Page 57 of Contested Crown

For a moment, I thought he might still be asleep, that his subconscious was searching for warmth and comfort. Then he spoke, voice barely a brush of air against my flesh.

“Are we always going to be in danger? Can we never just rest?” The words were a plea, and I wanted to comfort him, wanted to give him the reassurance that soon we would be safe.

Instead, I turned, my back exposed to whatever threats House Morrison had for us. I pulled him close, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and leaning down to press my nose into his hair.

* * *

The next morning, three quick raps woke us. We were instantly awake, leaping off the bed, Cade’s hands covered in complicated, shifting tattoos.

I expected to feel the loss of my wolf, but instead, all I felt was anger, my fists tight, every part of my body ready for a fight.

I went to the door, opening it to a cheerful woman. Her head came to my chest, and her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail on the top of her head.

“Consort Bartlett! Good! You two are up! I’m supposed to bring you to breakfast and then training.” Her smile dimmed at my expression.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Six?” Her tone went up at the end, eyes blinking rapidly. “Were you two still asleep?”

I glanced across the hall, but our guard had been replaced by someone new, who was glaring at me like I was filth beneath his shoe.

“Well, we’re up now. Give us a minute to get dressed.” I shut the door firmly on her newly bright smile.

“So, apparently, they don’t believe in days of rest here,” I grumbled. “They might not even believe in weekends.”

“I’m sure they do believe in weekends. Those are their double-down days. Twice as many exercises, twice as long a distance to run.” Cade pulled off his sleep shirt, revealing swaths of pale flesh.

I had to swallow, staring at the exposed skin. Without tattoos, he looked even more naked than before. As the ink flowed up his arms, resettling around his heart, I admired the functionality of it, the sharp edges, the lines that could hurt.

My wrist burned, and when I looked down, I remembered that he had left me with some of that defensive power. The line of daggers around my wrist twisted up my arm until it settled around my bicep, a reminder.

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, staring at myself in the mirror. I’d shaved the night before, and for the first time in days, I looked more like myself and less like a hairier, more violent person.

Back in the bedroom, Cade was examining the clothing in the closet.

“Is it clean?” I didn’t mean laundered.

“I can’t detect any spellwork on it,” he said. Still, his lips twisted to the side when he handed over a shirt.

“Well, it’s not something that Rhys could have done. These definitely would have been more fashionable if they did it.” I pulled on the shirt, a dark V-neck that had enough give to be flexible while being snug enough that I felt on display. The jeans were similarly functional.

When we finally reopened the door, our guide jumped to attention from where she had been resting next to the doorframe.

“This way!” she chirped happily, heading down the hall. Our guard stayed behind, and I hoped that when they searched the room, they assumed the box of mementos was just that. No need to go looking further into who the people in the picture were.

She led us directly to the cafeteria, which was mostly full, despite the hour. Breakfast was served from a line of chefs, all wearing House Morrison crests. Fruit, oatmeal, a patty that was supposed to be sausage but smelled plant-based.

“What’s your name?” I asked, interrupting her explanation of the contents of the oatmeal.

“Nicole!” She tried to offer over her hand but fumbled her tray and was forced to wait until we were at the table she’d chosen. “And you’re Consort Bartlett and Prince Bartlett.”

She bowed her head low but not quite the full bow she would probably give to her own king.

“Call me Miles.” I glanced significantly at Cade, remembering how chilly he was with members of his own house.

He blinked, swallowing as he put his tray down on the table, taking the seat. “Please call me Cade.”

His tone was slightly formal, but it was definitely progress. If we wanted out of House Morrison, we would need help. If Cade decided to become King Morrison, he would need allies.