As I presided over yet another evening of court in the banquet hall, all I could think about was returning to her side and touching her. Holding her. Breathing in her unique floral scent.Frost flowers. That’s what she smells like. The resilient blue flowers that thrive on the frozen mountaintops of the Winter Court lands.
When I carried her upstairs to my bedchamber, she seemed to fit in my arms perfectly. She also doesn’t seem bothered by the coldness of winter that inevitably clings to me. I recall her lack of goosebumps when I stood close and cupped her face. What anunusual and beguiling little creature she is. If I was ever to take a pleasure slave or a concubine, she would be the perfect choice.
And yet…
I still can’t fathom forcing her.
I remind myself of the promises I made to her. That I wouldn’t kill or violate her. I mean to keep those vows. What sort of king would I be if I went back on my word, even to a human?
My pulse races as she stirs in her sleep. A lock of wavy, dark hair falls across her forehead, and she emits a soft sigh. Her breathing remains rhythmic, and every so often, her eyelashes flutter and she makes a faint noise in her throat. Her expression isn’t as peaceful and relaxed as I would like, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s dreaming about. Her eyebrows keep knitting together, and sometimes she grimaces.
I kneel in front of her and study her expression up close. Why does every little movement she makes, from her steady breaths to the way her lashes flutter, fascinate me beyond measure?
She whimpers and grimaces, then she utters a name. Repeatedly. A human man’s name.Harry.
Jealousy rips through me. I rise to my feet and stare down at her, watching and listening as she keeps repeatinghisname. Who the fuck is Harry?
Her late husband? A new lover?
Surely it’s not the brother-in-law who was harassing her in the street when Alaric came upon them.
Helena belongs to me. She is a gift I can’t return or part with, and I don’t like hearing another male’s name on her lips. For her sake, I pray Harry is her late husband. If it’s another man… then his days are numbered. Perhaps I’ll scour Braemar, round up every adult male called Harry, and put them all to death.
A growl resounds from my throat before I can stop it, and Helena jerks awake with a gasp. Her eyes widen when she seesme, and she quickly sits up, keeping her cloak wrapped around her front like a shield.
She lowers her head and stares at the floor, and guilt hits me a moment later. Fuck. With the way I’m glaring, she probably fears I’m angry with her.
“Am I not allowed to sleep on the sofa?” she asks in a soft whisper. “Um, if you prefer that I sleep on the floor, I suppose?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Helena, you are not sleeping on the floor.” I turn away from her and drag a hand through my hair, directly between my thick, curving horns. I spin back to face her. “Who is Harry?” I demand.
Her eyes widen further. “What do you mean? How do you know that name?”
“You were talking in your sleep, darling human.” I cross my arms over my chest and give her an expectant look. I must know the identity of the man who affects her deeply enough that she dreams about him.
She meets my eyes, and there’s a proud tilt to her chin that I can’t help but admire. She’s still afraid of me, as evidenced by the slight trembling of her hands as she clutches the cloak, but she’s trying to be brave.
“Harry was my husband,” she says. “He died nearly a year ago.”
Relief rushes through me. Her husband. Herlatehusband. That’s who she was dreaming about. Not a current lover.
“How did he die?” I ask.
She blinks fast against a sudden sheen of tears, and she keeps her chin lifted high. Her fingers tighten perceptibly on the cloak. “He was stabbed to death by thieves during his mail route. They took his near-empty money bag and wedding ring.”
“That sounds rather tragic,” I reply.
“Are you mocking me? Are you making light of his death?” There’s a sharp edge to her voice, and it makes me admire her all the more.
Doesn’t she realize I’ve killed others for less?
I shake my head and try my best to give her an earnest look, though it makes my face feel strange. “I am not mocking you, darling human, nor am I making light of your husband’s death. It is simply that… you humans have such short lifespans as it is, so it seems especially tragic that you would lose your husband when you are still so young.”
An alarming thought strikes me, and I nearly gasp.
“Did you have any children?” I ask.
“No, we never had children.”
