“For your safety, you will remain in my room unless I personally accompany you somewhere. This of course means you will not be joining the servants. As for the sleeping arrangements, the bed is quite large. You will sleep next to me.Every night.” He lifts his eyebrows slightly and leans forward, as though daring me to refute his last statement.
My mouth goes dry, and I reach for the water. After taking a long drink, I set the glass down with a shaky hand. My mind reels with the answers he finally provided. And yet now I have even more questions, most of which would likely piss him off. So, I wisely keep silent, though I do offer a brief nod.
His bed. He wants me to sleep in his bed.
“I realize you don’t have any belongings. I will arrange for proper attire for you and other personal items to make your stay more comfortable.”
“Or you could allow me to collect my belongings from my home.” An ache pangs in my chest. I’m really going to miss living above the bakery. Most of all, I’ll miss Isabel and her father. They’re going to be worried sick when I don’t return. If I can convince King Theron to allow me to return just long enough to collect my belongings, at least I could say goodbye to my dear friends.
I think about the cottage that’s now sitting empty. If Prince Alaric hadn’t snatched me off the street after killing Peter, I could’ve taken back the cottage or perhaps rented it out while I remained at the bakery. In any case, I would’ve had options. Options I no longer have. Freedoms I doubt I’ll ever see again.
King Theron gives a fatigued sigh and briefly pinches the bridge of his perfectly formed royal nose. “Fine. Perhaps in a few days I will escort you to your home so you might collect your belongings. Sometime after Tribute Day. As you might imagine, I am busy preparing for that upcoming event.” He drops his hand to the table and taps his fingers. His gaze bores into mine, and his nostrils flare as he takes a few deep breaths.
“Thank you for offering to escort me to my home so I might collect my belongings. But… only if you promise not to harm the people I was living with. I’m quite fond of my housemates.”
His tongue moves along the inside of his cheek. “Fine.” He swirls a hand in the air briefly. “I won’t harm your housemates. Fucking fires, Helena, do you think I go around murdering every human I meet?”
“Might I remind you, King Theron, that we’ve only just met? How could I possibly make an honest assessment of your character in a few short hours? All I know is that you killed thousands of humans in Braemar and captured the city. All I know is that young women and men are disappearing from the streets. From what I have witnessed thus far, you and your people haven’t shown us any mercy.”
His eyes darken, and he abruptly stands. Then he slowly walks around the table and places a hand beneath my chin. He leans down until his cold peppermint breath wafts in my face.
My pulse skitters, my stomach flips, and yet… warmth spasms between my thighs. I tell myself it’s only because he’s so handsome and I’ve been alone for far too long.
I’m not attracted to him.
He’s a monster.
A cold, irredeemable fae king.
“I’ve shown you mercy, darling human, have I not?” he eventually says, and there’s a quiet but dangerous lilt to his voice.
My breath catches in my throat, and I struggle to form a response. Yes, technically, he has shown me mercy. But…
“I’m still your captive,” I whisper. “I’m not free to go.”
He reaches for my face with his other hand and cups my cheeks with a tenderness that makes me quiver. Once again, I think I see a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. I can’t look away. I can scarcely breathe. My scalp prickles with awareness and tingles sweep throughout my body.
Flushed. The Winter King, despite the physical cold that emanates from him, is making me flush. To my utter dismay, the ache in my core deepens.
“You have no idea what I’m truly capable of. If you knew, you would be on your knees praising the gods for the mercy I’ve shown you thus far… the mercy I will continue to show you.” He runs his thumbs along my cheeks, a soft caress that makes my head spin.
“So, I’m to stay in your room at all times, eat your food, drink your wine, and sleep in your bed? That is my life going forward?” I ask with more bitterness than I intended. Frustration sears me, a burn of indignation. Does he think I’ll be content living in a gilded cage?
As for sleeping in his bed, that will not happen. I have no intention of cooperating with that edict of his. It’s bad enough that he plans to keep me in his room.
My stomach abruptly drops to the floor. Surely he doesn’t plan to remain in Braemar forever. I know some of his people will stay. Braemar will likely remain under fae control for a long time, if not indefinitely.
But surely at some point, he will depart with his army to conquer another human city, or perhaps to return to the Winter Court. What then? Will I be forced to join him on the road and sleep in his tent?
The idea of leaving Braemar, the only home I’ve ever known, sends a wave of apprehension through me.
King Theron doesn’t answer me right away, but he keeps holding my face in his huge hands and stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. Does he know how much his touch is affecting me? Does he have any idea how conflicted he’s making me feel?
There’s a knock on the door, and the slave from earlier enters with several other slaves who appear equally glamoured. They’re carrying buckets of steaming water. I watch from the corner of my eye as they carry the water into the bathroom, presumably to pour into the massive, claw-foot tub I spotted earlier during my explorations.
The king releases my face and steps back. “It’s almost time for bed. But I thought perhaps you would enjoy a bath first. Come.” He reaches for my hand and guides me to my feet.
A bath. Nerves skitter through me. I pray he doesn’t plan to watch. He promised not to kill me or force himself on me, but he didn’t promise to leave me alone entirely. I’m starting to get the feeling that he intends to dance around the lines of propriety, particularly given his wish for me to sleep in his bed.
