"In better shape than you," I reply, unable to resist the dig after he yelled at me on the roof. I sit up. I feel really good, possibly the result of the magical medallion and my natural resiliency to death and dismemberment here.
"You gave your life for me. I will allow your sharp tongue."
Rolling my eyes, I start to protest.
He thrusts a mug of something at me. I sniff at it. It smells like tea. I shift to drink without spilling and notice I'm not wearing the dress I had on when I fell. I'm in a nightgown again.
"Where are my clothes?" I ask a little self-consciously.
"You were in too many pieces to stich it together."
I lower the mug. "Oh. That sounds horrible."
He nods. Accustomed to blood, the Shadow Knight is unconcerned, but I can't help feeling a little rattled about being dead. His multi-hued eyes are on mine, his thick body clothed in leather pants and a tunic.
I don't like the way he's watching me, the way lionesses hunt gazelles on those nature shows on the television.
"Where are your weapons?" I ask, gaze lingering on the outline of his shapely thighs, visible through the snug pants.
"The gaoler did not allow me to keep them."
"We're in jail?" The room resembles a bedchamber. Although I notice the room is round, like we're in some sort of prison tower from a fairytale. "So you didn't defeat the troll and Knights?"
"I beheaded the troll at great cost. The Red Knight brokered a peace. It was necessary to save your life." The Shadow Knight's answer is clipped. "And we are here."
He's not telling me something. The instinct that wants me to go home and resume my pitiful, miserable life digs in its heels.
I don't ask why there's a flicker of sadness in his pretty eyes, but it takes effort. Diving off a cliff for a man you barely know seems easier than talking to him when he's looking directly at you like this.
I take a drink of the tea instead, not liking the idea he allowed himself to be taken prisoner instead of . . . I don't know. Leaving me. Beheading everyone.
"Are all women of your world hairless from the waist down?"
I choke and spew tea everywhere, my face hot. Coughing hard, my eyes water. It takes me a moment to quell the fit, but there's nothing that will take the heat from my cheeks.
"How do you know that?" I demand, humiliated. "Were you . . . doing things to me when I slept?"
"Aye. Cleaned up the blood. Stitched pieces of you back together. Dressed you." He's calm and factual.