Even though thoughts are ping-ponging around in my brain, I’m tired, and the bed looks amazing.
As I cross the room to climb into it, I smack headfirst into an invisible wall.
“Ouch!”
I rub my throbbing forehead and decide to approach again, this time slowly. Once more I hit a wall.
“What the…? Oh no. The joining.”
Feylin must be too far away. Perhaps I can climb in on the other side. I keep my hands pressed to the unseeable barrier as I move around the bed, which is of course butted up against the farthest wall in the room.
So every place that I touch, my palms meet the wall.
This must be some kind of fae torture device. Torture me with a beautiful bed and then don’t let me sleep on it.
Okay, I have two options—go back outside and findOphelia and probably pass that horrible painting again. Also, there are no assurances that I’ll find anyone.
Or I can sleep on the floor—the cold stone floor without one blanket or pillow underneath me.
My gaze skims the room and lands on the wardrobe. Who needs blankets when I’ve got handfuls of clothing?
I pull out the dresses, make a pallet, and somehow manage to fall asleep, where I have the strangest dream that I’ve sold my life away to a horribly arrogant fae king.
The next morning a gruff voice pierces my ears. “Get off the floor.”
My eyelids slowly open. Standing in the doorway looking like his head’s about to explode with rage, is Feylin.Crap.So it hadn’t been a dream after all.
My brain’s fuzzy in those few seconds between being fully asleep and fully awake. My gaze feels lazy, dreamy, as it washes over the deep scowl lining his handsome face.
Part of me wants to know what it would feel like to run my finger over that perfect jaw and trace those full, soft lips.
When I don’t move, that same jaw jumps. “Why are you on the floor?”
I flinch. Ugh. My back kills and my legs ache from sleeping on the dresses. “Um. I just…wait. What are you doing in here? Why didn’t you knock?”
“I did,” he spits. Anger smolders in his eyes. “But you didn’t answer. So I came in.”
“You came in unannounced?”
His gaze flips to the ceiling. “You didn’t answer. I wanted to make sure that you were alive.”
Now I’m worried. “Do you think someone’s going to murder me?”
“No, of course not. We don’t kill witches anymore.”
“Anymore,” I repeat.
He huffs out an annoyed breath, waiting for me to answer.But now I’m pissed that he entered and is demanding that I tell him what he wants to know, like he’s some king or something.
Yeah, I know. Heisa king.
But I’m still pissed. “What do you want?”
His dark gaze slices into my soul. “Get dressed. Eat breakfast. And then we begin.”
I rub my stiff neck. “Begin what?”
“Your tutorial.”
