Harwal, book 3

Chapter 5

Surprisingly, our biggest problem in a couple of hours has been Harwal's speech. I calmed down enough to talk about the lab a bit, but I have to keep correcting his speech.

"It's 'you' not her," I repeat for the umpteenth time. Even the most patient being on earth would get irritated by this.

"It would be easier if she told her name," Harwal says.

I sigh and shake my head. He really has completely forgotten when I was introduced to him at the lake, or when people have said my name repeatedly, but I guess it works out.

"If you know my name, you keep repeating that instead, won't you?"

Harwal scrunches his mouth and grunts. He leans back on his headboard. "I won't be speaking much. If I use her name, it's the same."

"Your name," I correct. Again. "Seriously, if you slip, it's suspicious. Who would believe that you've grown up as a slave if you can't speak like everyone else?"

"Why do I have to have been raised as a slave?"

I throw my head back and grab the back of my neck. "So difficult," I mutter to myself and whip my head to him with an accusing finger. "You don't look like you could be tamed. You're huge!"

Harwal shifts his position and crosses his arms, almost looking like a sulky teenager. It's just that his face is locked into the stoic expression that fails the illusion.

"What if I was smitten?" He mutters.

"Smitten?" I repeat with a scoff. "You want to pretend I seduced you to be my bodyguard or something? How exactly would that look, hmm? You clinging and sweet talking to me? Or am I doing that? No thanks."

I stare at his big form taking the whole bed and shiver. That's just not gonna happen. I don't know why he would even suggest such bullshit.

He huffs in amusement—that's what I gather the huffing and puffing is—and closes his eyes. "Can I pretend to be mute? That would be the most logical solution to our problem."

I grunt and rub my eyes. "How can a Zohra be mute? Aren't Zohra some genetic mutations that can't have such ailments?" He huffs again, and I scowl. It's true that slaves don't talk much, but it's important if he has to.

"She is correct," he says, looking straight at me again.

I'm starting to think he's trying to make me angry. There's no way he keeps saying 'she' and 'her' by accident.

"This is going nowhere," I mumble and get off my bed. "Let's have a break. I'm going to shower, then… sleep." I grab the knife from the bed and point it at him. "Do we have to sleep in the same room?"

I pray he tells me he has a plan that we can go into separate rooms.

"It's what was ordered," he says, staring at me, not the knife. "I won't do anything to… you."

The son of a bitch has to be doing it on purpose. I roll my eyes and snatch my bag of clothes and a towel. "Right, I'll sleep with one eye open."

"I didn't know humans were capable of that," he says, sounding truly in awe.

"Figuratively," I say and march to the bathroom. "Please don't disturb me."

He looks back at me and tilts his head. "What?"

"I'm going to shower, so please don't try to force your way in."

"Why would I do that?"

"The common sense of your people is beyond my imagination," I snap and shut the door behind me.