Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

A long, silent moment passes. And when I hear him stir again, he’s leaning over me. “In the morning,” he says. Then he presses his lips to my forehead.

Chapter Twelve

Heated rays slash my face. I squeeze my eyes tightly, trying to block out the brightness. My head pulses at my temples, and I curse myself. After the Sekhmet feast, I swore never to get drunk again. Why did I do this?

The day before rushes back in painful flashes. Lunia’s confession. My stomach sinks, and I gladly welcome my headache and grogginess at the expense of lessening my friend’s heartache.

My hand runs over the soft sheets of my mattress—and my eyes fly open. A wall of painted garden scenes in bright colors stares back at me. Slowly, I rise and glance around, realization dawning. I’m in Xarion’s chamber.

Damn.

Panicking, I try to recount my actions of last night, but they come to me in snatches, glimpses of my embarrassing trek across the city. The barge ride. Arguing with Merrick. Xarion lying in bed . . .

Did we . . .? No. Xarion would never take advantage of me while intoxicated. But he would probe for information. I curse under my breath, worried about what my mouth let slip.

Scooting off the edge of the bed, I touch my toes to the granite, then push myself onto my feet. Dehydration claims my head, black spots swimming against my vision. Slowly, with my bare feet light on the cool floor, I slug toward the pitcher of water on the cedar table.

Xarion’s breakfast lies untouched next to it, and I realize for the first time he’s absent.

A splash followed by giggles comes from the bathing room.

My eyes clamp shut. I shouldn’t be here. Easing the glass pitcher back on to the table, I attempt to noiselessly exit the chamber. I get as far as the door when I’m caught.

“Star?” Xarion calls.

I release a defeated breath. “Yes. I’m here.”

“Come.”

My face flames as I begin my short walk of shame toward the bathing chamber. I pause at the open doorway, gathering my courage, trying to produce a logical excuse. I don’t want to be scolded for coming here drunk—late at night—in front of his servants. While he’s bathing. Naked.

It’s not that I’ve never seen him nude. I’ve witnessed it plenty. I’ve been made to take orders from inside this chamber before. And nudity is a common occurrence in Alexandria—like breathing. But my presence in such circumstances has always been for a professional reason; not enough time to dress for a procession before an order needs carrying out. Not like now in my weakened, befuddled state, where I can’t remember what I revealed.

I bow my head when I enter the room. As I slowly lift it, I struggle to keep my expression indifferent. Morning light pours in from an oculus above, illuminating the bathing pool. Heated rays bounce off mirrors placed below the circular opening to warm the water, keeping it a consistent, comfortable temperature. There’s a metallic flap with a cord used to close the fixture if you prefer cooler water. But Xarion does not. He’d have boiling water poured into his pool if it were tolerable.

Trying to center my thoughts, I focus on the colorful blues and greens of the mosaic tiled wall, my eyes avoiding the large oblong pool in the center of the room. Two female servants clothed in sheer tunics are seated along the floor on either side of Xarion, their feet tucked beneath their bodies, sea sponges in hand. They dip them into the water, then massage Xarion’s back and shoulders.

He sits forward, halting their efforts. “Leave the guardian and me alone.”

The servants set their sponges aside, failing to keep their pouts hidden from their features. I’m sure they’re angered over their job being delayed, or maybe they’re regretting being denied juicy gossip to share with the other servants.

I mentally slap myself. Why am I focusing on them when Xarion is glowering at me from across the chamber? Probably because he’s glowering at me from across the chamber.

Once Xarion is sure they’re out of hearing range, he motions me forward with his hand. Hesitantly, I step before the pool, my feet chilled against the slick tile, my gaze holding Xarion’s.

“Since you’ve deprived me of my servants, take a sponge.” He nods at one of the sea sponges next to him.

My mouth parts, ready to argue that he dismissed them, but I snap it closed. He doesn’t want to discuss whatever happened in their presence, which I’m thankful for—there will be no palace gossip to spread. But it also means I may have said too much. Guilt settles in my core like a lead weight. I suppose there are worse punishments than washing his back. Though that doesn’t stop me from slitting my eyes and giving him my most affronted look.

A crooked smile hikes his face, revealing a dimple. I pick up the sponge and kneel behind him, tucking my shift between my thighs and calves. I’m tempted to dunk his head under water, like I used to when we swam in the sea as kids. His arrogant silence unnerves me, and I simply want him to tell me what I said or did last night. Stretching this moment out will only earn him my wrath if he continues to be cocky.

I dip the sponge into the pool, my fingers squeezing to soak up the warm water, then I massage his shoulder. My stomach tingles as I caress it over his skin. I’m fully aware of his nakedness, his proximity—the chill bumps that rise along his smooth tan skin as I work the sponge along his shoulder blades.

“They’ve done my back,” he says, and I note the huskiness of his voice.

Taking a deep breath, I submerge the sponge again and scoot closer along the floor to cleanse his chest. I’m positioned awkwardly as I attempt to reach over him. A cramp twinges in my side, and I adjust my position for comfort.

My knees hurt from the hard floor, and I don’t understand how the servants can stand this. I sigh heavily, again trying to get comfortable.