Passion and intimacy?
I tense and shoot her what I’m sure is an accusing look. I promised not to glamour her, and with the gods as my witnesses, I will keep that promise. But what abouther? She’s not fae, yet I could almost swear that she’s glamouring me.
When Helena’s eyes darken under my censorious glare, I don’t back down. I don’t soften my gaze. I summon my highborn kingliness and the cold ruthlessness for which I’m known and wear it like armor.
Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with her.
She belongs to me.
Perhaps I need to remind her of her place.
CHAPTER 9
HELENA
I takesmall bites of the meal, keeping one eye on King Theron as I eat. Nerves churn in my stomach, and I’m not really hungry anymore, but I’m afraid he’ll be displeased if I push my plate aside.
Why is he suddenly so agitated?
The last thing I said to him… well, all I did was ask if the food was safe for human consumption. A perfectly reasonable inquiry, in my opinion, and I don’t understand how that one simple question could annoy him so much.
Annoy is perhaps too weak a word. Not only is his posture tense, but he’s radiating anger. Whenever he glances my way, his gaze is so steely that I’m unable to maintain eye contact for more than a second.
Is this to be my life now? Will I always feel on edge and at the mercy of his ever-changing moods? I resist the urge to glance at the bed. Does he plan to keep me in his room indefinitely, or will he provide me with a room of my own? And if I’m to stay here, will he take the bed while I sleep nearby on the sofa?
The idea of sleeping in the same room with him causes a chill to wind through me, and I struggle to finish the last few bites of salmon.
When Prince Alaric presented me to the king as a gift, I never imagined I would have to remain in such close proximity to King Theron. I assumed I would be kept in the dungeon, if not killed outright.
I want to ask my dinner companion why he hasn’t taken me to the dungeon, but I’m too nervous to speak.
I also want to ask why he promised not to kill me or force himself on me. Not that I’m complaining; however, it seems entirely out of character for a fae male from the Winter Court. It’s my understanding that fae from the Winter and Autumn Courts are the cruelest of their kind, since most of them have more Unseelie ancestry than their counterparts who hail from the Summer and Spring Courts.
Mercy. My heart races faster. He’s showing me mercy. How extraordinarily unusual for a fae king.
But will he expect something in return?
Will he try to make a deal with me?
Finally, I finish my meal and slowly push the plate back. I reach for a glass of water that the glamoured slave poured, needing something to do other than just sit here while King Theron keeps shooting icy looks in my direction. I don’t dare rise from the table. I’m not proud to admit it, but I’m afraid to do anything without his permission.
From over the rim of the glass, I steal another glance at the king, only to wish I hadn’t.
“Is there something you want to say?” he snaps. He takes one last bite of his food and shoves his plate aside.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Be brave, be brave, be brave.
I set the glass of water on the table and hold his gaze. My pulse hammers in my ears. I have so many questions. Dare I ask one?
I clear my throat softly, then take a deep breath.
“You said you were still deciding what to do with me. Have you… reached any decisions yet? In particular, I’m wondering about the living and sleeping arrangements. Am I really to stay in your room? But I’m also curious about how I’m supposed to spend my days. Will I be expected to work with the servants in the castle?”
He regards me for a long moment, his features tense as ever. His jaw clenches, and a vein in his temple pulses.
Somehow, I keep holding his gaze. I blink a few times, but I don’t lower my chin. The silence stretches on to the point of unbearableness, and I start to worry he doesn’t plan to answer my questions. Until finally… his eyes flicker with the faintest hint of warmth.
