Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Whereas I’ve been chewing on stale, raw turnips and shivering under my blankets. So that’s fun.
I sit up and he immediately moves, fluffing a pillow behind my back. It’s a rather touchingly sweet response and makes me feel guilty. Here he is, this big, vicious-looking enemy warrior, making sure I’m comfy in his bed. I glance over at him. “I don’t suppose you have any more water?”
“I do. And soup, if you’re hungry.”
I nod, because I don’t trust my voice not to shriek out yes, yes, please, I’m starving.
He hands me a wooden cup full of water and I force myself to take tiny sips even though I want to gulp the whole thing down. As I drink, I watch him move across the room. His fireplace is flickering, and there’s a small pot over the flames. He stirs the contents with a ladle and then fills a second wooden cup with what smells like soup. My mouth waters, and at this point, if he pulled his cock out and told me I had to suck it to share his food, I’d gladly do so. I’m that hungry.
But he only sits down on that stool again and holds the soup out to me. He doesn’t ask for anything.
Warily, I take the cup from him, trading my empty water cup for the food. “This isn’t poison, is it? Because with my luck, it’d be poison.”
Nemeth rolls his eyes at me. He crosses his arms over his bare chest—still wearing nothing but his leather kilt with the decorative metal studs, I notice—and considers me. “Why would I nurse you back to health only to poison you?”
“Because it hurts more that way.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Remind me to get tips from you on how to torture the enemy. I think my people could learn a thing or two.”
I take a sip of the soup. Gods, it’s good. There’s a warm spicy taste to it that I don’t recognize, but the majority of the flavor is mushrooms and savory bits of meat. I don’t have any mushrooms in my supplies, so this is clearly from his stock. I eye him as I take another sip. He seems relaxed and at ease, watching me with curiosity instead of resentment. And he made me dinner.
This feels like a trick.
It has to be a trick, or else I’m an absolute arse for trying to kill him. Either he truly is as kind as he’s pretending or there’s an ulterior motive. Right now I’m too tired to figure it out, though…and his soup is too good.
I finish the soup quickly and hold the cup out for more. He shakes his head. “Give yourself a few hours, and then you can have more. You should eat small meals until we’re certain your stomach can handle it.”
It makes sense, even if I don’t want to hear it. With a sigh, I nod and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I should get going anyhow.”
A big hand covers my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I look up at Nemeth in surprise. “Getting out of your way?”
He shakes his head and that enormous hand stays on my shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m certain you’re feeling better. You can sleep in my bed for another night.”
It sounds like a good idea to me, because not only is his bed comfortable, but I’m too tired to consider walking up all forty stairs to my room. “Where will you sleep?”
“The same place I slept last night.” He nods at the spot on the bed next to me.
I should protest that it isn’t seemly, but honestly, it just makes sense. If I’m not kicking him out of his bed, I’m all for it. “All right,” I say lightly. “But if you try anything, I will projectile vomit on you.”
He rolls his eyes and offers me a hand. “Do you need help getting to the garderobe or can you manage on your own?”
Just the thought of crossing the hall to relieve myself sounds exhausting, but I will absolutely be humiliated if I have to use a chamber pot in front of him. “I can manage…just give me a moment.”
Nemeth just eyes me. “Very well. If you need help, just ask. I know you’re not inclined to do so, but I will offer it all the same.”
“You’re too nice,” I mutter. “I don’t trust it.”
“Should I hold a knife to your throat as you drink your soup? Will that make you more comfortable?” His hard face creases with amusement.
“Very funny.”
“I thought so. If you’re feeling better, perhaps you might answer a few questions of mine.” He tilts his head, regarding me, and those horns draw my attention. So strange to see hard, thick horns there instead of soft, waving hair. It reminds me that however friendly he is, he’s not human.