Hours pass, and I’ve read half the book, but none of it has penetrated my consciousness. I just need to see her. The need is overwhelming, consuming, impossible to ignore any longer.
I close the book and set it aside, then I close my eyes and focus on the gold cuff around her wrist. I visualize it in my mind and send a pulse of magic through the connection. I can feel when the cuff starts burning her, because I feel a burn in my chest, right over my heart. I connected the cuff to my own magic, so I can control it with a simple thought.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I say.
I watch as the door opens and Tressa enters my chambers.
I can see how tired she is. Her skin is flushed from the hours she spent in the sun washing my clothes, and her light brown hair has come loose. The old uniform hangs on her body in a way that makes her look smaller than she is, even though she’s not necessarily a thin person. There’s still anger in her eyes as she approaches me.
“What do you need?” she asks.
Some of her bite has left her, but not all of it. Never all of it.
“Make the fire,” I tell her.
She sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes, and I have to suppress a smile. She walks to the fireplace and kneels to arrange the kindling and logs. Within moments, she has a fire crackling to life. She stands and turns back to me.
“What else?”
I relax deeper into my armchair and prop my legs up on the ottoman in front of me, getting comfortable.
“For now, I don’t need anything else, but why don’t you go ahead and stand there in case I think of something later.”
“You just want me to stand here?” she asks, disbelief in her voice.
She huffs out a breath, but she moves to the window and tucks her hands behind her back as she stares outside.
“Of course,” she whispers under her breath.
I shoot her a glance, then return to my book. For the next hour, I pretend to read while trying my best to ignore her presence. Which is impossible. I can smell her skin from across the room. Her scent makes my head swim. She smells of flowers and spring, of detergent, of fresh air and perspiration from her hard work today. It’s intoxicating, maddening, and I want to drown in it.
No matter how hard I try not to look at her, my eyes sweep toward her constantly. But she’s not looking at me at all. She’s staring out the window at the front of the palace. I specifically chose these chambers because I wanted to keep an eye on everything, to see who’s coming and going at all times.
She’s uncomfortable, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’s tired and probably in pain from standing for so long. I hear her stomach rumble, a low growl that carries across the quiet room. I remember she didn’t eat anything today. I myselfordered the servants and the cook not to give her anything to eat. She’s supposed to eat with me and only me.
I close my book and look at her.
“Go and bring me dinner,” I say.
She throws me a glare that could melt stone, but she leaves without argument.
While she’s gone, I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. I straighten my back and notice with disappointment that the pain is gone. My body has healed itself, as it always does.
When I go back into the sitting room, Tressa is already there, setting up the table for me in front of the fireplace.
I sit down, and she begins serving me. The first course is a hearty soup garnished with thin slices of mushrooms. The second is seared duck breast with a cherry reduction, the meat tender and pink in the center, served with roasted root vegetables glazed in honey. The third course is a rich stew made with wine and tender cuts of beef, accompanied by fresh bread still warm from the oven. And for dessert, there’s a tart filled with berries and topped with spun sugar that glitters in the firelight.
This time, when she pours me wine, she doesn’t spill it onto my lap. I’m almost disappointed. I’d give anything for her to touch me again. It doesn’t matter how she touches me. I’d be happy if she hit me, slapped me, dug her nails into my skin – as long as she gives me her attention and I can feel her hands on me.
Tressa becomes increasingly uncomfortable as I eat my dinner, standing there and watching me consume course after course while her stomach must be eating itself from the inside.
“Sit on the floor,” I order her.
She hesitates for just a second, and I see her glance at my tail where it rests coiled beside my chair. Then she does as I say,lowering herself to the floor with her legs tucked underneath her. She sits close to the table.
She’s become scared of my tail, I realize, and that’s the only reason she follows my orders now. She knows that if she doesn’t, I can easily make her. That knowledge makes my chest ache. I hate myself for making her feel so scared and threatened by me. But at the same time, I can’t help myself, because the only way to make her give me her attention is to push her.
