Mouth still stuffed full, he muffled out his thanks and drank eagerly.
I started to chuckle just as a voice from behind us said, “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Jumping, I spun around to realize Melaina had returned. She had paused, poised at the edge of the camp, watching us curiously. Eyebrows perking up as her gaze met mine, she smirked as if she’d interrupted us mid-sex or something.
“Quilla’s teaching me how to make bread,” Indigo answered easily, finally having swallowed down his first bite. “It’s amazing.”
As he turned back to twist another strip around the stick, Melaina blinked at me. “You’re cooking? Together? How utterly domestic.”
“Fuck you,” I mouthed to her.
She smirked and blew me a kiss.
“Want me to cook you a loaf?” Indigo asked Melaina, completely missing the byplay.
Brightening, she nodded. “Hell yes. Serve me, pretty boy. I’m famished.” She plopped herself languidly onto my bedroll and gave a long, satisfied groan as she stretched. “Lordy, that dip in the hot springs was nice, though. I had to finger myself to orgasm twice before leaving the water.”
Indigo choked on air and quickly cleared his throat, moving past her inappropriateness. “So whatever happened to the gingerbread man?” he asked, turning pointedly to me. “Did he ever get caught?”
“Gingerbread man?” Melaina lifted her head from the bedding. “Telling the High Clifter children’s stories now, are you?” She pointed at Indigo. “And, no. No one could ever catch the gingerbread man. He was too fast.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Don’t believe her. The sly fox tricked him by offering him a ride across a wide river on his tail, then on his back, and finally on his nose, where the fox ended up flipping him into his mouth and eating him whole.”
“Ah.” He nodded sagely, then pointed at me. “See. Didn’t I tell you it was possible to outthink anyone, even if they were faster than you?”
“No.” Melaina sniffed acerbically. “The moral of the story is to never trust the sly foxes of the world.”
“Because they’ll outwit you at your own game,” Indigo shot back with a smirk before he glanced between the two of us. “Are there a lot of stories like this on Earth? That one was absolutely fascinating.”
“Oh, hundreds,” Melaina answered. “Thousands. Quilla…” She snapped her fingers at me. “Tell him your favorite fantasy about the princess, Butterworth, or whatever her idiot name was, and her handsome lover, Westbrook.”
“Buttercup,” I said dryly. “Her name was Buttercup. And his name was Westley.”
“Whatever. Just tell him that one.” Glancing toward Indigo, she added, “This was always her favorite.”
“Was it?” He focused on me so intently, my insides warmed about ten degrees.
And so, I was forced to recount the story of the princess who was kidnapped by the Sicilian, the giant, and the master swordsman, only to be saved by her one true love so they could live happily ever after, riding off into the sunset together.
Indigo grinned knowingly as I finished. “So you do believe in true love, after all? Interesting.”
“It was a fairy tale,” I muttered lamely. “And I was a kid. Besides, my favorite parts were the fight scenes and stupid humor. Not the tacky romance.”
Lifting his eyebrows, because he had to be able to feel the lie bleeding off me, he placed a hand against his chest and said, “My lady, but I am a great warrior who’s superb at fighting and chock-full of stupid humor.”
“No,” Melaina countered. “You’re just chock-full of stupid.”
He frowned her way, only to turn back to me and lean closer, whispering, “I bet you find me humorous, don’t you? I mean, who else would try to convince you a soldier’s horse should be called a knight mare?”
I shook my head, unable to answer. Because, yeah, there was something slightly entertaining about him. And it was becoming addictive.
Grinning at me, as if he knew I didn’t want to admit such a thing aloud and appear weak and soft, he leaned away again and began to hum under his breath, that same upbeat tune he always hummed.
He was still lightly humming “Singin’ in the Rain” when he set up his bedroll that night, right next to mine again, and crawled under his covers to lie beside me, facing me with a dreamy smile.
Feeling stiff and uncomfortable because he was there, because I liked him there, and I didn’t want him to know just how much I wanted to roll toward him and burrow into his warmth, to clutch a fistful of his tunic and press my face against his warm heartbeat or feel his strong arms wrap around me, I swallowed thickly and gazed up at the stars overhead.
Remembering how wishing upon stars was a custom on Earth to promote hope in the heart, I curled my hands into tight balls until my fingernails bit into my palms and I wished for a life where it would be okay to give in to kindness and compassion. Where I could show Indigo just how much I did want all the things he was promising.
Next to me, he whispered, “Hey, Quilla.”
I closed my eyes, blocking out the stars and trying to block out the hope. “What?”
“Guess what?”
I sighed, making it sound like I was annoyed by his constant pestering while in all truth, I loved that hint of cheer and life and all things good in his voice.
He laughed lightly as if he’d figured out my charade, and it amused him.
“What?” I finally grumbled.
“You didn’t threaten to stab me all day today,” he answered, his hushed tone full of glee.
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
He shifted closer. “It was a good day.”
I breathed in a deep breath.
Yes. Yes, it had been.
Chapter 23
Indigo
We set out again the next morning, heading through the woods back toward the main road that would lead us to Tyler. We’d left later than usual because Melaina had insisted on visiting the hot springs yet again after we woke.
We’d probably reach the village by the end of the day, though, which still wasn’t sitting well with me. I really did not want to cross paths with my uncle. If there was anything he detested more than his resentment toward High Cliff, it was his loathing of all things Graykey. He would not take kindly to learning his High Cliff nephew had mated to a Graykey girl.
Quilla seemed quieter and more withdrawn than usual, however, so I ignored my own anxieties as I studied her on her horse, riding about twenty feet ahead of me. She didn’t seem upset or scared, or even particularly happy for that matter; she was mostly just contemplative. I had no idea what she was contemplating, but it was definitely taking up a good portion of her attention.
I glanced toward Melaina to see if she noticed Quilla’s mood and seemed worried by it. But Melaina was too busy muttering obscenities as she tried to untangle a strap that had become knotted as it held her pack onto her horse’s back.
I sighed. “Wait. Here. You’re making it worse.” Riding up to her side, I reached out and was able to untangle the straps with my hands bound together.
“Show-off,” she muttered, giving me a scowl.