Relief fills me. Gods, if she’d left children behind, I am not certain how I would’ve contended with the situation. Surely I couldn’t bring human children to the castle. But if I kept her apart from her offspring, I would forever remain a monster in her eyes.
You are a monster. The coldest of them all.
You collect the skulls of your enemies.
“How long were you married?” I ask.
“Less than a year,” she whispers.
“Yes, rather tragic,” I murmur again.
She stares at me in silence for a long moment, as though assessing whether I’m being honest. I hold her gaze and resist the urge to… fidget in place.
Fucking fires. What is this female doing to me?
Perhaps I sustained a head injury during the battle. I can think of no other explanation for the wave of self-consciousness that hits me, an emotion I don’t believe I’ve experienced since childhood.
I bite back a string of curses, and I stand taller, if only so I might project an aura of confidence.
“Yes,” she eventually says. “It was rather tragic. Although, the proper thing to say when someone tells you about a loved one dying is: I am sorry for your loss.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I cannot fathom her boldness. Why, it almost feels like she’s scolding me. Is she trying to goad me into becoming angry with her? Surely she must realize it’s entirely inappropriate to tell a highborn fae male what he must or mustn’t say in a particular situation.
“I will keep that in mind, Helena, though I daresay you won’t be losing any more husbands. You belong to me now, in case you have forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. Now, tell me, were the perpetrators who killed your husband caught?” I try to tell myself that I’m only asking this question because it’s important to know how many murderous thieves might be roaming the streets of Braemar, but the truth is that I just can’t help my curiosity. I want to know more about Helena and her life experiences, even her darkest, most tragic memories.
She gives a brief nod. “Yes, the two criminals were caught the very next day when they tried to rob another man. A contingent of soldiers rounded the corner at just the right moment, caught them red-handed, and saved the other man. The criminals were arrested, my husband’s belongings were discovered in their pockets, and they made a full confession. I watched them hang a week later. I stood at the very front of the crowd…” Her voice trails off, and her gaze becomes distant.
I move to her side and sink down on the sofa. The piece of furniture creaks under our combined weight, but thankfully, it holds. I turn toward her, reach for her hands, and slowly pry them away from her cloak. I cup both her hands in mine as I stare into her eyes.
Eyes that are so sapphire-blue and… faelike.
I glance at her ears, only to realize they’re covered by her hair. Perhaps I’m being ridiculous, but I must know. I must see for myself if her ears are curved like a human’s or if they hold the slightest point that might indicate fae ancestry.
With utmost gentleness, I place her hands in her lap, then I reach for her hair and slowly, tenderly, brush her dark, wavy tresses behind both her ears… her curved, very human ears. Well. Perhaps some humans just have very, very stark blue eyes and smell like frost flowers.
“What are you doing, King Theron?” she whispers.
“I’m basking in your loveliness, darling human.” It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie. She doesn’t need to know that I thought, perhaps for just a moment, that she might be part-fae.
Besides… if she were fae, or even just part-fae, then she would have a fated mate somewhere out there. Which means I wouldn’t be able to keep her.
Why does the prospect of letting her go fill me with rage?
My gaze falls to her mouth, to those perfect pink lips I’m aching to kiss. But I don’t kiss her. I fear if I start, I won’t be able to stop. My cock lurches in my pants, and my scrotum tingles with pleasure.
I keep caressing her hair behind her ears, and at one point, she emits the faintest sound of pleasure, an almost sigh that borders on a whimper. My pants become tighter. If she looks down, there will be no missing the immense bulge.
Would my desire scare her?
There’s a knock on the door, and a fae male slave enters with a large tray that holds two covered plates. His face remains blank as he walks deeper into the room and places the tray on a table. Heavily glamoured, he almost looks like he’s sleepwalking, yet he performs his tasks with as much skill as a regular, non-glamoured servant might.
Helena regards the slave with a fearful look.
“He won’t hurt you, darling human. He’s a fae slave. You needn’t be afraid.”
