KINGSLAYER

♕ 7 | 7 ♕

When Milyena returned, she had a tiny canister clutched in her hand. "Ointment," she explained. "Polina took it from the house when her bunkmate suffered an injury in danger of infection." She held it out. "It may help with the coloring."

Abandoning his full bowl of porridge, Alexander stood. "Is there a mirror anywhere?"

"Um. In the women's bunkhouse." She glanced subtly over his shoulder. "He must still be at the factory helping fix that downed equipment," she said, referring to the overseer who would normally pace between the tables to be sure there was no talk of revolt. "I can show you."

The women's bunkhouse was to the side of the communal dining area, which was shared between the separated women's and men's quarters. No one was allowed to go into the bunkhouses during mealtimes, but with the overseer gone, no one would tell him off. The space was completely devoid of women, except for two who were having a heated discussion in hushed tones. They looked up when they heard the unlocked door open and promptly left for the dining area.

"Here." Milyena gestured to a tiny mirror that hung crookedly on the wall, likely stolen from the house as well.

Alexander had to duck to see himself. Oh. Milyena was right; he did not look his usual drop-dead attractive self. The bruising was still obvious, as was the redness covering the white of his right eye. Thankfully, he was not excessively dirty or disheveled; the true pitfall was the crazed look in his own eyes. Anyone else may have passed it off as a menacing stare, but he knew the difference. He did not look quite like himself.

Milyena leaned against the post of her bed, dutifully watching the door as Alexander dabbed the clear ointment onto the area around his eye socket. The cheekbone under it hurt the worst. He imagined it had likely caught the brunt of his attacker's knuckles. He was lucky he hadn't lost the eye.

When he was finished, Alexander handed the canister back to Milyena. It did not go unnoticed how his fingers brushed hers. "Thank you," he said so that she looked at him. "You went out of your way to help."

She gave herself the excuse of twisting away to pocket it. "Of course. You're my friend, after all."

"Am I?"

Her dark lashes brushed her cheeks as she blinked. "Well, I would hope so."

"You don't look at me like you want to only be my friend." That made her lips thin. To that, she had nothing to say. Alexander took a step closer. "Tell me what you want to tell me."

The room was silent for too long. Milyena remained where she was, visibly frozen to her spot. "Do you..." She swallowed. "Do you have feelings for anyone?"

"Perhaps I need to test things out before coming to a conclusion."

Oh, he certainly had feelings. Nothing but hate. All-consuming, sickening hate.

As soon as he watched the hesitancy melt away from her bright face, he knew she took it the way he wanted. He also knew she did not have the courage to do nothing about it, but they were standing much too close and he had too much of that boiling hatred in his veins.

Anyone would agree that Milyena was a kind, good person. And it was true that she was attractive, especially in the chest department. Her eyes were light, not brown, and she wore everything she felt on her face. She was transparent. And she was there and clearly wanted him. All of those things made her perfect. Because of what she was not.