Granted, a man with as many wives and concubines as Cededa once possessed, was probably familiar with the how, why, when and where of every scene in the scroll. And more that weren’t painted there. Still, his lack of reaction was something beyond boredom of a thing done many times and reminded her of those moments when he coaxed her to run her hands over his bare torso, trace the silvery outlines of the Tineroth key collaring his throat and shoulders. Then too, he showed no reaction to her touch. Only that first time, when he experienced the power of her malediction, did he show any emotion and that time had nothing of desire about it.

Imogen frowned. She had no misguided notions regarding her looks. She was neither plain nor beautiful. Only unremarkable. Niamh had always praised her, but what loving parent didn’t see the beauty in their child? Still, she wondered at Cededa’s reserve, the absence of either attraction or revulsion to her touch. His was an almost ascetic demeanor, one that confused her, and if she were honest, put a dent in her vanity.

She rose and tucked the scroll under her arm. Her vanity would have to remain dented. The king of Tineroth had generously offered a means for her to live a normal life. She’d not be ungrateful by being discourteous. There were other questions about him she dare not ask, ones far less trivial than why he didn’t react as other men might to the graphic sensuality captured in vibrant paint or the enthralled caresses of a woman cursed with death in her fingers.

“What do you want to know, Imogen?”

So lost in her thoughts, she jumped at his voice, uttered near her ear. Cededa leaned in close, pale features sharp with interest now.

“You startled me,” she admonished and offered him a weak smile. It’s of no consequence, Sire. Just idle thoughts.”

He straightened and crossed his arms. “Unlike many women I’ve known, Imogen, you dissemble poorly and probably wouldn’t recognize coyness if it bit you on the hand.” He returned to his seat on the column top. “I’ve almost nothing left to me except time, and far too much of that. We can sit here all night if you wish until you choose to tell me why you’re frowning and burning holes through me with your stare.

She blushed, scrambling for some response that might appease him. “Would you believe me if I said I was admiring your looks?” She groaned under her breath. That was less than inspiring.

Cededa laughed, the expression temporarily ridding his fair features of the malice carved around his mouth. Imogen really did gawk at him with admiration then. He was truly breathtaking to behold.

The laughter died, but a smile remained. “Make no mistake. I’m flattered, but you’ve complimented me many times on my handsomeness without impaling me with a look.”

He’d given her the perfect opening for which to satisfy her curiosity; still, Imogen floundered. How did one ask so intrusive a question without sounding shallow, or even worse, insulting? She grasped another, less controversial topic.