Pressing my lips together, I take in a shallow breath, let it out slowly, and get into a more proper kneeling position.
Helplessness has always felt a constant companion, but it has never tasted quite this bitter before. Even while my mother was planning my wedding to that horrible, horrible man…I had options. Not great options, sure. Pretty scary and world up-ending options, actually.
But, still, I used them.
I left everything behind because—for once in my life—the horrors of the familiar were scheduled to twist into something that was worse than the horrors of leaving. I chose the possibility of terrible things over the assurance they were but one wedding away.
Now look where that’s gotten me.
Right here—in a cage with a magic key, in a land disconnected from the reality I have always known, in front of a man whose power radiates off him like a source of heat in the dead of winter—hopelesshas an entirely new meaning.
“What do you expect to gain from this?” I ask, hoping the breathless strangle in my words doesn’t pass for a weakness he’ll further exploit or, worse,find amusing.
Manifesting my worries, he drops himself to a knee, reaches between the slender bars of my cage, and latches his hand around my chin. He draws me in with effortless strength, stretching my body toward him, then oh-so-casually, he replies to my question, “You.”
“Me?”
His chin dips in a nod.
What…in the world does that mean?
I am almost too scared to ask.
A chill works its way from his cold hand down my spine. I prompt, “Would you mind elaborating?”
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs.
I am very worried, actually.
His thumb slips across my jaw—tender. “I’ve done my research.”
His…research? On what?Kidnapping people?
Letting me go, he rises, turns his face, and addresses Frelsi on the other side of the room where she’s skipping across his things with an abandon that somewhat stings. “Hatchling, don’t play with what you do not understand. Some of those spells are not entirely stable.”
Notoriously distractable, Frelsi appears to have forgotten I’m going through a crisis. She stops poking around on this man’s dresser and has the audacity to look sheepish when she dives through the bars of this cage to hide in my hair.
I release a sigh as I attempt to scrub off the sensation of the man’s grip on my face with the back of my hand.
All things considered, there are worse casual touches. And having a cage between us right now at least means…
I swallow. Hard.
My attention peruses this blindfolded faerie man, from one broad shoulder to the next. Cautious, I take in the sharp angles of his face around the thin strip of cloth that protects me from his deadly eyes. I take in the dignified length of his elven ears and the flowing moon-pale strands of his long hair.
He’s lovely. Like a daydream. Like a misty, starlit night.
If I must be trapped under someone’s whim, there are worse wardens and worse threats than being turned to stone. As it stands, this faerie man’s blindfold spares me from a lewd gaze similar to the one Rodrick always bestowed upon me. Just being in the same room as my former betrothed put me on edge, like at any moment he’d snap and hurt me if I turned down his advances.
His hands were always sweaty, hot, and roaming.
In contrast, at least this man’s hands are cool?
Compared to the sickening fear I have known, right now I am numb.
Maybe I’m just tired.
After all, I have been on the run for two weeks, finding the dangerous balance between mooching off people and not getting in trouble. Or recognized. Or found.
