Page 28

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

A s she walked out the door, she left it open, allowing the flames inside to spill onto the snow. Loche stood a few steps away, veiled in darkness, only the outline of his body breaking through the night.

Hovering within the light that trickled from the house, Lessia bent down to scoop up some snow into her hands and carefully rubbed it across her raw neck. Red stained her fingers when she wiped off the melting snow, and she ground her teeth as the coldness stung her wounds.

“You can remove your tunic. I’ll turn around to give you privacy.”

Turning her head, she glared at Loche.

A jolt shook her as his moonlit eyes found hers, and she looked away.

“Not happening,” she muttered and continued to reach within her tunic to remove the blood that had streamed down her chest.

Even if it might be nice to get all that blood off her, she couldn’t risk him seeing the tattoo .

As regent, he would immediately know what it meant, and he wouldn’t just suspect her anymore.

He would know she was here because of her king.

Snow crunched when he took a step toward her. “Your body does not interest me, darling. No need to worry.”

Unable to stop herself from hissing, she straightened. “So why are you trying to make me take my shirt off?”

Amusement flickered across his face as he lifted his hands. “If you prefer to remain bloodstained the next few days, that’s fine by me. I’m freezing and as clean as I’ll get out here.”

Loche stepped around her to enter the house, and as he was about to close the door, she yelled, “Wait!”

With her pulse quickening, she sprinted the three steps into the light of the house.

A small wrinkle formed between his brows. “You still have blood on you.”

Forcing air into her lungs to try to calm her racing heart, she shut the door behind her and leaned against the wall. Lessia spread her shaking hands against the cool wood and bowed her head to stop him from seeing her struggle for breath.

“I’m freezing. I’ll clean the rest off tomorrow,” she got out.

With a sigh, Loche grabbed one of the cups off the wooden table and opened the door again.

After scooping some snow up from beneath the step, he pulled the door shut and walked up to her. “Let me.”

She warily eyed him as he closed the distance between them, his bare chest glistening from remnants of snow, small drops running down his sculpted stomach.

Halting right before her, Loche cast her a questioning glance.

For reasons unbeknownst to herself, she nodded .

“Tilt your head for me,” he said quietly, and a tingle danced down her spine.

Leaning her head back, she allowed him to brush snow across her neck.

Loche’s fingers were careful but assured as they wiped off the blood, and his gentle touch prickled her skin—not just where his fingers touched it but everywhere, and she let out a soft sigh when he tenderly traced her collarbone.

“All done,” he whispered.

But his fingers still traced over her skin, and their eyes locked as she bent her head again.

A pang shot through her chest when she realized his eyes were hooded and faint color tinted his high cheekbones.

Slowly shifting her gaze down to his fingers, she watched him draw tiny circles over her exposed skin, his hand leisurely trailing up toward her face.

Apprehension and something else tightened in her gut, but she didn’t stop him as he cupped her face and his thumb gently swept across her heated cheek.

A floorboard creaked above them, and Loche cleared his throat, stepped back, and headed for the table to set the cup down.

The thud of metal against wood woke her from the trance, and she made her way to the fire, shifting some branches to ensure it would continue burning.

Sitting in her usual spot, Lessia wiped off the last few drops of snow, but her body tensed when she sensed Loche come up behind her.

“Do you mind? The chairs are so damn uncomfortable.”

Glancing at him, she nodded when he gestured for the couch, then shifted her eyes to the fire as he sat in the creaking seat.

Lessia fidgeted with her tunic, unable to keep her eyes focused on the flames.

Loche seemed to have warmed up to her.

At least enough to care that she didn’t die from infection.

This might be the best chance she’d get to ask him what she needed to know.

“So—”

“I—”

Loche let out a raspy laugh when they started to speak at the same time, and as he shifted on the couch, she turned to face him, crossing her legs and leaning an arm on the cushion.

“You go first.” Lessia needed a little time anyway to figure out how to ask him about the things happening in Vastala without him getting more suspicious.

Dragging a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual, Loche eyed her.

“I won’t apologize for Craven. He is his own person and is accountable for his own actions.

But I am sorry for what you were called, and I’m sorry that even if we inform Frayson about what happened, there likely won’t be any repercussions for Craven because of what you are.

It’s despicable. And I’m truly sorry it’s something you’re probably quite used to. ”

Her brows flew up.

Out of everything she thought he would say, I’m sorry hadn’t even crossed her mind. Something warm filled her chest, and she offered him a half smile as she threw his own words from a few days ago back at him. “I’ve been called worse.”

Loche’s lip twitched. “So have I.”

Leaning her head on her arm, she observed him. “Why would anyone call you names? You’re the current regent. The majority of people in Ellow voted for you to win.”

He rolled his neck. “I wasn’t always regent. ”

Lessia remained quiet, and when Loche met her eyes again, his brows furrowed as if he was surprised he’d said anything, but then he shook his head.

“I was a bastard-born nobody, darling. It was a long road for me to get here. I’m from Islia, one of the remote islands in Ellow, near the Fae border.

My mother was a courtesan, and she didn’t have time—or money—for a child, so she threw me out on the streets, where I lived until I was old enough to enlist in the navy. ”

An ache tugged at her heart when Loche’s eyes flicked to the window for a moment, and something distant blazed in them, but his face quickly hardened again, his familiar smirk slipping across his lips. “I fought hard to get where I am. And I think I did pretty well.”

She almost reached out to squeeze his knee but stopped herself when his eyes narrowed on her lifted hand. Instead, she asked softly, “How did you become regent?”

Loche stiffened for a moment before he leaned forward and bore his eyes into hers. “Are you trying to trick me into spilling my secrets?”

Shaking her head, she began to respond, but Loche interrupted her, his foot tapping the floor. “I told you. I have many secrets, and I’m not one to share, especially not how I became regent with another nominee.”

She tried for a smile. “Understood.”

When Loche remained silent, she drew a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking of what you told me earlier… about the missing ships and people. Do you know who is behind it?”

She held her breath, barely daring to cast a glance at him, when his leg stilled.

Loche trailed his gaze over her face, brows pinching. “Why do you want to know?”

Picking at the couch cushion, she mumbled, “I am running for regent. I think it’s important to know what’s happening in Ellow and beyond.”

Loche continued to eye her, and she thought he might get up and leave when he finally sighed, something she couldn’t read flashing across his face.

“We don’t know. We suspect it might be pirates from some of the isles not under Ellow’s or Vastala’s rule.

They’ve been a problem for years and continue to get bolder. ”

As he averted his eyes, a sinking feeling told her he wasn’t telling the truth.

Or at least not everything he knew.

The couch creaked as Loche lay down across it, his long legs hanging over the armrest. “I’ll sleep down here tonight.”

When Lessia frowned at him, he gave her a lazy wink. “My tunic is wet, remember? It’s still quite cold in my room, and I helped keep this fire going. I should think it’s only fair.”

Shifting to sit with her back against the couch, she grumbled to herself.

But as her eyelids grew heavy, a feeling of relief whispered over her skin.

At least Craven wouldn’t try anything with Loche here.