Large, muscular arms with a burnished hue rested gracefully along the rim of the ornate bathing pool. His head was tilted back comfortably against the edge, eyes closed, exuding a serene repose. From her angle, Freya could discern the strong, chiseled profile of his face. His thick, wavy hair tumbled down to his shoulders in dark, glossy strands that seemed almost sculpted to frame his visage perfectly.
His nose bore a subtle, dignified bump along its bridge, and a prominent jaw was discernible even beneath the shadow of a well-kept beard.
He lifted a hand, still without opening his eyes, and made a beckoning gesture. Freya paused, uncertain if the invitation was meant for her, but a quick glance around confirmed that none of the attendants moved—it was indeed intended for her.
Tentatively, she approached, the aromatic blend of the bath's oils growing more potent with each step. She stopped a few feet away, hesitating to encroach upon his space.
"Don't be shy," His voice broke the silence, rough yet inviting. "Come closer."
With a cautious step, Freya moved within a foot of the pool's edge. At this proximity, he opened his eyes—two deep pools of amber that seemed to capture and reflect the dim light shimmering off the water.
His expression shifted subtly, a hint of surprise mingling with curiosity as his gaze met hers. He was undeniably handsome, his rugged features softened slightly by the steamy warmth.
"So, you are the healer?" he inquired, his eyes sweeping over her in a measured appraisal that left her wondering exactly what it was he was assessing.
"Yes," she responded.
A slight curve touched his lips, forming a reserved smile. "And what is this healer's name?"
"Freya," she replied, her tone clear and confident.
"Freya," he repeated, accentuating the 'r' a bit more firmly. "Just Freya?"
"Freya Lorne. Healer of Navea, servant of Scythe, and gift of the Lorne," she elaborated.
"Very impressive," he remarked, though his expression remained unreadably neutral. "I assume you already know who I am."
"I would appreciate a formal introduction and to know how you prefer to be addressed," she countered diplomatically.
He seemed amused by her formality, a flicker of interest passing through his eyes. "Just Roarke," he responded casually. "My father, recently passed. That is why you are here."
"I am sorry for your loss," she offered softly.
"Would you like to join the bath?" he suggested, gesturing towards the expansive water surface that enveloped him. Was this a test? It was she who was supposed to be evaluating, not the other way around.
"Thank you, but I have just recently bathed," she replied tactfully.
"Well then, I should probably get out," he announced, rising from the water suddenly and without any prior indication.
Startled, Freya instinctively turned away, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. She caught sight of one of the attendants hurrying forward with a large towel. Behind her, Roarke's chuckle filled the air, a rich, deep sound that suggested he found her reaction amusing.
"Freya, Healer of Navea," he called out, his voice closer now. He came to stand before her, this time with the towel securely wrapped around his waist.
Water cascading down his well-defined physique. Droplets glistened on his broad chest and muscular arms, each contour and ripple pronounced and highlighted by the moisture. His presence was undeniably imposing—magnificent even, in a way that was both awe-inspiring and intimidating.
"Should you, as the healer, not take a very close look?" he asked. "Isn't that why you are here? To scrutinize every part of me, including my ability to produce an heir."
Freya's face flushed deeper. She had braced herself for hostility or skepticism from the ascendants, but this overt testing of boundaries was unexpected.
"I am certain that scrutinizing you...naked, won't reveal much about your ability to produce an heir," she retorted quickly.
He smirked, stepping closer. Freya resisted the urge to retreat; his proximity overwhelming, his large frame practically eclipsing her view of the room.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, determined not to let her eyes wander to his bare chest. He towered over her, his presence domineering. Droplets from his damp hair occasionally fell onto her face. She blinked, surprised by the sudden coolness on her skin.
Roarke lifted a large hand, gently wiping away a droplet of water from her cheek with a touch that was unexpectedly gentle. "Then...do you want to test my ability in a different way?" he said, his tone suggestive.
Heat surged to her neck at the implication. Surely, he couldn't be serious.
She chuckled nervously, a habitual response when under stress, and he arched an eyebrow in response.
"Do I amuse you?" he inquired, a slight edge to his question.
"A little," she admitted, finally taking a small step back to regain some space. "Since you are so eager to prove yourself, I'm sure you would pass that test," she added.
He scoffed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. "Eager?"
Freya realized she had offended him.
"I am not eager, female," he stated, his tone sharp and his gaze piercing as he looked her up and down with a sidelong glance that was more assessing than appreciative. "You would break beneath me."
She almost scoffed. Did he think she was a twig? Yes, she was certainly smaller compared to the imposing stature of the dragons, but fragile she was not. And why were they even discussing the possibility of her beneath him? The conversation had taken a wild turn, and the steamy atmosphere of the bath chamber did little to cool the rising heat in her cheeks.
"Luckily, I won't find myself beneath you," she countered, intent on asserting her purpose here. She wouldn't be swayed by such tactics.
But Roarke, embodying the typical male bravado, seemed to take her words as a challenge. She should have known.
He tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his robust chest. "I see. Confident because of your gift from Scythe? I wonder how your Goddess would react to having her little servant lose her chastity."
"Oh, I'm not worried. The Goddess's gift is holding up quite well so far. It seems your charm isn't as irresistible as you think," she shot back.
"The test isn't how well you can stand temptation, but how long," he retorted smoothly. "Don't be too confident yet."
Good comeback, she had to admit. But how long did he intend to keep up this act? Would she have to deal with this for the upcoming weeks?
At that moment, another woman approached from behind Roarke, assisting him into a robe. His demeanor shifted slightly as he addressed Freya again. "Am I the first one you are meeting?"
"Yes."
"And what is your test for me today?"
"Today, I am simply here to meet you," she replied smoothly. "Getting acquainted."
He eyed her skeptically for a moment, likely pondering whether she was concealing her true intentions. "If you don't have a test for me, then I have one for you," he proposed.
"I am not here to be tested."
"Yet you will be," he countered authoritatively. "You must know how to wield Scythe's weapon. I would like to see you in action."
"The scythe can kill with a touch. I don't wield it unless I have to," she explained, her tone serious.
"A touch might be hard for you to achieve here, Freya the chaste," he said.