She’d been far too disoriented when she woke the first time to recognize it, but now the truth pressed against her with undeniable weight. The thought struck before she could stop it.
Had she slept with the enemy in his bed?
She prayed to the gods he had been sleeping on the floor. Without realizing it, she’d been lying in the prince’s bed, her body surrendering to the enemy’s sheets. She swallowed hard, the thought bitter in her throat. Surely he would not have lain beside her, but the possibility sent a chill skittering across her spine that wasn’t fear exactly but an awareness that throbbed beneath her skin.
Why had he let her sleep in his chambers—and worse, in his bed? Ella stirred beneath the blankets. Her bloodied clothes were gone, likely taken, burned, or both. The act of someone changing her clothes was far too intimate, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know who had dressed her. The attire she wore now was of higher quality, though far too large, the fabric cinched awkwardly at her waist with a belt. Even her boots and weapons were gone. Gods, her weapons. Of course she didn’t expect to be allowed to keep them, but their absence left her stripped and vulnerable in a way she despised.
Her collarbone, where the sigil had once glowed openly, now rested beneath fine fabric, silent and unseen. She prayed it would stay that way. Her fingers brushed the mark, and thankfully, it was still invisible, still quiet.
She pushed back the sheets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, the fire in the hearth throwing just enough light to reveal the bandages wrapped tightly around her ribs.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself upright as pain exploded through her limbs. Her knees buckled, and shecrumpled halfway to the door, the floor rising to meet her before she could stop it.
The freezing stone sent jolts of pain up her arms as her palms slapped against it, catching herself, but barely.
“Do you have a death wish?” Jakobav's voice was low, angry yet somehow gravel-soft.
She flinched, pain snapping along her spine as she jerked toward the sound. “Gods, you scared the shit out of me,” she hissed, breath catching. “Is this a Dravaryn punishment—sneak up on me until I tear open my stitches? Do you enjoy watching me suffer, or could you announce yourself next time instead of materializing like a ghost?”
He ignored her and crouched beside her, arms corded with strength as he gathered her up. The motion stole her breath. She hadn’t realized how easily he could lift her. As he carried her toward the bed, she saw now it wasn’t truly a bed at all but a throne disguised in linen and shadows.
Her pulse thrummed hard against his shoulder. Yet he didn’t set her down.
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “You don’t like doing what you’re told, do you?” His gaze raked over her face as though memorizing her defiance, his hand lingering at her waist a moment longer than necessary.
“We’ll have to work on that,” he murmured.
Ella twisted in his grip, ignoring the flare of pain down her spine. “You’ll work on nothing,” she spat, fury cutting through the haze of pain. “I don’t belong to you.”
He didn’t even flinch, just held her still with effortless strength. His gaze didn’t waver, but sharpened, amusement laced with dark intentions.
Ella stilled in his arms, unwillingly aware of how his breath brushed her temple, warm, far too close. She squirmed against the cage of his grip, but the motion only drew her tighter againsthim. The heat of him seeped through her skin, unsettling in ways she refused to name.
His hold tightened, frustration breaking through his calm. “Stop fighting me,” he snapped, voice filled with command. “Will you follow orders for your own safety, at least until you’re healed enough to try running again?”
Her throat burned, but she forced the rasp past it.“Forgive me for not enjoying the mystery of waking up in unknown territory,” she choked out, throat dry. “What would you have me do? Wait politely to be executed?”
The air shifted between them as he set her down gently. Ella could have sworn she caught the faintest glimpse of a smirk on his face.
His dark brow barely lifted. “And you thought crawling on the floor would clarify things?”
She didn’t answer. Her pride was already bleeding.
“You’re not in a cell because I chose not to put you in one,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “You’re here because I decide what happens to you now. My quarters are the only place where you won’t become a problem.”
A chill skittered through her, and Ella responded without thinking. “How exactly wouldIbe a problem foryou?”
Jakobav crowded closer, his phantom smile twisting darker. “You’d become a problem if you were seen. A much bigger one if you died.”
Her stomach lurched, and her mind barely kept pace. “Where did you sleep?” The question tore free colder than she intended, suspicion dripping from every word.
He didn’t answer, but his gaze lingered.
Of course he hadn’t answered. This was his bed, his room, his kingdom. She refused to follow the thought to its end, looked away first, and hated that she did.
Jakobav stood near the bed, arms crossed, unreadable again. There was no smugness or overt threat, only the unbearable calm of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.
He slowly reached toward the bandage on her knee.
