Page 63 of Born for Silk
“Fuck,” he mutters, thrusting his hands through his hair and dragging them down his face as if to tear at his thoughts. “You missed dinner, too.”
That is what he has to say?
I missed dinner?
I sit in confused silence, and my soul is not as content with him as it was with the queen.
Nope.
It is on fire.
When he finally turns to stare at me, my shoulders fall to behold the regret in his blue gaze.
I don’t care.
I will not forgive him.
But… But I want to hold him. My hand twitches with need. The need to run my fingers down his thick neck again. He liked that. He practically purred as if the beast inside him was being stroked and tamed.
“Say something. That is a direct order. Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” I admit, but not the kind of pain he means. “I’m Fur. Did you know that?” I want him to know. So he can send me away to a new catchment, once and for all. I can be a Silk Girl to another lord.
Never see him…
Never see him again.
Stop this whiplash.
For good.
Another small tear slides down my cheek.
“That is why I am unfit to be a Silk Girl.” I add. “Different. It must be.”
“You’re not unfit,” he says, curt.
He stands up and nods toward my cloak, which hangs on a silver claw by the closet. “Put on your cloak. I’m taking you to get something to eat.”
I blink at him. My body is frozen on the mattress. I admitted to him that I am Fur, not just Common but born amongst outlaws, that I wasn’t born to be a Silk Girl originally, that my need for Meaningful Purpose didn’t start in the womb, and he…
“Did you hear what I said, Sire?” I press.
“I heard. I know what you are. Better than you do. Now, do as you’re told. Cloak.”
I don’t like that answer or its ambiguity.
I stand up in my night dress, the ends skirting the flooring, tickling my toes. “I am awful at my Trade.” I square my shoulders at him and peer up, immediately shadowed by his giant frame. “Yes,” I press on despite looking like a mouse agitated with a bear. “I ask too many questions. I’m suspicious and pry. I consider the world, now and before, and why it is the way it is. This is true. But you, you started this thing.”
I pace in front of him, focused on the floor before each step. “You held my hand and pretended to care. You saved me and carried me to your military vehicle—you could have made someone else do it. You organised oatmeal with honey for me. You cornered me in the banquet room and... Now you’re here, in this room while I have no veil on. You blur the line of our appropriate interactions. Why? Why do that to me? I could have been well-behaved. I could have if you had kept the line between us.”
Breathing hard, I stop my back-and-forth and stand in front of him with my hands gripping my hips.
I peer up at him and… I blink. He is grinning. Not smirking but actually grinning. I’ve never seen him grin. It- it transforms his face.
How patronising.
How annoying.