Page 29 of The Rebel's Prize

When she'd first returned from Anglion, she had hated him, or at least thought she did. He deserved it at that time, after a fashion. Or at least he'd understood that she was taking the anger that really should lay on Charl's shoulders out on him because he was still there and Charl was not. But now he was angry, too, and she was...well, he wasn't entirely sure how she felt. Guilty, if he had to guess. Annoyed that he had found her so fast. Determined to find Deandra and worried about the fate that awaited her back in the capital.

He wasn't sure on that part either. If they found Deandra and proved Chloe's innocence, that was one thing. But she had still left a mess by running, one that wouldn't be easy to solve. And the worst thing he could do in terms of reducing any scandal that might result would be to remove his protection, which left him in a marriage that he didn't know if he could live with.

Not if she truly had so little faith in him.

He could stomach her not being in love with him, given enough time, but if deep down she didn't believe he would be on her side, that was another matter.

She shifted again, a piece of hair falling over her face. His fingers curled against the urge to brush it back, and he stifled a groan.

This was going to kill him.

Perhaps he should have let her share a tent with Silya.

Though he doubted either woman would have been happy with that choice, and he couldn't afford to annoy Silya. They might need her knowledge of Andalyssian magic before this was over, and she was a witness whom no one could argue was biased in Chloe's favor.

He was just going to have to resign himself to uncomfortable nights. Finding Deandra and getting to the bottom of how the memory charms worked would be worth that price.

If only to restore some sense of sanity to his world.

* * *

After three nights on the road with the caravan, it seemed impossibly luxurious to have hot water and an entire bath to herself. The inn where Lucien had secured rooms for the night was nowhere near as well appointed as the Crown and Tree, but that was only to be expected when Fallea was half the size of Jinkara. But the room was clean and pleasant, the bath spacious, and the water hot. That was all she really cared about.

She lathered her hands, stroking the soap over her arms just to enjoy the sensation. It smelled like lemons and mint, a nice change from the constant aromas of horse, oxen, dust, leather, woodsmoke, and sweat that seemed to surround the caravan. She washed and rinsed her hair twice, the water darkening slightly as the soap removed some of the dye. A few more washes and it would be back to normal, unless she decided to dye it again. It shouldn't be necessary. Lucien could use illusions to disguise her if needed.

As the water began to cool, she contemplated warming it again. The heat had eased some of the aches and pains from the long hours of travel, but she suspected that nothing short of a healer or time would erase them completely.

Nor would it erase the tension between her and Lucien that she was trying to avoid by hiding in the bath too long. After three days, she wasn't sure it would ever dissipate.

Her stomach rumbled, and she smiled ruefully. Apparently, her body wanted food more than a longer bath. Something not cooked over an open campfire. The meals provided for the caravan were good but, out of necessity, somewhat repetitive. The inn might not be particularly fancy, but hopefully dinner would at least be different. And it would be nice to not finish a meal smelling of smoke.

Hunger won over the faint hope that she might soak all her worries away. She climbed out of the bath, toweled herself off, combed out her hair, and then took the worst of the water out of it with a charm, knowing the warm night air would take care of the rest.

She contemplated the three cotton dresses she'd bought earlier. Looser styles than Illvyan dresses, which would hopefully make them cooler, too. She hadn't found a habit but had secured sturdy breeches and a few loose tunics that would serve well enough. Some of the women traveling with the caravan wore trousers, and she had no issue with that, but the dresses were more appropriate for dinner. Two were sensible colors, one dark blue and the other a tawny brown, but the third she'd bought not for traveling in the caravan but for evenings like these, when she might need something more elegant for a night staying in a town.

It was a pale green, still simple in style but with deep borders of embroidery around the modest neckline, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the hem that reminded her a little of Andalyssian embroidery, though it was done in only one deeper shade of green rather than House colors like the Andalyssians would use. The pattern was a swirl of curls and flourishes that resembled ocean waves. An interesting choice in a hot country.

Perhaps it was a trick to bring a sense of cool in the heat of the day. She just hoped it was cooler than her woolen gowns.

She crossed to the wall and used the bellpull to summon the maid the innkeeper had mentioned was available. The dress, though simple, wasn't one she could fasten herself, and Lucien—possibly reacting to the awkwardness of the last few nights, when they'd both stuck to the edges of their shared blankets as though the middle of the bed was live coals—had gotten them separate rooms. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or annoyed about that.

Despite the awkwardness, she'd slept better knowing he was close. She wasn't sure he would have said the same. There were shadows under his eyes each morning, but he'd waved her off any time she'd asked if he was well, and she didn't know how to break through the barrier yawning between them.

He was polite and courteous, but there was none of the easy closeness they'd begun to share back in Lumia. He was treating her the way she'd seen him treat ladies of the court he had no interest in. Kind but distant. Holding them at arm's length.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, it stung.

They'd been friends since they'd first met. Happy to spend time with each other. But she didn't know how to return to that friendship without making a decision she wasn't ready to make and telling him she wanted their marriage to be real. Not that she knew whether he would forgive her even if she did. Which left "strained and polite" as the default mode between them.

She steeled herself for another evening of it as the maid helped her dress and pinned her hair up. The girl was just sliding a final pin into the arrangement of braids and curls when there was another knock on the door. One Chloe recognized.

Lucien.

"Come in," she called, trying to sound cheerful. She didn't know what the customs were for married people in this area, but the innkeeper hadn't blinked when Lucien had requested separate rooms.

The maid made one of the neat little bows with one hand over her heart that the Kharenians and Miseneians used in place of curtseys, then slipped past Lucien as he stepped into the room.

His hair was slightly damp, and he'd changed into a clean white shirt paired with a black jacket and trousers. Despite the faint hint of fatigue on his face, the few days in the sun had deepened the golden tones of his skin, making his eyes even greener.

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