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“How does it make it easier?”
“For one, we are allowed to be alone together in a room without a chaperone.”
“A chaperone?” She laughed, a light sound full of mirth. “I am a woman of thirty-some years. I don’t need someone guarding my virtue.”
Older than he’d thought, but still very much desirable. “As my fiancée, you would have full access to the citadel, and it would grant you protection from those seeking a wife of their own.”
“No, and no. I won’t be seen as chattel.”
“I don’t understand your issue. It’s not as if we will actually marry.”
“Because I am not interested in lying. If you must call me something, then how about a diplomat from Acca? Or sinceyour people have a thing against witches, Ulkruuba where I’m originally from.”
He held in a sigh of annoyance. “Very well. Have it your way.” She’d soon see why he suggested the subterfuge.
“Good. Now, about that room?”
“We’ll have to go through the secret passage lest my guards see you.”
“The mighty warlord has guards to watch him over as he sleeps?” She snickered.
“Not usually, but given the recent troubles, some have taken it upon themselves to volunteer, or as they claim when I bark at them, ‘Sorry warlord, must have fallen asleep in the hall.’Never mind the fact I’m the only one who sleeps on this floor,” he grumbled. The first time he’d stumbled over a soldier when exiting his room, he’d almost run them through with his sword. While none ever came right out and said it, he could see his father’s hand in their actions. The previous warlord might have retired but he still occasionally meddled.
The secret doorway in the back of his wardrobe led to a narrow passage that ended in stairs and spiraled down with exits every other floor. His father had shown them to Kormac saying hopefully he’d never need them to escape. As if he’d ever flee. Kormac would rather die fighting than run like a coward from strife.
They exited onto the floor with the guest chambers that were rarely in use. Kormac didn’t enjoy hosting events that involved outsiders. His mother complained he’d never find a bride if he didn’t invite eligible families and their daughters to the citadel. Exactly. While he understood he should beget an heir, he’d yet to meet a woman who intrigued him enough to visit her bed more than a handful of times, let alone one he could imagine a lifetime with.
The doors to the unoccupied rooms remained ajar and he led her into the first one. Not a huge chamber. The bed was barely large enough for two but fine for a slight witch. She glanced around. “I don’t see a tub.”
He pointed to a curtain. “Bathing chamber. No tub but we do have a water sluice.”
“A what?” She blinked at him with dark lashes.
It seemed easier to show her. He pushed past the curtain, ignoring the commode, and pointed to a lever in the corner. “Pull it to release the water. Shove it back in place to shut it off.” He demonstrated and the spout overhead released a torrent.
Her mouth rounded. “That’s brilliant. Who designed it?”
“Great-grandfather. He hated waiting for buckets of water and so devised a method to collect rainwater on the roof in huge vats and ran tubing from them into the citadel.”
“It must have taken a great deal of work.”
“He had plenty of help once the servants realized it would ease their tasks immensely.” No one wanted to climb flights of stairs numerous times just to fill a tub.
“So you’ve given me two of my requests, now we just need the third. Food.”
“I’ll fetch you a plate from the kitchen.” No point in arguing, especially since he found himself slightly hungry. He left the witch to her bathing and descended the stairs, encountering no one on his way.
Only as he scrounged in the pantry for edibles did it occur that his bracers hadn’t glowed in the presence of the witch. So they didn’t detect magic. At least not the type she wielded.
While he’d been skeptical of her claim to power, it was hard to deny when she made him float. Exactly what else could she do? Did her magic have limits?
He found some leftover meat from dinner, chopped and ready for a stew in the morning, along with a loaf of stale breadmost likely meant for trenchers the next day. He also gathered some fruit before he headed back up the stairs and paused outside her closed door. Should he just walk in?
Despite not usually having to announce his presence, he knocked.
“Come in.”
He entered to find her already bathed, her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing a gown with a tight bodice that had him shaking his head. “Your clothing won’t do.” He set the plate of food down on a table by the window and she wandered close to pick at it.
