I hope she’s right, but Goblins are clever creatures. I wouldn’t put it past their king to have slipped something into the bargain that has yet to be met to settle the terms. Or perhaps it’s merely a lingering effect now that she is wed.
Whatever it is, I know one thing for sure. As long as I draw breath, the Goblin King will not touch her. Vivienne is mine and I will never allow her to fall into the hands of that monster.
CHAPTER 12
VIVIENNE
Awareness slowly trickles back into my mind as I roll over in bed. When I open my eyes, the fog of sleep is still shrouding my thoughts and for a moment, I forget where I am.
But when I look over the side of the mattress, I see him, and it all comes rushing back to me.
Auren lies on the floor, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loose over his bare stomach, the blanket covering his hips. A strange warmth settles in my chest as I recall how he comforted me after my nightmare.
I’ve always desired freedom and independence because I loathe the idea of being controlled. And yet… when Auren made me tea and wrapped me in blankets and reassured me after my nightmare, none of that felt like control. It felt like he truly cared. And I’m not quite sure what to think about that.
Morning light slips in through the narrow shutters, spilling across his body in soft gold, tracing every hard line and shadow. It glides over the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the definedridges of muscle along his chest… the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
He should not look like this first thing in the morning—like something pulled from myth.
Heat creeps up my neck, slow and unwelcome. This means nothing. He is simply… aesthetically pleasing. Like a statue. A very, very well-shaped statue.
My gaze drifts lower before I can stop it. The quilt rests dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his obliques, the subtle V of muscle that disappears beneath the fabric.
I should look away, but I don’t. My eyes lift instead to his bare chest and up to his face. His lips are slightly parted, revealing just the faintest glimpse of sharp canines.
I remember how he defended me last night from the drunken man in the hallway. The way he moved… the way helooked. The memory makes my stomach flutter and then tighten.
My gaze shifts again, tracing over his hands and those long, elegant fingers tipped with lethal black claws. Even in sleep, Auren looks dangerous.
My attention snags on his elvish ears that peek through the tousled strands of his midnight-black hair. I fight back the urge to touch them. To trace my fingers over their elegantly pointed tips.
Closing my eyes, I struggle to push down my errant thoughts. I’m not some foolish maiden in a romance story, lying awake andstaringat her mysterious Elf husband.
I absolutely am not admiring Auren. Or his ears. Or the way his body looks like it was carved by the gods themselves with far too much attention to detail. I am merely observing… in a completely normal and rational manner.
I exhale slowly. He’s an Elf. They are known for their attractiveness. So I certainly cannot be blamed for noticing his features. Anyone would think that he’s the most hand—
His eyes open, and he gives me a sleepy smile. “Good morning, me'lira.”
I scowl, because that’s safer than admitting that the elvish term of endearment stirs something treacherous in my chest. “I told you not to call me that.”
His brows lift slightly. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“If I cannot call you beloved,” he continues mildly, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow, “what would you prefer?”
He looks entirely too comfortable and pleased with himself.
“I would prefer you not invent names for me at all.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Very well, my beautiful mate.”
My breath hitches. I hate that title more… and less at the same time.
“You’re intolerable,” I mutter, pushing myself upright and clutching the blanket around my shoulders like armor.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
