Page 27 of The Rebel's Prize

"Hello," she said. Then, as nothing else intelligent occurred to her as a conversational gambit, she turned her attention to the tent itself. It probably could have slept eight or ten people had it been set up with the same rows of pallets she'd glimpsed inside some of the caravan's smaller tents. Instead, it felt like a small room.

In fact, she wasn't sure it wasn't larger than the first room she'd ever rented in Anglion. Certainly it was better furnished. Layers of Miseneian carpets had been rolled out to cover the dirt floor, and earth lights dotted around to supplement the light from the lanterns. There were two other small tables not far from Lucien's. One held a tin washbasin and jug and the other a flask, water glasses, and a bowl of fruit. Her luggage and his trunks were nearly stacked against the left wall, half hidden by a green cloth.

Despite the relative luxury, there was, to her dismay, only one bed, covered in layers of blankets and pillows in more shades of green. Large, yes, but clearly intended for them to share.

As she stared at it, Lucien must have noticed. "We can divide those if you prefer."

She glanced at him questioningly, and he shrugged. "I didn't think there was an easy explanation for us wanting to sleep apart. After all, we are supposed to be the happily newly married marq and marquesse."

And the caravan was full of his people. People who deserved to think their lord was settled and that his marriage was harmonious.

"I'm sure we can manage. It's large enough for us to share," she said eventually.

He lifted an eyebrow. "As you wish. I must finish some work here. Did you want to sleep?"

There wasn't much else to do. She could summon Octarus, but there was little to discuss with him. But it was early, and despite the long day, she wasn't sure she was ready to sleep. She had the last of the books she’d purchased in Jinkara, but with Lucien’s presence looming large, she doubted she’d be able to concentrate on reading.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Just checking some of Mali's notes on the route and the trades she has planned," he said. "I won't be much longer. You should go ahead and go to bed if you wish." He dropped his gaze to the ledger and picked up the pen again.

Was he trying to give her privacy? Or ignoring her because he was still angry with her?

There was no way of knowing, and standing in the middle of the tent like a statue wouldn't help matters. Suppressing a sigh, she began to rummage through her bags to find her nightgown. Fortunately, her dress was one that she needed no assistance to remove. She snuck a look at Lucien before she started to unfasten it, but his eyes were fixed on the ledger, his expression giving no hint that he was even aware of her.

Of course, the somewhat tense line of his shoulders suggested otherwise. But she had no desire to draw his attention, so she turned her back, removed her dress, dropped the loose cotton nightgown over her head, then wriggled out of her undergarments. She folded everything and put it back in the bag, slipping off the chain with Lucien’s ring as she did so. Her hair was already braided, so there was little else to do. She blew out a quick breath and considered the bed.

It had looked large before, but now it seemed small. Especially when she imagined Lucien lying in it.

Another glance over her shoulder revealed his attention still fixed on the ledger. Somewhat annoyed, she crossed to the table and grabbed a handful of the small black grapes to give her something to do before Lucien finished his work.

Returning to the bed, she slid under the covers, though the tent was pleasantly warm. Then, realizing she couldn't sit up against a tent wall as she could one in a house, piled several of the pillows behind her back and ate grapes with the same degree of focused attention that Lucien was giving to his figures.

They were delicious, sweet and juicy. In another life, she might have offered to share, but if he was going to ignore her, then she would ignore him.

Or pretend to.

But try as she might, her eyes kept straying toward Lucien, who didn't so much as look up until he finally put his pen down and closed the ledger, piling up the small stack of letters and paper and ledgers neatly in the center of the table before he pushed back his chair. But he still didn't look directly at her. She curled her arms around her knees and watched as he circled the tent, checking the wards and adding...well, she wasn't entirely sure what to them.

Irritation bubbled up.

"If you're spending all this time making wards to keep me in, you're wasting your energy."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "What makes you think these are to keep you in?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you keep looking at me as though I might vanish at any second."

It was his turn to frown. "Do you blame me? Youdidvanish."

"Yes, but I told you I wasn't going to leave again." Something flashed across his face, an emotion she wasn't sure she had seen but rather felt in her gut. Her spine stiffened. "You don't believe me.”

Lucien went still and his gaze dropped for a second before he looked back up.

"It's true," she insisted. "You don't believe me."

"Do you blame me? You ran rather than coming to me for help. That tells me you don't trust me, and if you don't trust me or the vows that I made to you, why would you stay with me? How can I know that you won't just run again if things get difficult?"

Her jaw clenched. "I didn't lie to you. I left."

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