Page 89 of The Hunted

The guards all but demanded they lock Arelle in her rooms and nail the shutters closed on her windows during the days following her attempted escape. Eryx could have agreed—probably should have, if he were being honest—but he just … didn’t feel the need.

The memory of her kneeling at his feet, soft and pleased and submissive, was far more than enough to tell him something had happened with them. Something between them made this different.

He just didn’t know what.

So, no, he didn’t allow the guards to stick closer. He refused to lock her in her rooms, and in fact, demanded everything return to some semblance of normal after the storm had passed. Arelle continued on with her freedom, never seeming as though she might run again but also not seeking Eryx out.

He offered her the same.

Besides, watching her was far more interesting. When she didn’t know he was doing it, and more so when she did.

Like now.

“Like this?” he heard her ask.

The woman who managed the kitchen and cooked for the entire house nodded behind the large oak table. “Knead it like that, yes. Well done.”

“This isn’t so hard.”

“Not if you have a knack for it, and you certainly seem to.”

For whatever reason, Eryx found himself smiling at the sight of Arelle kneading dough for the bread that would be served later at supper. Not because he liked the thought of her cooking for him—although, he did on that side of things, too—but because she was learning something new and seemed to be enjoying it. He had little to no interest in learning the mundane things like cooking or otherwise.

He had people for that.

Always had.

Did she?

“My lord,” came a familiar voice from behind him. “The hunter is here, as requested. Shall I show him to—”

“The den, please,” Eryx replied to the man.

“Yes, Prince.”

He’d not forgotten about the meeting he’d called with Corval. In fact, he’d sent word to speak with the man during the storm, knowing they would get a brief pause in the weather before another would come through to wreak more havoc. He hoped, however, that they would have a long enough break between one storm and the next that Corval would be able to show his face.

It seemed he had.

Thankfully.

Eryx had questions.

And every single one of them revolved around that woman smiling on the other side of the kitchen while she kneaded raisins into the dough.

While he would much rather stay hidden in the enclave leading into the kitchen so that he could continue watching Arelle from afar, he also didn’t want to keep Corval waiting. Even if the man would say nothing about waiting, considering it was a prince he waited on.

Nonetheless, the faster Eryx finished with that meeting, the quicker he could get back here. Perhaps in just enough time to watch Arelle learn how to make his favorite pie.

Hmm.

Spinning on his heels with a sigh, Eryx headed for the den of the large house. The handful of servants moving from room to room nodded and waited for him to pass through before returning to their duties. Corval, to his benefit, was dressed like a man of status for once. And he was standing to greet the prince.

“Prince,” Corval said, bowing a bit.

“Even threw on a waistcoat for the occasion, did you?”

Corval chuckled and took a chair next to the window when Eryx waved at it. “How often does one get called to visit the prince of Atlas during storm season?”