"I’m not hungry," I say, backing away. "I’m going to my room."
"You don't have a room," he says. "You haveourroom. And you don't have permission to leave this table."
He stands up.
He moves with that terrifying grace, rounding the corner of the table. I take another step back, but I bump into the sideboard. I’m trapped.
Silas stops in front of me. He towers over me, blocking out the firelight, casting me in his shadow.
"You’re defiant tonight," he murmurs. He reaches out and wraps his hand around my throat. Not choking me, just holding. Claiming. "I like it. But defiance has consequences."
"Are you going to hit me?" I challenge, lifting my chin. "Go ahead. Be the monster everyone thinks you are."
His eyes darken. His thumb strokes the pulse point in my neck, feeling the frantic beat of my heart.
"I told you, little bird. I don't break my toys."
He releases my throat and grabs my waist. He lifts me effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing.
"Silas!"
He sits down on his chair—the high-backed chair at the head of the table—and pulls me down with him.
He settles me on his lap.
I struggle, trying to push off his chest, but his arm clamps around my waist like an iron band, pinning me to his hard thighs. I’m sitting sideways, my legs draped over the armrest, my silk nightgown riding up to my hips.
"Let me go," I hiss.
"No."
He reaches for the plate—my plate. He picks up the fork and stabs a piece of the bloody roast beef.
"You need protein," he says. "You’re too thin. I can feel every vertebrae in your spine."
He brings the fork to my lips.
"Eat."
I clamp my mouth shut, glaring at him.
Silas sighs. "Don't make this difficult, Ivy. You can eat it willingly, or I can hold your nose until you open your mouth to breathe. Either way, you are swallowing this."
I look at his eyes. He means it. He will force-feed me like a goose if he has to. And the humiliation of that... the sheer, infantile helplessness of it... is too much.
I open my mouth.
He slides the fork in. The meat is tender, rich, savory. I chew quickly and swallow, hating how good it tastes. Hating that he is providing for me.
"Good girl," he praises, his voice dropping to a low purr.
He cuts another piece.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice trembling as he feeds me again. "Why the questions about my mother? Why the mind games?"
"Because I need to know where the cracks are," he says simply. "I need to know what broke you, so I can be the one to put you back together. Only... I’ll put you back together differently. Stronger. Mine."
He feeds me a roasted carrot. Then a potato.
