Of Flowers and Flames | ONC#2020 ((ON HOLD))

Chapter Two

She quickly stripped and bathed, trying her best to give as little thought as possible to the evening's events and refocus on what it would potentially mean for her in the morning.

There would be an official welcome of the Emissary, with the elaborate fanfare of a kingdom who couldn't afford it but would tax its people to make up for the debt. There would be a ball held in their honor, to further exploit the kingdom in a futile attempt to prove to Ithoya that Morakar was a more-than-worthy ally. Fiama wouldn't have put it past her parents to offer her hand in marriage to the Emissary himself if he happened to have been unmarried. She would even put gold on a bet that her parents would have attempted to offer her to him regardless.

A lazy smile graced her lips as she sunk lower in the lavender-scented water. How disappointed they would be when they discovered it wasn't the Emissary visiting them at all, but his spoiled brat of a daughter with blonde hair like silk and blue eyes like hydrangeas and a cynical laugh that made Fiama's skin dance and her body tense...

No, she reprimanded her overactive inner dialogue. There will be none of that.

With a groan she sat up and pulled the plug, watching the water as it began to disappear down the drain. If only leaving her kingdom and her responsibilities behind her were as easy as slinking down a draining pipe. It would help her avoid her parents, and circumvent another encounter with Ziedas of Ithoya.

Drying off with one of Jeraf's borrowed towels, she quickly dressed and emerged from the bathing room, toweling her hair dry as she padded back into the cabin's main room. Jeraf had returned from the stable and was standing in the kitchen at the stovetop, plating something that smelled like a stew. He kept his black hair long and tied back into a tail at the base of his neck, and his shirt was rolled up his strong arms to his elbows. Even the muscles in his back seemed to ripple with the simple task of food preparation.

"You didn't need to cook for me," she murmured as she slouched into the closest chair at the dining table.

"Get over yourself," he mused as he turned with a bowl and a basket of bread in his hands. "I made this for myself, and you get the leftovers."

"Ever so charitable," she chided but sat up straighter as the steaming bowl of what was indeed stew was placed in front of her. She wasted no time picking up the spoon and devouring the food, tearing chunks of bread to sop up the remaining broth when there wasn't enough left in the bowl to eat with a spoon.

Jeraf watched her with an amused smirk and a gleam in his grey eyes. She knew the exact thoughts that ran through his mind.

"Don't say it," she said around a piece of bread.

"Say what?"

"What you always say after you've let me bathe and you feed me."

"That you should just marry me and I could take care of you like this for the rest of your life?"

"No, the other thing."

"Oh, the part about you working yourself into an early grave because you think you're doing something that's going to make a difference."

"That's the one." She winked.

"And you get no recognition for it, no reward."

"I'm not looking for reward."

"But the recognition?"

"Recognition would be nice."

"Not in this kingdom. Not by your parents."

"Not yet anyway."

He arched a brow in question as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Fiama swallowed the bread before responding. "You know who was expected to arrive tonight."