Page 9 of The Gods Forbid

Sebastian looked at me skeptically. “Are you asking because there’s so few of them, surely I’d be able to remember them?”

A surprised laugh jumped out of me, my lips splitting into a smile. I didn’t think I’d ever see someone get visibly angry when someone laughed, but Sebastian’s raised eyebrow fell back to resting and his jaw pulsed. “However you choose to answer that, I accept.”

There was a moment where I thought I’d gotten to him, that he’d show me a little slice of how his mind worked, but ultimately, he answered. “Nothing I can remember.”

Disappointment curled under my sternum. Baby steps, I reminded myself.

I shook my watch down my wrist, looking for the time. I wasn’t late—surprisingly—but I’d spent more time with Sebastian than I intended to.

I rose, tipping my head back and draining the rest of my coffee. When I dropped the mug, Sebastian was staring at me, his eyes focused somewhere between my face and midriff. I looked down, expecting to find a coffee stain, but my clothes looked fine.

I walked over to Sebastian, extending my hand. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t move as I stepped up right next to him. Even with him seated, his head was almost to my shoulders.

Goodness, this was a new sensation.

“I’ll take that cup,” I nodded to the empty mug in his hand. The whites of his knuckles pulsed once, his grip growing momentarily stronger. “Someone will be by with food shortly. Eat it this time, please.”

Sebastian’s eyes found mine, his head tipping back ever so slightly. “Do you think saying please is going to make me want to listen to you?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I’d hope so. But I’m asking for my chef, not for me. He’s worried you don’t like his food.”

Sebastian stayed silent, doing nothing but staring at me with that observant expression I was now realizing was commonplace for him. It was like he was examining every little brushstroke of a painting.

If that painting was sentient, it would surely appreciate that attention, but it made me feel itchy and too aware of my body.

“Alright,” I said, feeling the need to break the silence, which was very foreign for me. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Later today or at the end of the week?” Sebastian said, only speaking once my back was turned to him.

I looked over my shoulder at him, then decided to give him just a little taste of his own medicine. I didn’t answer, just gave him a small smile and left to work for the day.

Chapter 4

Sebastian

This was fucking torture.

Actual, mind-numbing, agonizing torture.

I’d have preferred Adrian put his kingly fucking foot down and demand that I rot in a cell for the rest of my life. Or say fuck it and put a knife through my chest and deal with the issue of my heirs after the fact.

Actually, I could come up with a whole list of things that would be less painful than this. In the hours that I was left alone, dragging through the last days of this solitary confinement, I’d crafted scenario after scenario that I’d rather suffer through.

Starvation, which I’d attempted. The world could burn in my absence for all I cared.

An arrow to the dick.

Flaying my skin from my body.

Shoving my head underwater until I was close to drowning.

Letting a hawk or an eagle or some other pecky bird go at my liver until I was bleeding out and dying—Prometheus’ original brand of torture.

Anything besides being trapped in a cage and forced to listen to Persy try to talk to me.

Her resilience was fucking irritating.

Most—sane—people would have let me rot by now, would have taken my obvious disdain at face value and run for the hills.