Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Ruairi

I’ve listened to what my sister said, or at least I’m trying to by cutting my hunting party short today and returning early. Maybe this way I can attend dinner with her for a change and sit again on the chair at the head of the table. Even if it still seems tainted by the bastard that sat there before me.

It’s harder than I thought, living here, but I’ve survived far worse to let a couple of memories drive me away from my goals.

Covered head to toe in mud, I try my best not to draw attention to myself as I work my way along the various twists and turns of the castle towards my chambers. Avery worked me hard today in order to push myself faster through the forest and get used to the unstable terrain of rocks and roots hidden in my path. If I’m to stay here, I need to adjust to better defend it and it doesn’t take a genius to gather the fact that I’ve fallen quite a bit if I’m now walking around my new home in such a state.

Listening out for the various creaks in the wooden flooring beneath me that have started to signal my path almost as much as the physical markers in the hall, I find my room insight, only this time it isn’t fully closed which is how I left it behind me.

After living with a moving army for these past few years, I’ve come to appreciate privacy, but before my frown can fully set on my face, I realise that I have servants now. This is normal and something I need to get used to.

I steel myself before pushing open the door, not really wanting to see someone when in this state. But when I see inside that there is in fact a maid in here and she turns to face me, the breath is knocked from my body for a second.

She’s stunning.

That much becomes clear quite quickly and I pause again in the threshold before stepping through. I’m not used to finding attractive women in my chambers, it’s been a while to say the least and if it wasn’t for the head covering telling me that she’s a servant, I’d have suspected her of being a lady sent here by mistake or something.

I don’t know if it’s the way she stands, the structure of her face or her body, but it makes even that plain dress look appealing when seeing how it hugs the curves of her figure.

I know I shouldn’t notice that but I can’t help it. I’ve always had quite the imagination for seeing what might not be obvious to the naked eye. It’s been invaluable when planning my strategies during the war and well, let’s just say there are other perks to it too.

She’s so tempting after a long morning at work that it takes far too long for me to remember myself and the dirt that continues to cover me. But before I can move my lips to apologise, even though I’m well within my rights to attend my chambers in whatever form I wish, I’m stopped by the expression on her face.

She’s scared.

Damnit, why didn’t I notice this sooner?

I’m no stranger to fear, both feeling and invoking it, but on a woman like this, I am grieved to see it. Hell, with a woman like this, I am grieved not to have seen her sooner, to the point where I almost ask where on earth she could have been hiding herself. But if she fears me, that probably won’t be received very well.

“What’s your name?” The words are out before I can stop them and wonder if this is the right way to start a conversation. But really I’d say anything right now, just so long as she stops looking at me with those bright eyes that only seem to widen further at my question.

Am I wrong or are they two different colours? No, that is beside the point, what is is the fact that for whatever reason, she’s traumatised.

I wonder if one of my soldiers might not have listened when I declared innocents off limits. The thought angers me to no end and it must have shown on my face because she takes a step back now, pressing herself against the edge of my bed and breathing shallowly as if she expects me to pounce.

I won’t lie, the thought crossed my mind the second I saw her and the fact that we were alone in this room, but that’s completely off the cards when she’s reacting like this.

I am not the sort of monster that would take advantage, but I do expect an answer as her king, so I repeat the question patiently, something any other servant might not have gotten.

“Dalliah,” She swallows hard, “Your Grace.”

It’s almost as if it pains her to speak those words and I wonder if shyness is her issue. A king can be intimidating and maybe she’s not used to such addresses, but she’ll get used to it if her identity becomes known to the others she might serve. It won’t just be me that finds her attractive, I know that for sure.

“Well, I needn’t ask if you know who I am.” I aim for humour but it appears to fall flat on the delivery, as her face doesn’t change.

“Yes, your Grace.” She answers stiffly, staring at the floor as if it might open up and offer her an escape from my presence, but I’m not that merciful, not with such a woman as this.

“You are my maid, are you not?” I ask only to receive the same 3 words repeated back to me and I can’t deny the interest it starts to spark where I know it shouldn’t.

“Well, Doll if you would be so kind as to fill my bath for me, it would be much appreciated.” The name slips out and for a second I think to apologise, only the look of resentment quickly claiming her face stops me.

This is the first step away from fear that I have seen in her face and while it’s not the adoration I might prefer, it’s something.

“Dalliah, your Grace… and of course.” She nods her head slightly, as if begrudged to do so and I can’t help but grin at the correction she simply had to voice.

It seems this little maid has more personality than I first thought and I’ll be dammed if I say that I’m not intrigued. It’s been months, hell, it’s been years since I’ve had a proper woman challenge me and I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to feel excitement when merely speaking to one.

Do I push it further? I don’t want to be cruel but it’s the expression on her face that makes me crave more of this, whatever this is.

“Dalliah,” I speak the name slowly, as if considering the taste of it on my tongue. “My apologies, only I have seen but few women live up to the perfection carved into dolls these days… I assumed you must be one.”

Yes, it’s cliche and if Avery heard me just now I’d never live it down, but with her, I feel as though I need to aim high in case I fall short. Smiles don’t seem to be working so far, therefore why shouldn’t I opt for words? I’ve seen duels fought over women half as beautiful.

But rather than cave like others might do, Dalliah looks to recoil from my compliment and I feel my eyebrows rise to my hairline in shock. I might have at least earned myself a thank you but apparently, I’m not that lucky.

“Will that be all, your Grace?”

If she were to have stuck me I would find myself less shocked than by the sharpness of her tone just now. Again, I am left to wonder if I need to be more concerned with the manner in which she approaches me, and it’s fair to say that enquiries will be made into what was done when this castle was taken.

“It appears as though I must apologise a second time as I have clearly offended you, believe me when I say that such was not my intention” I offer to her in a way I would the most respected lord or lady in the kingdom, but again it falls on deaf ears. “That will be all.”

Another stiff curtsy is offered up to me and she leaves the room without uttering another word, most likely off to fetch the heated water that I require. Without thinking about the mud still covering my clothes, I find myself collapsing onto my bed in wonder as I try to imagine what could have happened to that woman to cause such an attitude towards her king?