Ruining my quiet thoughts, Etan walked out of his room, adjusting his cuffs. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me, eyes narrowing as he looked me over. They were so cold, those eyes, a gray-blue color that reminded me of the sky when a storm was coming. And his stubble was growing out, making him look a little messy or crazy or angry . . . I couldn’t find the word, but it wasn’t positive.

“Your sleeves are untied,” he commented.

“I know. I need another pair of hands, and I don’t have a maid.”

He crossed his arms. “You could send for one.”

I wasn’t sure I should mention that I’d sent for water yesterday to clean off, and it never showed. And, after no one came to prepare my room for the night, I’d built my own fire before bed. Very poorly, but still. “I did earlier, but so far, no one has come.”

“Can’t blame them. You certainly couldn’t pay me enough.” He walked closer, stopping in front of me. “What’s your secret? I’ll figure it out either way, but it would save us all some time if you told me now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know who you are, and I know how you were raised, and I know that your loyalty to Coroa is far deeper than it is to Isolte. So, why are you here? What’s the real reason?”

I stared at him, shocked. “My parents are dead. My husband is dead. This is the only family I have. That’s why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “I saw the way Jameson Barclay looked at you. If you walked back into that castle, you’d be welcomed with open arms.”

“His arms have been filled by another. I have no place in Jameson’s court anymore.”

He stood there, sizing me up. “I doubt that.”

I lifted my hands in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Etan. Silas was the last secret I had. So, whatever you think is happening here, you’re wrong.”

“I’m watching you,” he warned.

“I’ve noticed,” I countered.

Just then, Scarlet came from her room, and I saw her eyebrows rise at just how close he was to me. He glared at me in frustration and headed down the stairs as I held out my sleeves to Scarlet. She didn’t need me to ask.

“What was that about?” she wondered, tying the tiny bows.

“Etan is watching me,” I said. “I can’t stand him.”

She sighed. “Etan can be . . . passionate.”

“Passionate? Is that the word you’re going with?”

“But he can also be very kind, and even funny, once you get to know him.”

I dropped my chin and scoffed. “Kind? Funny?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now. We all deal with our pain in different ways. Etan lashes out. He just doesn’t realize he’s placing his efforts on the wrong target.”

I considered this. “Am I just to wait until he figures that out?”