"Property," she repeated, bitterness coating the word. "Is that all? Because your mixed signals suggest otherwise."
He went still, and she immediately regretted speaking. But the words were already spilling out.
"You hold me while I sleep but call me property. Give me comfort in court but remind me I'm owned. Touch me like I matter then dismiss me as a thing. Which is it?"
"Mixed signals." He moved closer, each step deliberate. "You think I'm sending you mixed signals."
"Aren't you?"
"No." He stopped just out of reach, studying her with dark amusement. "You're interpreting ownership as affection. That's not my failing, it's yours."
Heat flooded her face. "I'm not—"
"Aren't you?" He tilted his head. "You think a cushion means care, and proximity means desire for closeness rather than convenience. You're reading human emotions into fae practicality."
"Then what was the bath?" The question escaped before she could stop it and she hated herself for it.. "The way you—"
"Responded to fascinating magic?" His smile turned sharp. "That warmth in your chest is an anomaly. Of course I'm curious about it. That doesn't mean I harbor tender feelings for the vessel that carries it."
The dismissal stung more than it should have. She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. Behind her, she heard him move closer.
"Did you think I was falling in love with you?" His voice came soft, mocking. "How adorably human. How predictably naive."
"Stop." The word came out rough.
"Love is a human construct," he continued, now close enough she felt his breath brush against the back of her neck. "Fickle, changeable, worthless." His hands settled on her shoulders, and she tensed. "We don't need something as fragile as love to enjoy each other."
"Enjoy," she said flatly.
"Mmm." His thumbs traced the curve of her shoulders through the nightshift. "That warmth in your chest? I want to explore it again. See what other responses I can draw from it. From you."
"I'm not interested in being your experiment."
"No?"
She didn't see the vines until they touched her ankles, soft as silk, warm as summer. She startled, but they didn't restrain, just traced lazy patterns on her skin.
"Your pulse says otherwise," he observed. "Racing. Excited."
"That's fear."
"Liar." More vines emerged from the walls, but these didn't grab or bind. They explored, ghosting along her arms, her throat, the curve of her waist. Gentle. Teasing. "Your body is already responding. Already remembering how good it feels when you surrender."
She tried to step away, but her legs felt heavy. The vines weren't holding her, but their touch was hypnotic, making it hard to remember why she wanted to leave.
"I don't want—"
"What you want and what that warmth wants seem to be different things." His hands slid down her arms, following the path his vines had traced. "Feel how it reaches for my touch? Even through your anger?"
He was right. The warmth pulsed traitorously, leaning toward his darkness despite her mind's resistance.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said, but her voice came out breathless as a vine traced the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Finally, something we agree on." He turned her to face him, hands framing her face. "This means nothing beyond pleasure and mere curiosity. Beyond the fascinating way your body sings for mine."
The vines grew bolder, one sliding beneath the hem of her nightshift to trace the back of her knee. She gasped, and he smiled.
"See? No love needed. No tender feelings required." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Just an honest response. Your body wanting what it wants without your mind's interference."
