There’s a desk that’s too large for the space crammed into a corner, every inch covered in papers and books. I enjoy knowing that despite her outward perfectionism, when it’s just her, she’s as messy as me. A fireplace that connects to both the sitting room and bedroom roars, the warmth delicious after the cold passageways of the castle. Other than a bar cart packed to the brim with various wines and liquors, and several bookshelves equally packed, there’s not much more in the room. No dining table, I notice, before I see old plates and mugs littered across the coffee and side tables.

She eats here alone.

That realization haunts me in a way I can’t explain, sending ice to my heated blood instantly. I’m going to insist she join us for a meal soon. I have to. Laurel speaks, voice melodic, breaking me out of my silent observations.

“I keep a highly concentrated distillation of thayar in a few wine bottles. Makes them easier to store and conceal. I just have to remember which ones they are…”

Silene giggles. “What if you thought you were drinking wine from a bottle, but instead took a massive sip of the concoction?”

Laurel grins wide, and it nearly knocks me to my knees. “Thankfully, I save my straight-from-the-bottle-wine-drinking for when I’m alone. It might make me light up like a torch, but at least no one would see.”

“I want to see that!” Silene cackles.

Laurel’s lips twitch, and an odd expression crosses her features for a moment, but she only says, “Maybe someday I’ll show you.” Silene nods her head enthusiastically. “Here we go! Now I remember. I used the bottles that have these silly goats on them,” Laurel says, pulling out an ancient-looking wine bottle from the bar cart.

“Why those?” Silene asks.

“You know, I honestly can’t remember,” Laurel replies, and the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. Once again, I feel a deeply seated urging to move closer to her, to touch her. I clench my teeth, but it doesn’t stop me from casually stepping to stand by her side, pretending I want a closer look at the wine bottle in her hand. Our hands brush, and Laurel startles before stepping away to stand in front of Silene, though she looks up at me with those bright and clear green eyes. Something passes between us again, and I know she feels it this time with the way her expression twitches, but she ignores it, instead showing Silene the bottle and giggling with her over the goat printed on the label.

This is torture.