He climbed out of the bed, leaving the sheets in a forgotten tangle, splashed water on his face, and listened to the silence inside his chest. He did not meet his own gaze in the mirror. Soulless and dead, he loathed his face, his eyes, with every fiber in him.
Reflected in the tiny, polished steel mirror, Anges watched him. A teasing smile painted her lips. “If I had nossing pressing to do,mon amant, I would bustle jou right back into that bed.”
Nigel turned away from his reflection and dropped a kiss on Anges’s bright curls. Somewhere in his still and lifeless chest, he found remembrance of flirting, not what it was to want a lover, but the words to say. “Tempt me not, oh my captain,” he said. “I’ll see you at the late watch, after your penny-farthing groundlings have left flight behind for home and hearth.”
* * * *