Page 72 of Tarnished Crown

“Where’s your manservant?” I asked Evander.

He was already crouched back over his paperwork at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t have one,” he responded distractedly.

“Why not?”

“Because I can bathe and dress myself without assistance.” Well, that sounded pointed. “And because I don’t like people unnecessarily in my space. The maids come in for heavy cleaning once a week, and that’s more than enough.”

Considering the way he had gone to great lengths to keep me out of his room, his answer made sense. I surveyed the room, where everything was exactly in its place, with the newfound knowledge that he was the one who kept it this way.

I couldn’t help but contrast it with my room back home, the way I had frequently bounded out the door with my cosmetics still strewn haphazardly across my vanity and a discarded pile of dresses on my bed.

Speaking of bed...I looked longingly at the fluffy black-and-white pillows, dismayed to realize how much the simple acts of bathing and eating had worn me out. With a grunt, I went to push myself out of the chair, wincing as pain tore through my back.

Evander looked over, but I waved him off, picking my way to the bed. It was another excruciating moment before I was propped up, by which time my lacerations were on fire.

“There’s another vial in your drawer.” Evander pointed toward the nightstand.

I made a face. Not only was the tonic disgusting, but it gave me strange, vivid dreams and the uncomfortable feeling of trudging through mud.

“Or,” I countered, “you could share some of that vodka I’m sure you have stashed around here somewhere.”

It was a reasonable assumption since he always seemed to have a glass of it nearby. He raised an eyebrow, but reached into his desk drawer to pull out a silver, engraved flask.

Wordlessly, he walked it over to me, releasing the stopper before handing it over.

I took a long sip of the cool liquid, relishing the burn as it glided down my throat. I was right.

This was better than tonic already.

CHAPTER48

Evander and I reached an uneasy truce, wherein neither of us mentioned the fact that we were sharing a room, let alone a bed.

Although, given the lengthy awkward silences between us and the way he perched close enough to his side of the mattress to roll right off, I could surmise he wasn’t thrilled about either of those things. Which made sense, given what he had said about his space.

Of course, that once again begged the question of,Why?

He couldn’t have possibly believed I was an escape risk, in this shape or otherwise. I suspected he kept me here for the same reason I didn’t argue about staying.

For my safety.

I had thought perhaps my fear of Ava striking again was unreasonable, but I wondered how likely Evander thought it was if he was willing to keep me in here.

Perhaps I was right to be afraid.

I wasn’t sure what to think about any of that, which was an all too common feeling these days.

Neither of us spoke much during the day. For Evander, it was because he was usually working. The sound of his quill scraping against parchment was the constant backdrop to my life as he modified ledgers or wrote letters at his massive desk.

Of course, it was eerily neat, not a single paper or ink pot out of place.

In my case, I just found that I had less and less to say. Most days, I drifted in and out of sleep, frequently closing the curtains around Evander’s bed and shutting the world out for hours at a time. Even then, my waking hours gave me entirely too much time to think.

About my family.

About Theo.