I’ve ordered a feast.”

Janek dismissed the servants and then held out her chair as if they were dining in the great hall. His fingertips brushed the bare side of her neck before he moved to take his own seat. His touch slid through her like a draught of Dragonbreath liquor, firing her blood.

They ate, speaking of little. Janek took his meals like a soldier, quickly and with his full attention on his food. She still found it barbaric the way he ate. Food was meant to be enjoyed, especially food as carefully prepared as this. Especially when there were people starving all across the island.

But Janek seemed not to taste any of it, or if he did, he was so accustomed to rich food that he barely noticed it at all. He did notice when she stopped eating.

“You don’t eat nearly enough,” he said, sliding steamed oysters and a delicate filet of fish onto her plate.

He wasn’t entirely overbearing. He wouldn’t force her to eat it. She didn’t think he would anyway. She was still testing his limits, learning exactly how far she could push him.

He rose and crossed the room, not bothering to hide his limp as he did when he was with his own people. The limp was from an old injury. He had a faint scar on his thigh above his knee, thin and faded. The scar on his back was much uglier. When she'd first run her fingertips over the dark and puckered flesh, he'd told her it was from a wound he'd received in the army that had become infected.

It wasn’t much of a weakness. He still had a powerful body and a great deal of experience. In a straight fight, she would place her money on him every time.

He shoved open the shutters and the storm entered the room. Rain hit the flagstones with a wet patter and lightning slashed through the black sky. The shutters would have ripped from her hands, but Janek held them firmly before securing them to the wall. Wiping the rain from his face, he walked back to the table.

“Too many years on campaign,” he said, waving a hand. “It’s too close in here with the windows shut. The walls start to press in on me.”

Thunder rumbled through the stone of the Keep and the wind tugged at her shawl. She tightened it around her shoulders and finished her meal. The candles nearest the window went out and even the branch on the table guttered with the wind. Janek settled into his chair, poured some wine and leaned back, cradling the goblet between his big, scarred hands. “What has it been, two weeks since you first came here…three?”

“Three,” she said.

Seven weeks since her brother went missing. Five since she’d made the fool’s bargain with Bran, the leader of the rebellion. Three since entering the Keep and two since seducing Janek.

“I was at the Keep for nearly a week before I first danced for the court,” she reminded him. “The consul had that group of singers in from the mainland. It wasn’t until after they left that he called for me.”

Janek had approached her the following night, full of questions about where she’d come from and who she was.