Page 103 of The Nymph King

A huff of a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Ellisar pushed himself upright and dragged one hand through his disheveled hair. The attempt made it worse. Several strands stood straight up near his brow.

Imani reached to brush some of them down before she could stop herself. He caught her wrist. “What are you doing?” his voice was a low rasp.

“Nothing.” She ripped her hand back.

“That is never true when you say it like that.”

“Your hair is rebellious in the morning.”

He flattened his palm over it, but the silver strands sprang back up when he pulled away.

She couldn’t help the small smile that touched her mouth. “Much better.”

Ellisar gave her a flat look. “You talk in your sleep.”

Her smile fell. “I do not.”

“You do.”

“What did I say?”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the robe draped over the chair. “I am not telling you.”

“Ellisar.”

“I value my life.”

“You are lying.”

“I am not.”

“What did I say?”

He glanced over his shoulder, amusement brightening his expression. “You threatened someone.”

She scoffed. “Oh, well, that proves absolutely nothing.”

“You were very specific.”

Imani pushed herself upright, gathering the sheet around her chest as her tangled hair spilled forward over one shoulder. “Who?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Convenient.”

“You also informed them they were incompetent.”

“That narrows it down considerably,” Imani said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

Ellisar laughed under his breath. The sound loosened the tightness in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rub her sternum.

The awkwardness was still there, of course. It lived in the pauses between sentences and in the fact that neither of them had yet mentioned the night before. She was acutely conscious of her bare shoulders, of his half-fastened robe, of how little distance separated the bed from the chair where he now stood. Everything had changed, yet the room itself looked offensively ordinary in the morning light.

Ellisar crossed to the door and spoke quietly to the servant stationed outside, ordering breakfast for two. When he returned, she was still on the bed, tucked into the swirling sheets, the crown’s petals blowing in the morning breeze from the cracked window.

“You ordered for me,” she said, picking at a loose string on the sheet.