Ah. There it is. The small crack in his carefully constructed façade. “What did she do?” I ask, poking at the chip in his armor. “Lie? Cheat? Run away with—”
“She died,” he snaps, and I go still.
Devastation mars his features before he quickly retrains his expression into a neutral mask.
For a moment I feel sad for him, because I recognize the pain of loss in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Instead of answering, he clenches his jaw and looks away, angry that I’ve uncovered his wound.
“You know what it is to lose someone,” I say softly. “So you must have some idea of what my husband is going through right now.” I pause. “Why don’t you just let me go?”
His mouth tightens. “That,” he says, thoroughly exasperated, “is precisely what I’m trying to do.”
I bite back a groan of frustration. “I don’t believe you.”
“And I do not particularly care.” He narrows his eyes. “Do not mistake my patience for weakness, for I have very little of either left to give.”
“Well, that goes for me as well,” I shoot back.
His brows lift in surprise, his lips twitching slightly.
In this moment, I realize I have the upper hand. For all his thinly veiled threats, I get the feeling he’s not going to hurt me. If anything, he’s annoyed at my presence. Well, if he thinks this is annoying, he hasn’t seen anything yet. I’ll make him rue the day he took me from my husband.
“Where are the servants?” I ask.
He frowns. “Why?”
“Because I’m hungry. And as my host,” I say pointedly, “it’s only good manners to ensure I’m well-fed.”
“I thought you said I was ill-mannered,” he grumbles.
“Fortunately for you,” I say primly, “you won’t be for long because you have an excellent teacher.”
“And who might that be?” he asks sarcastically.
“Me.” I paste a bright smile on my face. “And since I’m going to be here for a bit, while we wait for my husband to arrive andsmiteyou… I think this place could do with a bit of an updated décor.” I glance around the room. “Don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Well, too bad,” I reply tartly.
One of the servants walks by the doors, and I call out. “You there!”
He skids to a stop, and backs up, poking his head into the room in confusion. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes.” I smile. “What is your name?”
“Um… Dradyn’myr,” he replies a bit uncertain. “But you can call me Dradyn.”
“Dradyn,” I repeat. “What a good strong name,” I add, and he puffs up his chest. It seems Mountain Goblins aren’t the only ones who appreciate flattery. “I need you to go to the kitchen and have the cook prepare dinner.”
He blinks several times, and I continue. “And tell them we’d like lemon cake for dessert.” I glance at Branneth and smile. “I absolutely love lemon pastries, don’t you?”
Sighing heavily, he purses his lips. “I suppose,” he grumbles.
“Excellent!” I give him a beaming smile and then turn back to Dradyn. “And could you please locate five strong men and have them report to the throne room?” He frowns, but I continue. “I’ll need capable workers to help spruce this place up. It’s much too dreary in here.” I look again at Branneth. “Don’t you agree?”
He draws in a deep breath as if summoning all his patience before he replies, “No.”
