“Is that really necessary, my love?” Kaelus sighs, leaning his forehead into his hand. “We cannot very well let our princess starve to death.”
Lanneth stabs a cube of beef with her fork, holds it to her mouth and clenches her teeth around the meat. She chews so slowly I can hear every slosh as it moves around her cheeks, and does not look away from me until she is done.
“Hunger is cleansing. Hunger will remind our beloved princess that she is no longer frolicking in the forest. She is in Baev’kalath. She belongs to our prince, and that despite our kindness and generosity, we, Mordorin, are the nightmare behind the void. The horror that keeps humankind on their knees. It will serve her well to remember that.”
“You do not give yourself enough credit,” I hiss under my breath. “I have not forgotten. No human has forgotten. That is why we hate you so much.”
“Brave words from someone whose home so desperately needs our protection,” the king says sternly. “Retire now to your chambers, Princess Amara, before you say something you’ll regret.”
I’ve not even begun.I can feel the tirade building at the back of my throat, ready to be spat in the arrogant faces of these miserable Fae, but I am surprised when the prince speaks before I can.
“Come, wife,” he commands.
Daedalus pushes against the table, his chair scraping the stone as he rises to his feet. He runs a hand through the hair hanging like a veil over his eyes, sweeping it back amongst the thick waves, then cocks his head to the side and looks down at me.
“You know how to make an impression, don’t you?”
He offers his hand, but he is not giving me a choice. I keep my bandaged hand close to my side, assuming that Daedalus’ efforts to keep it hidden mean he does not want the king and queen tosee that it is not healing. I accept with my other hand, and he effortlessly lifts me to my feet. I meet his broad chest dressed in smooth, black silk, and I can’t help but inhale his rich, musky scent.
He leads me away, his stride slow and cavalier, as if not a single weight rested on his wide shoulders. We reach the doors and Daedalus pushes them open, but before we leave, the king calls from his seat.
“And enough of this dallying. The dawn’s first light will find you both in that bed. Do you understand me?”
I look at Daedalus’ face for his reaction and it is as sullen as I expected.
“Of course, father. There is nowhere else I would rather be.”
His words are so forced I can not imagine his parents believe him. I certainly do not. But I will take any excuse to leave that dining room. When the doors close behind us, Arax is there. He pounds his chain-mail glove against his armored chest and bows.
“My, Prince. Would you like me to escort the princess to her chambers?”
I assume the answer will be yes, but when I take a step away from him, Daed’s grip around my hand tightens, and he pulls me back to his side.
“No. You are dismissed for the night,” he replies frankly.
I imagine the bemused look on Arax’s face mirrors my own.
“My, Prince?” he questions.
Daedalus looks down at me, storm clouds swirling in his eyes. “I am all the protection my wife needs tonight.”
I pray he does not notice my throat quiver when I gulp.
“Very well, Your Highness,” Arax replies.
He glances at me, as if to ask something, but stays silent before turning on his heels and vanishing down one of the darkened halls of the castle.
I glower. “Is this the part where you fly me up into the air and we vanish in a puff of smoke?”
“And have you shower Baev’kalath in the contents of your stomach once more? No. We will walk.”
He lets go of my hand, instead looping my arm through his, as we walk side by side down the hall.
“And then what? You take me to my room, lock the door and fly out the arch?”
“And earn my father’s wrath? Not likely. Besides, he will have eyes on the sky no doubt,” Daedalus replies, looking straight ahead, the moonlight striking his face each time we pass an arch.
“Really?” I scoff. “What is the worst he could do to you?”
