His eyes were no longer wild and glazed, but there was no warmth in them, either. If anything, he seemed . . . uneasy.

Uncertain about what he expected from her, she tried to smile. “Good morning.”

“Storm’s finally blown out.”

She wondered if he meant the blizzard or the storm inside himself.

He moved away from the window, then stopped, as if he didn’t want to get too close to her. And he wouldn’t look at her.

He took a swallow of coffee, then set the mug on the counter. “Do you need a Healer?”

The abrupt question startled her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when the rut finally ended, but she hadn’t expected him to act like she was a stranger he’d given shelter to during the storm. “No, I don’t need a Healer.”

He took a step toward her—and she could have sworn he cringed before he backed away.

“I need to check on the villages, make sure everyone got through the storm all right.”

“Do you want some breakfast before you go?” she asked.

“No,” he replied too quickly. “I don’t want—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “I have to go.” He gave her one more glance before he hurried down the domestic corridor that led to the side door.

A moment later, she heard the door slam behind him.

Stunned, Marian sank into a chair and wrapped her arms around herself for comfort.

He’d run from her. Lucivar Yaslana, the Ebon-gray Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, had fled from his own home to get away from her.

He didn’t want. That was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason for his uneasiness, his embarrassment. He didn’t want. What he’d taken out of need, she’d given out of love. But now that the rut was over . . . Was he ashamed that, having no other females to choose from, he’d taken his housekeeper to his bed? Or was he afraid that, having seen him through the rut, she now expected him to reciprocate and accommodate her whenever she wanted a man?

She hadn’t asked him for anything, had she? Having fallen in love with him, she’d hoped he would feel some warmth for her when the rut was over, maybe even want to remain lovers, but she hadn’t expected anything in return for what she’d given.

Except courtesy. Or some word of appreciation before he drew the line that separated them into servant and employer would have been nice. A line, she thought with growing resentment, that he made every effort to erase whenever she tried to maintain that distinction.