More Than Meets the Eye

Chapter Three

Arielle stood in the corridor, staring up at the closed door to Thorin's chambers. Black dots danced before her eyes because she kept forgetting to breathe. The sounds of movement floated through that blasted door. He was in there. Waiting for her.

Not waiting for you, you ninny. He's waiting for Elen.

Curse you, Elen. I will get you for this. I don't know how, I just know I will.

Was she supposed to knock? Or did he expect her to just walk into his private chambers? Why hadn't anyone told her?

Her hand shook as she lifted it and when she did knock, she practically punched the door in her nervousness. Pain radiated along the back of her hand, she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from yelping, but bit harder than she'd meant to as well, so she yelped just the same.

"Elen?" The door opened and Thorin stood there, thankfully completely dressed, with a puzzled look on his face. "Is everything all right?"

She nodded. "It's fine. Just first-day nerves, is all. I've never been a valet before, you understand, and I am not exactly certain what I was supposed to do at the door. I didn't know if I should knock or just come in and I'd hate to have startled you or broken some sort of sacred dwarf protocol or something of that sort, so I just rather, well... punched your door."

The only thing that stopped her insane rambling was her need to breathe, and she winced as she did just that. "I beg your pardon, of course."

He arched one brow. "You punched my door?"

She nodded. "I didn't break it or anything because I don't hit nearly hard enough to crack stone or wood or anything like that, but I still—"

He caught her by the shoulders. "Easy, lad, before you pass out. And to be honest, I barely understood a word of that jumble. Do you always talk so much?"

Her back stiffened at the fingers tight on her shoulders. His hands were massive. Almost scary-massive. She shuddered to think what he could do with them, if irritated or angered enough, and she certainly had no desire to find out. "I beg your pardon again. I'm nervous."

"I can see that." He broke contact, stepping away from her. "Knocking is perfectly acceptable and I'd prefer it to you simply coming in."

"As would I, Your Highness."

"Your High—" He shook his head and to her surprise, laughed. "I suppose it's my turn to beg your pardon now, but I'd rather not be addressed that way. Not Your Highness, no Your Majesty or anything of that sort, either. I'm not even used to being king yet, never mind being addressed as one."

"Well, I certainly cannot simply call you Thorin now, can I?" she blurted, then winced. You are going to find yourself tossed bodily out of here, ninny. Perhaps by way of the roof, if you aren't careful.

"Well, it is my name."

"But I cannot do that at all. It isn't right."

He sighed, and there was more than a little weariness woven into it. "No, I don't suppose it is. But, a compromise, perhaps. Thorin when we are here, and whatever title you prefer when others are around."

She nodded. "If you insist."

"I do, actually. Now," he turned away from her. "It's late and I would like to bathe, so if you would draw a bath for me, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course." She moved around him, but then paused. "Which way—"

"To your left."

"Ah, thank you." She ducked her head as her cheeks went hot again, and stepped into his bathing chamber to draw the bath he'd requested.