was supposed to make life less complicated. Coming home and bringing an achingly beautiful faerie princess for company was starting to look like it might have the opposite effect.
* * *
Vashti awoke from a sleep so deep it felt like she was being pulled down into quicksand. Fighting her way to the surface, she became conscious of two things. The smell of fresh-baked bread and the sound of tuneless humming. Both seemed to be coming from the kitchen, which was directly below her room. She lay still for a few minutes, gradually allowing the memories of the last few days to infiltrate her lethargy. With the recollection of Iago came a resurgence of her aches and pains and she groaned, levering herself out of bed. There was a mirror over the dresser and a glance at her reflection confirmed the worst. Her face was an interesting array of bruises.
As she dragged on her clothes, every muscle screamed in protest. Remind me again why I was so keen to be the one to accompany Jethro on this mission? She peered inquiringly into the mirror once more, directing the question to her battered reflection. Oh, I remember now. Itâs my duty. I need to see this through for the sake of my people. Once this challenger is found, the faerie dynasty will be plunged into a bloody civil war. I know my father well enough to be certain of that. He will not go without a fight. And I wanted to make Jethro de Loix suffer. He accused me of helping Moncoya escape from justice. I owe him a little pain, and how better to cause that than by inflicting my presence upon him? She winced as she moved toward the door. So why the hell am I the one hurting?
Navigating the spiral staircase felt like she was descending one of the great mountains around Valhalla. Used to her well-trained limbs doing exactly what she wanted them to, Vashti was impatient of injury. After the battle for control of Otherworld, she had been close to death. It was only through the skill of the faerie doctors and Tanziâs patient nursing that she had survived. It had not been through her cooperation or adherence to their instructions.
She found Jethro in the kitchen. This was the biggest room in the house, running the entire length of the rear of the property with spectacular views across the bay to the mainland. Vashti blinked in surprise at the sight of him removing a loaf of bread from the range oven.
âYou should have stayed in bed.â He looked up in surprise as she limped into the room.
âIf I did, how would we find the challenger?â
â We are not going to find the challenger. Iâm going to find the challenger and you are going to watch me.â The familiar arrogance was back in his tone.
âWhile serving up a delicious meal?â She gestured to the bread.
The arrogance vanished and was replaced by a smile that was almostâshe hesitated to use the word in relation to Jethroâ shy . âMy mother used to bake. Itâs therapeutic.â He pointed to another loaf standing on a cooling rack. âWant to try some?â
Vashtiâs stomach gave an enormous rumble in response, and she tried to remember the last time sheâd eaten. It was on the plane when the flight attendant had been so attentive to Jethro while casting an occasional dismissive glance in her direction. She nodded and, within minutes, she was seated at the vast, scrubbed table with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of bread and butter in front of her.
âYou do not strike me as the domesticated type.â
Jethro lounged in a chair opposite hers, his long legs extended in front of him. He wore a white shirt and his biceps stretched the thin material of the rolled-up sleeves to its limits. The V shape of the buttons left open at his chest revealed dark hair. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist and flat stomach. He had obviously recently showered since his still-wet hair hung loose and slightly wavy below his collar. The crisp scent of citrus reached