Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(73)
A flicker of energy returned to me as I turned the lock of the evergreen door, as I came even closer to Anton’s room. I searched myself for any lingering darkness, any murderous thoughts. I felt none, only a mingling of anticipation and hope. I opened the door.
At the same time, from across the tapestry room, the midnight-blue door opened. Anton stood at the threshold, backlit by the glow of candles spilling out from his bedchamber. He had removed his kaftan, but otherwise was dressed in the shirt and trousers he’d worn to the ball. His hair was beautifully soft, fallen to his cheekbones in a way that reminded me of how the wind had moved through it when he’d driven the troika.
“You didn’t knock.” Unlike the teasing cleverness of a court lady, I blurted it out, then wanted to kick myself for doing so, in case he thought he was unwelcome. I couldn’t think straight. I was too distracted by the feeling in my aura. Not dark. Most definitely not dark.
“Forgive me.” Anton’s gaze briefly lowered to my nightdress, as if realizing the impropriety with which we always seemed to meet. But it wasn’t enough to keep him away. He took another step into the tapestry room. “I need to know if you’re all right.”
I gripped my candle with both hands. I couldn’t divert my eyes from his, not when they held mine so fervently.
“Now you look at me,” I said, attempting to lift my voice with a laugh, but my words rang with the disappointment I’d felt at the ball.
Anton moved even closer, tentatively, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “How is your head?”
I shrugged a shoulder. I didn’t wish to reveal that it throbbed whenever I moved too quickly. When Lenka had earlier undressed me, I’d had to hold the frame of the box bed for balance.
My breath caught as the prince’s hand moved under mine to raise my candle to my face. His skin was warm, his pressure gentle but unyielding. He studied my eyes for several moments, examining me like he was a physician. It took all my willpower not to drop my gaze to his lips. What was the matter with me? Hadn’t I kissed enough Ozerov men for the night?
Finally satisfied that my eyes were working properly, Anton reached for my head, then paused. “May I?”
My heart was a symphony of percussion, but I nodded. His hands carefully turned my head and skimmed over the sore lump. “Are you dizzy at all?” he asked.
“No.” Yes. I couldn’t be sure if my light-headedness came from my injury or Anton’s touch, his nearness. With my head twisted to the side, all I needed to do was lean into him and my cheek would rest against his shoulder. I forced myself back a smidgen and rotated to meet his gaze. At the movement, his hands slid around to hold my face. We stared at each other. How aptly I’d once called his eyes a simmered-butter brown. “I’m all right,” I said, but my knees rattled.
He caught me as I swayed and did more—he lifted me in his arms and carried me back through the evergreen door, the lavender door, and the red door to my chambers. When I saw the box bed, the lovely spell I’d fallen under dissipated.
“I don’t sleep here,” I confessed. “Not since the night you told me I could stay in the tapestry room.”
He regarded me, first with a subtly arched brow of surprise, and then his aura warmed with a glow of pleasure and radiated through my limbs and up to my face. Without a word, he turned around and carried me back through the red door, the lavender door, the evergreen door.
“This is ridiculous,” I protested, sure I was blushing. “I’m able to walk.”
“Hush, Sonya.” He drew back the covers and laid me down on my side, mindful of the lump on my head. Despite my declaration of strength, I weakly lolled onto the pillows. In truth, I couldn’t be sure if I was all right, if this was the culmination of my injury, too little food, and sheer exhaustion, or too much prince of Riaznin for my own well-being. “You’ve had a long night,” Anton said.
I noted how he kept every touch minimal and essential, even while he’d carried me and tucked the covers across my lap. How I wished he would lie beside me and let me drift to sleep cocooned in his warmth. I’d given Valko all the comfort I had to offer. Now I needed it from someone else.
“I’m not as simple as you think I am,” I said.
He froze in the act of standing up from my bed. “Pardon?”
“I didn’t forget about Morva’s Eve. And I know who you met with tonight. Count Rostav. Feliks. Yuri. Were you in Pia’s room? Did Yuri steal her key, or did she allow all of you entrance?”
The prince contemplated me, then set my candle on the bedside table. The soft light cast a reddish hue to the stubble on his chin. “Pia wasn’t involved.”
“But you don’t deny it was her room?”
He sighed and avoided my question by saying, “I don’t think you’re simple, Sonya.” With a humorless laugh, he dragged his hand through his hair. “Don’t you see what precautions I take around you? It’s because you . . . well, you’re complicated.”
I frowned, my finger trailing along the weave of my blanket. What did he mean by that? I wished to the gods I could sense where his aura differentiated from my own. Was any of my attraction to him reciprocal? Is that what he meant when he said, You’re reflecting something that is not your own? Did he think his feelings for me were one-sided, or did he have no feelings for me at all? I supposed it didn’t matter. Even if he did bear any desire for me, he would never act on it. I knew that much about the reserved prince. If he would never give me a dance, he would never give me a kiss. Why would he when every time he turned around, I was caught up in some mad embrace with his brother? “You think I’m weak,” I said.