Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I grip her shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “You’re panicking, not suffocating. There’s nothing wrong with your airway. Breathe, Elsie.”
“I want—” She sucks in a breath. “I need to get out.”
“I’ll take you out,” I say against my better judgment, willing to promise anything to get rid of the pressure that squeezes like a band around my chest. “But you have to calm down first.”
That does the trick. She inhales deeply.
“That’s it,” I croon, rubbing her arms in a soothing caress.
“Really?” she asks, searching my face. “You won’t lock me up in here again?”
That’s not a promise I can keep, so I change the subject. “You can’t go out wearing nothing but my jacket. I had the trunk filled with clothes that’ll fit you. While you get ready, I’ll fetch breakfast. We can eat it outside.” I slide my palm up to the soft curve of her shoulder. “How does that sound?”
“What happened last night? Why did someone try to poison me?”
Fury rises inside me at the mere thought, shaking the window in its frame. I tamp down the rage with much effort. “I’ll find out who’s guilty.”
“That’s called deflection,” she says, narrowing her pretty eyes. “You’re not answering my question.”
I grit my teeth, not because I don’t want to tell her but because I shouldn’t dare it until I have a handle on my anger. The wall of the banquet hall is cracked in two because I couldn’t control my anger, and I’ve yet to fix it. I’ve lost control a lot since Elsie’s arrival, and it’s not helping the rumors.
“I see.” She bobs her head. “I’m clearly on a need-to-know basis. But if that poisoning stunt proves anything, it’s that I shouldn’t be here.”
“Don’t mention the assassination attempt again,” I say in a measured tone. “Not now. Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”
She glances at the rattling pink-stained panes in the window frame and quickly clamps her lips together.
My order is brusque. “Get dressed.”
The sight of her wearing my jacket stokes a possessive part of me, and that part wants to continue right where we left off last night.
“I need a bath.” Her cheeks flush. “And other bathroom ablutions.”
I let the wall obscuring the archway to the cleansing room dissolve, reminding myself to leave the entrance open in the future. I shouldn’t forget that Elsie is unfamiliar with the abilities and functions every Alit takes for granted. “You’ll find everything you need in there.” I motion at the ledge built into the wall. “I left a new comb and tooth-cleaning brush on the shelf.”
She gives the empty pool a speculative glance. “There are no faucets.”
“Faucets?”
“For water.”
Ah. Of course. Even a child knows how to run a bath. But this is another example of why it’s important to remain conscious of Elsie’s limitations.
It’s easy enough to open a small hole in the pool’s stone bottom. Water bubbles through the hole.
She stares at the pool that’s quickly filling up. “How does that work?”
I seal the hole when the pool is full. “The palace is fed by arteries of water that run beneath the surface. Thanks to the volcano that heats it, the water is warm.”
“Is that why it has healing powers—because the water absorbs minerals from the soil?”
If my explanation is curt, it’s because I’m suppressing a very enticing mental image of my naked mate in the water. “It has healing powers because we add special salts to the water.” I continue in a clipped tone, “Don’t linger too long. I’ll be back soon.”
Before it’s too late to salvage the little that remains of my willpower, I leave the rooms, seal the exit, and stomp down the hallway.
The cooks and bakers gape when I walk into the kitchen where breakfast is being prepared. Last night, we fed small chunks of all the reserves in the pantry to the flock of spiked lizards that roam the palace, and none of them dropped dead. To be on the safe side, I had fresh produce brought from the village this morning and locked it in a cooling room that only I can open.
Under the astonished stares of the kitchen staff, I make quick work of preparing a basket.
Elsie is pacing in front of the window when I return. She’s wearing one of the dresses I left for her. The fabric is the color of dusk and ashes, which brings out the sunset glow of her hair and the vibrant blue-green of her eyes. She’s paired it with simple satin slippers that peek out from under the long skirt. The bodice hangs loose on her slender frame, the back unlaced.
Of course.
Women require maids to help them string and tie the laces.
Elsie spins around when the archway closes behind me.
I leave the basket on the dresser and advance slowly. “Turn around.”
“I…” She remains glued to the spot. “Why?”