale's already close, and he takes another step toward me. "Not so much decided as accepted."
I welcome my indignation, clinging to it with all my might.
"So, what, I'm supposed to forgive you because you decided to stop behaving like a bastard for a hot second?"
"Forgiveness isn't what I'm after."
I don't get to ask him what he's after, because his mouth has crashed against mine and I can't form a coherent thought, let alone words.
CHAPTERFORTY
CIRCLES OF MADNESS
Two days ago, his kiss was almost unwilling, tentative at first. Now Zale takes my mouth like he has a right to it. Like it belongs to him. I let him.
I have the sense, and the strength, to stagger back. "No. You don't get to touch me because you've decided I'm worthy."
When he thought me nothing but a common, I disgusted him. Now, he has a theory to cling to explaining away my normalcy, and all of a sudden he's interested?
I take a step back at his approach, not trusting myself, and my back hits the stove.
"I don't want you because you're enhanced." He stops advancing, but brings his cold hand to my face, twining one of my curls around a finger. "I want you because you look like sin and taste like sunshine. I want you because you've ridden my dreams and nightmares since I first saw you. I'm sorry I fought you. I'm sorry I fought myself. You were always the same magnificent, perceptive, ridiculously bookish creature. The only difference is me."
His words are exactly what I've always wanted from him, this validation, the acknowledgement of my worth his scorn has denied me. For all that, I should still tell him it's far too little, much too late. He's wounded me again and again, going for the throat and when that failed, stabbing at my heart in his search for a weakness.
He is my enemy because he wished it so. Can my pride allow for him to decide that our fight is over now?
I'm already struggling to think, but his hand glides along my shoulders, then travel the length of my arm.