“But, My Prince?—“
He halts and grabs her arm. She freezes at his touch, and her breath stutters as he drags his gaze over her face, hair, and chest.
Then his lip curls. “I will have to endure a life of you soon enough. If I want you, I will call.”
The skin of her face blanches to white, and Rholker rolls his eyes. “Come now, don’t be so surprised. Scurry off to my brother. I’m sure he’d love a taste.”
Her jaw flexes, and she steps back while yanking her arm out of his grasp. “Perhaps I will do just that.”
The prince continues down the stone corridor without another word. There’s a masculine scream behind him—more of Marej’s fun, likely—but he pushes on. The flames crackle on either side of him as he moves. Each step feels blessed because it will take him to the woman who has stolen his mind and trapped his heart.
Fuck my father and his rules.
Today, he will claim Estela for the rest of time. She will be grateful for it, and Rholker will keep her safe. He knows that she feels the same—she’s spent years casting him sideways glances and healing his wounds.
How could anyone touch that gently and not be in love?
In no time, the prince is at the slave pens. It smells like shit and human sweat. He wrinkles his nose and pushes into her hut.
“Estela, come with me,” he barks.
Her brother, Mikal is sitting in the corner, scratching charcoal across a wooden plank. Idiotic dolt. He is on his feet in a second but freezes when he sees the prince.
“Prince Rho?—“
“Where. Is. She?” he demands slowly.
The slave’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know.”
Heat pricks at the base of Rholker’s spine. The bastard Mikal is loyal to Estela, but even if he weren’t, he hates the prince. All Rholker knows is that if he touches Mikal, Estela will be furious. Maybe even stop loving Rholker.
So, Prince Rholker turns on his heel and stomps back into the night. He knows the places she likes to go.
More heat ripples up his spine as he thinks about what she could be doing out there… and who she might be with.
“Where are you going?” the half-human slave shouts. Rholker ignores Mikal and starts running. A guard at the edge of the pen sees and restrains the little pup.
“Leave her alone!” Mikal screams as he lands a punch on the guard's face, but Rholker is already nearing the forest. He keeps running until he cannot hear the slave any longer.
Trees stretch up around the prince, and he sighs when he reaches a thick patch. This area isn’t meant for giants—the trunks are too close. He squeezes between two particularly tangled logs.
Branches and leaves whip at his face when he calls out, “Estela!”
No response. He tries again.
Above him, a branch snaps. His head stretches upward while he gazes at the moonlight filtering down through the leaves.
He can just barely make out the small form pressed against the strong redwood. His heart skips a beat. He doesn’t need anyone to confirm it’s her—he would recognize his perfect human from a mile away.
“My little Estela, come down please,” he calls up.
She doesn’t respond. He blinks.
“Are you hurt?” he demands.
Still nothing.
Rholker’s fears from earlier return with a vengeance. “Is someone up there with you?” he snarls. Rage brews under his skin. He reaches out and wraps his arms around the tree.
