If I give in… If I agree to marry the Prince, I can save myself this impending agony. But then there’s Roarke.
I can still taste him on my lips. If I concentrate, I can separate his scent from the others in the room. My own sweat and tears. The grassy smell of the straw.
Roarke loves me. And by all that is holy in this realm, I love him too. I shouldn’t. We are too different. Even if he weren’t a dragon, we would still be too different. But I cannot help my heart.
Turning over, I bury my face in the thin mattress—no one bothered to give me a pillow—and fall into a fitful sleep.
* * *
“You failed.”The King’s voice wakes me, and the shock sends me tumbling to the floor. “There is no gold in this room. My son has suggested two days bound to the beam as punishment.”
I scramble back, all the way to the stone wall, and hold up my hands. “Please… No one can spin straw into gold. Give me wool or silk or—“
“Father.” The Prince pushes his way into the room and scoops me into his arms. “Leave us. I should be the one to punish my future bride.”
“See that you do not fail.” The King turns on his heel and strides back through the door, three massive Fae guards parting to let him pass. They form an impenetrable wall once he is gone.
“Put me down,” I demand, but he only tightens his hold. “I may be forced to marry you, whatever-your-name-is, but I willneverwant your hands on me.”
The Prince does exactly what I ask. He drops me from his full height, and I land on my hip and shoulder. My head slams against the stone floor, and then the Prince starts to speak in that strange language I cannot understand.
My mind clouds, and the pounding behind my eyes builds until I feel as if my head will quite literally split open. Sights and sounds make no sense to me. I see the glint of gold, hear the spinning wheel, and on top of that…a strange tune. A happy song with an air of triumph.
Blinking hard, I try to focus, and when I do, I gasp.
The Prince stands next to the spindle, staring down at me. A spool of golden thread sits on top of one of the bales of straw. “How…?” I push myself up on an elbow, and the room tilts. In two steps, the Prince is kneeling next to me, his hand around my upper arm.
“Fae magic, my sweet Lia.” He whispers a few words in that strange language and snaps his fingers. Before my eyes, the spool transforms back into a bale of hay. “You know your punishment.” He gestures to the beam, casts another charm, and a pile of thick, black rope coils at my feet.
“Please,” I whisper. “What the King asked—it is impossible. Only one of the Fae can turn straw into gold. You cannot possibly punish me for this.”
“Oh, but I will. The Fae always keep our promises.” The Prince tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and I try not to recoil, but when his hand lingers on my neck, part of me wants to lean closer. He is working his charms on me, and my addled mind teeters on the edge of control. “Perhaps you would be interested in a bargain to escape your punishment?”
No. Not again.
Yet, with him touching me, his magic curling around me, I find myself saying, “What are your terms?”
“I will tell my Father you only needed a bit of instruction. That under my guidance, you spun one of the bales into gold and you can do the rest given another day. That you can spin even more. That will stay your punishment. Perhaps I will even waive it entirely.” The Prince’s fingers gently massage my neck. “You need a bath, Lia. Fresh clothing. Care. I could give you all of that.”
“And…what would I have to give in return?” My voice is barely audible, and I try to focus on my memories of Roarke. Of how he held me all night, of how his strong arms felt wrapped around me.
“I love you. And I will free you.”
The Prince’s words are right in my ear, and he continues to massage my neck. “There are many types of Fae. Did you know that, my Lia?”
The Prince shifts me closer to him, his fingers rough and no longer as comforting. His touch feels so very different than Roarke’s that my addled brain starts to focus. I cannot allow myself to be bound any further. Not when Roarke promised to come back for me.
“I only know what I have seen,” I whisper. “You. Your cruel father. The guards who hold the town hostage…”
“Hostage? No. We protect you.”
I choke out a laugh. “Protect us? We cannot leave. The outcasts work our whole lives for nothing.” Anger strengthens me, and I sit up taller and turn my hands palms up. “I cannot feel anything with three of my fingers,Prince. Because I have been spinning wool since I was old enough to operate the spindle. Because my father drinks to forget he is trapped here. That he helped createmeand trapmehere as well.”
The Prince’s face holds no emotion at all, but his voice…that is full of understanding. Fake understanding. “We draw energy from suffering. It gives us life. Eternal life.” His shoulders straighten. “I am fifty-three years old, Lia. Yet, I look as if I am twenty.”
Shock leaves me speechless, which is probably a good thing, as I feel his influence pressing down on my free will.
“If I take away your punishment, I ask only one thing.” The Prince cups my cheek.
