Unless I sire an heir with a female outside the fae race, human or orc, though preferably human. Unfortunately, I cannot sire a child with a fae female, since my people always have mates and we never procreate with our own kind outside of a fated mating union. At least we’re not supposed to.
I stare at Helena, suddenly imagining her stomach swelling with a child. With my heir.
But the four fae courts are dying. Even if I have a child, there is no guarantee that the Winter Court will still be standing when I finally pass away, leaving the throne to my heir, a half-human, half-fae heir that my people might be reluctant to follow anyway.
Fucking fires. Curse this mess. Curse this entire situation. I feel my gaze harden as I continue looking at Helena. Her eyesare bright with more of that uncertainty that makes her so enticing to me. It’s as though she’s looking to me for answers… for guidance.
If I were smart, I would drag her to the dungeon, toss her in the darkest cell, and throw away the key.
The truth is, I have never much cared about my lack of an heir. Perhaps it’s because the four courts are dying and ussha is spreading fast into the human and orc lands, but the prospect of my bloodline dying with me has never quite bothered me.
And yet, as I stare into Helena’s sapphire-blue eyes, I can’t help but wonder if she might give me a child.
Yes, I promised not to force myself on her, and I fully intend to keep that promise, but perhaps we could make a deal. I could give her something she desperately wants, and in return she could agree to have my child. I tuck this thought away, intending to examine it later, intending to plot and plan for the future of my court that could very well crumble to dust at any moment, just like in my dreams.
“It’s time for bed, darling human,” I announce, and there’s no hiding the desire that thickens my voice.
Helena glances at the door, and I see her calculating the distance between the sofa and the door and whether she might reach the corridor before I could catch her. A chuckle reverberates from my throat, and part of me wants her to run just so I have an excuse to chase her. An excuse to put my hands on her.
“I-I am not sleeping in your bed, King Theron.” She lifts her chin, obviously trying to affect an aura of bravery, but there’s no hiding the trembling of her hands in her lap, or the flicker of fear in her eyes.
“Get in the bed now. Don’t make me ask again.”
CHAPTER 11
HELENA
I’m still shakenby King Theron’s touch, the gentle caresses through my hair that I didn’t protest, not even once, so much so that I can scarcely form a coherent thought.
Though he's no longer touching me, I feel the phantom tingle of his hands lingering in my hair, a pleasurable warmth that spreads through me and makes me crave… more. I draw in a steadying breath, forcing myself to calm. Forcing myself to summon the semblance of bravery I wish I truly possessed.
But courage is difficult to muster when you are in close proximity to the Winter King, a being so powerful that his name is spoken only in whispers, for fear that even uttering it might summon his presence.
He arches an eyebrow at me, displaying a stern look. I haven’t yet obeyed. I haven’t yet crawled into the large bed. The bed we’re supposed to share.
“No.” I almost gasp as the word comes out of my mouth. Holy fires, did I actually just saynoto King Theron? My mouth goes dry, and my hands tremble harder in my lap.
For the briefest moment, his eyes flicker with surprise. Clearly, he’s not used to being toldno. I wonder if he’s heard the word in his entire life.
He stalks toward me slowly, and I can’t help but notice his pants are still way too tight in the crotch area. A heated wave rushes through me as I wonder just how well-endowed the king of the Winter Court might be. My breath falters, and I start to second-guess my decision to sleep on the sofa. He’s probably used to getting his way, and I’m not certain he’s above using force to get me into the bed.
Why does the thought of being picked up and carried to bed by him make me swelter in the robe I’m wearing? Why am I suddenly wondering what he would look like without his shirt, the firelight bathing him in flickering rays of warmth? The ache in my core deepens, to the point that I cannot resist pressing my thighs firmly together.
King Theron finally rounds the sofa and looms over me, all seven feet of him. His muscular bulk is barely contained by the tunic he’s wearing that isn’t quite as flowing as it should be and the leather pants that are far, far too tight. He reaches for my face, and I can’t help but flinch. I just refused an order he issued, and I fear he means to strike me.
But his hand stops midair, and most of the sternness fades from his expression. He takes a deep breath and his visage turns gentle. Almost affectionate. But surely I’m imagining it. Surely he’s angry I told himno.
At last, he takes my face in his hands. He cups my cheeks and stares down into my eyes with a look so intense, I forget how to breathe. His thumbs trail over my skin, a soft caress that nearly draws a whimper from my throat.
“I’m sorry, darling human,” he says in a deep, rumbling voice, “but did you just tell meno?” His eyes reflect the flamesfrom the hearth, making him appear more otherworldly than usual.
This is it. This is the moment he’s going to snap and kill me. I brace myself for the pain, for the violence.
But it never comes.
Instead, he keeps holding my face in his hands, gently brushing his thumbs over my cheeks, and staring into my eyes with a strangely affectionate look that strips away my defenses.
For a reason I can’t fathom, I feel like confessing my deepest, darkest secrets to him. I feel like telling him about the loneliness I felt even when Harry was alive, how I loved him yet sensed there was something missing between us, something I couldn’t quite explain, something I kept reaching for but could never find. And I feel like telling him how ever since Harry died, I’ve felt even lonelier, to the point of utter despair, so much so that I’ve prayed to the gods to send me another husband, an honorable man with whom I might find happiness, a second chance at love. I become so overwhelmed with emotion that tears burn in my eyes.
