Saving the Second Male Lead

Chapter Seventeen

"And I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home." - Taylor Swift, My Tears Richochette.

If you're looking for a song to listen to when reading, I highly recommend this one (it doesn't match the vibe at first but I promise it will)!

Dinner hadn't even started, yet I was already ready to leave the table. I'd somehow been sandwiched between Ryelin and Ryia's father, and Sawyer was right across from me; combined with the incessant itching of my bandages, I was certain the universe had set this up so that it could laugh at me. The only saving grace was that the food was already on the table, so everyone was too busy loading their plates to make small talk, or so I thought.

"What happened to your hand?" Duke Sommers asked as soon as I lifted my hands to grab my utensils.

"I tripped earlier today and ended up slicing my hand on the edge of a coffee table," I lied, throwing a look toward Sawyer that said See, I can follow your rules.

"I'm sorry to hear that, how are you feeling now?"

"I am fine now, but I was furious when it first happened. I was so angry at the coffee table that I wanted to grab a sword and cut it to pieces. Luckily for the coffee table, I was capable of restraining myself."

Across the table, Ryia kept her head down and quickly took a sip of her drink to conceal a smile that even she hadn't been able to control. At her side, Sawyer wore a neutral expression, but his white-knuckle grip on his knife was almost comedic. As dangerous as angering him like this was proving to be, it was also effective. All the whispers I'd heard earlier while waiting outside the dining hall made it clear that he was more than capable of digging his own grave; we just needed to give him the shovel.

"I'm glad to hear it," Duke Sommers said, eyeing me oddly. "Controlling your temper is... very important."

"Yes, it's very important. I don't want to think of how embarrassed I'd be if I had done something so rash out of anger," I added, drawing out my words.

Ryelin choked on his laugh as Sawyer's hand slipped, his knife screeching across his plate. A few heads jerked in the direction of the noise, but Sawyer kept his eyes on his plate. His jaw clenched as he cleared his throat, murmuring an apology for the noise as his face reddened.

I wish Oliver were here to see this.

Where even was he? A quick scan of the dining hall told me that neither he nor Lawrence were there. I'd have to find him afterward; I was more than excited to go over the day's events with him. Until then, I'd be stuck dealing with some much less pleasant company.

"Yes, that would have been quite embarrassing." The duke's attention flipped between trying to understand my unnecessary addition and Sawyer's overreaction, but if he realized the connection, he didn't show it.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, golden eyes slid toward me. The embarrassment had drained from Sawyer's face, replaced by the wily expression she'd seen this morning.

"June your cup looks empty, would you like more wine?" Sawyer asked as a smirk slithered across his lips, nodding toward the glass I'd drained earlier after realizing my seating arrangement. I reached out my injured hand to grab the carafe in front of him, but he picked it up and motioned for me to raise my glass. "Here, I can pour it. No need for you to strain your hand even more."

Not wanting to push him any further, I listened and held my glass up high enough for him to pour into. At first, he poured straight into the cup, but after a few seconds, he jerked the carafe. Red wine spilled onto my hand, staining my bandages and the tablecloth below.