For What is Bought in Blood

Spoiled Brat

Reagan wrings his hands and stands at the foot of the bed, looking anywhere but at me. I keep my eyes on him, his obvious discomfort leaving me hesitant. His trunks lay near the door, not a single sign of unpacking present. The bathing chamber door is ajar with an inviting basket of fresh soaps at the foot of the tub. Tempting, but seemingly missed by the current guest of the room. Either he was late to arrive and did not require to freshen up, or he did so elsewhere. I do not remember his face from my formal introduction today, which might support his true residence being elsewhere.

This chamber was not made for a visitor of nobility. The private bathing chamber may suggest an air of importance, but truly it is meant for secrecy. We are in the bottom floor of the castle as well, tucked next to the servant's quarters. Any noise made in this room would be muffled long before it reached suspicious ears.

While I am not sure if other rooms were taken, it does pique my interest that this room was chosen for Reagan. Are there truly enough extra men in the castle to fill the other rooms? Or, better yet, did Reagan request privacy?

If he knew the layout of the castle to know how private this area is, he would not be so anxious to have me here. It must truly be chance that this room was given to him, or someone else had plans for him here.

Reagan clears his throat, making me aware of the daze that had consumed me. I had not lied about being tired upon making my exit from dinner, but it seems I still underestimated it. Now with my full attention, he places his hands behind his back and widens his stance. I can feel the dominance flowing from him. It seems whatever anxious beast previously within this room has been slayed.

"Princess, I..." he swallows and starts again, much quieter this time.

"I do not believe you should be in here, as previously discussed. While I am thrilled at the idea of assistance for my people, I cannot risk the shame this could bring upon our families if discovered."

I smile gently, setting my back against the rough wooden headboard of the bed. It is possible my relaxed nature in his room is not helping his mood, but appearing casual is the only way I can think of to counteract his hesitancy.

"My Lord, if someone found us here, you would be killed. No word would spread, except for that of your unexpected ambush by rebels on the journey home." I close my eyes, dreaming of the dreadful letter Ervan would write to notify Reagan's family. So much false pity and fabricated sympathies.

"If you're done threatening me, I'd love for you to leave." I raise an eyebrow, partially shocked by his boldness. Contempt drips from him like dew on maple leaves when our eyes meet, and I suddenly know why he does not wish to be discovered.

I stand, walking towards him with sure footsteps. The power and royal confidence proceeds every step, causing them to pound the floor with force. Green eyes track my movements with disgust.

"You can fake it in front of the other men all you like, boy," I sneer, pressing a manicured nail into his chest. He looks down at me through his lower lashes, not bothering to tilt his head down.

"You think I am disgusting. You think I sit in this pretty castle and bitch, despite being handed everything. You think the royal family is weak," no emotion passes his face. A true Lord would deny it, profess his loyalty to me while on his knees. Reagan does not falter. I dig my finger deeper, feeling my nail stop at his sternum.

"You came here to save something your father started. I am only doing the same."

He snatches my hand and pulls, dragging me towards him. To avoid pain, I let him pull me in close. I am met with a full set of bared teeth and a painful grip on my wrist.