“King’s daughter.”
After another sip, she meets my eyes.
“Elowen,” she says. “Her name.” The smile is gone from her face.
We stare at each other for a long moment. Then she speaks, looking down into her cup.
“Try not to forget her name.”
“Why?”
She smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me.
We sit in silence, sipping the milk. I don’t even like milk, but I can’t refuse her.
Once we finish, she takes my cup and gets up. I stop myself from asking her to stay.
She sets the cups down and moves toward the door. The cold wraps around me again, once she leaves through that door, it will be the only thing keeping me company.
Bruno is still on the bed, but I know he’ll leave with her.Given the choice, no one would choose to stay away from her.
But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she moves to the switchboard and turns to me.
“I’m changing the lights.”
I nod.
She presses each button, dismantling the peace of my room—flicking lights on and off from different spots, glancing around in irritation every time a wrong one clicks on. Finally, she finds the combination she wants: dim yellow light. Relaxing. The one I hate.
I knew before agreeing that she’d change the bright white into this. And I also knew I wouldn’t utter a single word of refusal.
She moves to the other side of the bed—where Bruno is—and sits with her back against the headboard, her pale legs stretched across my black sheets. I fight the urge to touch them, to touch her. She’s in my bed, and it’s nearly impossible to stop myself from getting closer, but the barrier between us is enormous.
Bruno gets up and settles close to her. I shift back too, pressing my back against the headboard.
“Why aren’t there any AI assistants in this house? It feels ancient.”
“I don’t like them.”
“What’s not to like? My family can’t go a day without them—or the robots. They’re so handy.”
When I don’t reply, she sighs, adjusting the pillows behind her. “But you’re also ancient, so it’s understandable.”
“You’re calling me old.”
She grins. “Aren’t you?”
“No.”
She clicks her tongue. “Someone lied to you. You’re old.” She leans in, her face close to mine. “Too old.”
She tempts me, speaking in that voice, teasing me, looking at me with those glistening, wide eyes, smiling like I’m not someone she should stay away from.
I turn my head away.
After a silent minute, she asks, “How old is Bruno?”
I look back at her. “Three.”