He moved back and snapped his fingers. I glanced up to see myself surrounded by a golden circular cage. My fingers gripped the bars, holding onto them as anger replaced my grief.
He strode toward my cage.
“Remember that midsummer swim, little thief? The way the water clung to your skin like greedy hands? How you laughed when the current tugged just a little too hard between your thighs?” he said, his voice a venomous purr.
A memory slammed into me.
I was eighteen or nineteen years old, diving into the forest pool to escape the heat. The water had been too warm, and how it swirled around my legs was too deliberate. I’d gasped at the sudden pleasure, blaming the shock of cold...
“Once, you danced barefoot through my woods, plucking my flowers, drinking from my streams,” he said with a calculated look. “Did you truly believe nature loved you, little thief? That it didn’t whisper every step you took back to me?”
His sperm had remained dormant inside of me for at least nine years—until I got pregnant. It was worse than what Grandma told me.
“I own you,” he said. “The child is mine. You’ll stay here until he’s born. Be grateful that I allow you to live after giving birth.” A pause, glacial. “And pray that I don’t change my mind.”
The moment Alvar’s footsteps faded, I collapsed onto the narrow bed, my trembling hands cradling the swell of my belly. The baby pressed back—hard—as if arguing with my grief.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He’s wrong.
This child might carry Alvar’s poison in its veins, but it had my fire too. Every kick, every roll, and every time it curled tight under my ribs when I sang off-key—that was mine. Not his. Never his.
???
The Fae handmaid's nails dug into my nipple like talons, twisting it until I gasped.
“The King prefers them pink,” she sniffed, as if discussing fruit at the market.
I smacked her hand away, the crack echoing off the ceramic tiles. “They are pink,” I snarled, cradling my aching breast.
Her pupils slit in outrage. “Not rosy enough. He wants them—”
“I don't care what he wants.” I spat the words out before I could consider any repercussions.
There was a slow, mocking clap from the doorway. Alvar leaned against the frame, his smile as sharp as a blade.
“Oh, but you will. Leave us,” he said as his eyes moved over the water I sat in.
The handmaid's nails left crescent moons on my skin as she fled. The bathwater rippled between my thighs, suddenly too warm.
Alvar prowled forward, his boots clicking against the wet tiles. Each step sent water sloshing against my bare stomach.
“Defiant today,” he mused, crouching beside the tub. His fingers trailed through the water, parting it effortlessly until his knuckles brushed my inner thigh. “Shall I remind you why that's unwise?”
The collar pulsed, its thorns pricking deeper. My back arched against my will, forcing my chest toward his waiting hands.
“Pink,” he murmured, pinching my nipple hard enough to burn. “Like the roses outside your childhood window.”
His other hand slid lower, water splashing onto the floor as his claws worked around my belly before he reached my pussy. His claws pulled me open, and I felt the warm water enter me. I gasped as it swirled around me.
“It’s time for a lesson. You do not strike my servants,” he said before he snapped his fingers.
I lay on his bed, but before I could react, vines reached out for me, curling around my limbs, stretching me open and pinning my wrists above my head. Alvar's fingers twitched, and the vines moved.
Twin tendrils slithered around my breasts, squeezing until the flesh puckered and ached, forced upright for his appraisal.
“You'll learn your place,” he murmured, trailing a claw down my sternum. “Starting with what these are for.” He flicked a nipple, and the vines twisted in response.
