Chapter 12 #2
"Perhaps it's the stress," Lord Tamiel said, voice laced with feigned sympathy. "After all, it's had such a difficult time. The garden, the marks, and now dinner with its betters. Poor thing."
"Indeed," Lady Sarelle agreed. "One almost pities it. Almost."
"Pity suggests it deserves compassion," Lord Tamiel countered. "It's a thief. It stole from our king."
"Stole?" Briar said before she could stop herself.
Absolute silence fell. Every eye turned to her, and she realized her mistake too late. She'd spoken without being addressed. Broken the cardinal rule Thaine had warned her about.
"It speaks," Lady Sarelle said with venomous delight. "How novel. Tell us, do you deny your crime?"
Briar glanced up at Eliam, but his expression gave nothing away. His hand on her shoulder neither tightened in warning nor relaxed in permission.
"I asked a question," Lady Sarelle pressed impatiently. "Or has your master not taught you to answer when spoken to?"
"I didn't steal anything," Briar said quietly. "I was promised to him before I was born."
"Exactly." Lord Tamiel smiled. "Your life was his from your first breath. Yet you spent twenty-five years living it as if it were your own. That's theft in any realm."
"I didn't know—"
"Ignorance doesn't erase debt," Lady Sarelle interrupted, twirling her wine glass, the remaining contents swirling lazily within. "You used years that belonged to him. Loved with a heart that was his property. Made choices with a will that was never yours to wield."
"That's not fair!"
"Fair?" The bark-skinned fae laughed. "When has fairness ever mattered to a contract? Your mother made a bargain. You are the payment."
"She thought she was trading her own life," Briar protested. "Not mine."
"Her misunderstanding doesn't void the agreement," another fae said. "Our lord was quite specific in his claim."
"Enough." Eliam's voice cut through their conversation. "She's answered your question. Continue your meal."
"Of course, my lord," Lady Sarelle said with a bow that mocked submission. "We wouldn't want to overtax your pet's limited comprehension."
The rest of dinner passed in strained silence. Briar managed the fifth course, something that might have been dessert if dessert could scream, by copying Eliam's instruction’s exactly.
When the final plates vanished, the fae began to disperse. When only a few remained, Eliam finally removed his hand. The absence of weight made her feel oddly vulnerable.
"Come," he said, his voice calm in a way that made Briar feel uneasy.
She rose, legs trembling, and followed him from the hall. Behind them, Lady Sarelle's laughter rang out sharp and cold, following them down the hall.
They walked in silence through the twisting corridors.
Briar's face still burned from the humiliation of being hand-fed like a child.
Each fae's amused whisper echoed in her memory, their mocking observations about the human who couldn't manage a simple meal.
Anger coiled beneath the shame—at them for their cruelty, at him for his public display of control, at herself for needing his intervention at all.
When they reached a section she recognized, she finally spoke.
"Why did you do that?"
"What exactly?"
"Help me and make me look incompetent."
He stopped walking, turning to face her with those unreadable eyes. "Help you? Is that what you think happened?"
"You—"
"I prevented you from embarrassing me further." His voice dropped to something colder. "Did you think I'd allow my property to poison herself at a formal dinner? The speculation alone would be tedious. 'The Forest King can't even keep his human alive through a meal.'"
"So it was about your reputation."
"Everything is about my reputation." He moved closer and Briar found herself retreating instinctively, stopping only when she felt the cold stone of the wall against her back. "Your incompetence reflects on me. Your failures become my failures in their eyes. That is... unacceptable."
"Then teach me properly instead of—"
His hand slammed against the stone beside her head, making her flinch. "Instead of what? Saving you from your own ignorance? You had a week to study, to prepare. You chose to spend your days weeping into pillows and plotting escape."
"That's not—"
"True?" His other hand came to circle her throat, not squeezing but present. "Every night you cried for your pathetic mortal life and every day you looked for ways to run. You had the books and you chose ignorance."
"The books contradict each other!" The words burst out before she could stop them. "One says iron burns fae, another says you wear it as jewelry. Red fruit is forbidden except when it's required. Nothing makes sense!"
"And so you gave up." His fingers tightened slightly. "Did you ask for clarification? Did you seek help understanding?"
"Would you have given it?" The challenge slipped out before she could stop it, fueled by anger and frustration. "If I'd asked for help, would you have actually explained anything?"
His lips curved into something that might have been amusement. He didn't answer, which was answer enough all on its own. They both knew he would have delighted in her confusion and would have given her more riddles instead of clarity.
"Your defiance is a luxury you can't afford," he said at last, fingers tracing the marks at her throat. "Tonight they saw weakness. Next time? They'll test it. And when they do, I won't intervene again."
"Why tell me this?"
"Because broken toys are boring." His thumb pressed into the hollow of her throat and she felt her pulse kick. "And dead ones are useless. You'll learn to navigate my world or you'll suffer the consequences. But don't mistake my pragmatism for kindness."
She met his gaze steadily. According to Thaine, past humans had lost fingers at these dinners. Had been allowed to poison themselves through ignorance. Yet Eliam had guided her hand, stopped her from eating the wrong fruit.
Perhaps it was spending dinner being mocked and ridiculed, perhaps it was the knowledge that he could have let her die and didn't, but Briar's back straightened with a newfound sense of bravery, or stupidity, it was difficult to tell.
When she spoke, the words came out more confident than she expected.
"I think you're lying."
"Am I?" His smile shifted into something dangerous and calculating. "About which part?"
Her mouth went dry and she felt her resolve begin to waiver.
"Your reasons. You didn't—"
"Careful." The word hung heavy with warning.
"You think because I prevented one disaster, I care about your wellbeing?
" His hand tightened further, making each breath difficult.
"I could let you choke on poisoned fruit tomorrow.
Watch you writhe as your throat dissolves.
The court would whisper about it for decades, about the human who lasted mere days. "
He leaned in close, his breath warm against her neck, his lips brushing the shell of her ear when he spoke. "You think you know cruelty because I force you to kneel? Because I mark you as mine? Little thief, you haven't even glimpsed a fraction of what I'm capable of."
Fear crawled up her spine. There was something about his tone that unsettled her. Not a threat but a promise. She couldn't find words, couldn't move. The reality of her complete powerlessness pressed down on her.
“Nothing to say?' He released her throat but didn't step back. 'How disappointing. I expected more defiance.”
“You've made your point,” she whispered.
“Have I?” His hand cupped her face with mock gentleness. “You still think I care. Still believe there's something soft beneath the monster.”
She couldn't deny it, couldn't lie to him when he could probably feel the truth through the mark. Her silence was admission enough.
“How tragically naive.” After what felt like an eternity his hand fell away from her face. “Next time you're at court, remember tonight. Remember that your failures have consequences, and that my patience is not infinite."
Tears burned her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not here and definitely not for him.
They reached her door in tense silence. Relief flooded through her as she grasped the handle, ready to escape from his presence and from the weight of his threats.
"One more thing."
His voice stopped her cold. Before she could turn, his hand was in her hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands to angle her head back. The door handle slipped from her grip as he pressed her against the wood.
"You boldly accused me of lying." His breath ghosted across her cheek. "Said I care more than I admit."
"I—"
"Let me be clear about what I care about." His free hand came to rest at her throat, thumb tracing the mark there. "You are mine. Every breath, every heartbeat, every defiant thought that flickers through your pretty head. Mine to dress. Mine to display. Mine to discipline."
Fear and heat warred in her chest. She should have known better than to challenge him. "I know—"
"Do you?" His thumb pressed slightly against her pulse. "Then you should know this is mine too."
His mouth claimed hers before she could respond. Not gentle, nothing about Eliam was gentle. His kiss was possession made physical, a demonstration of ownership that stole her breath and replaced it with his. His hand tightened in her hair, controlling the angle, controlling everything.
Shock held her frozen for a heartbeat. Then heat flooded through her, unexpected and unwanted. Her body betrayed her, responding to his touch despite every rational thought screaming in protest. The mark on her arm pulsed warm, and that strange heat in her chest flared to life.
He must have felt it too because his lips curved against hers, not quite a smile, more like satisfaction. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and when she gasped at the sensation, he took the invitation she hadn't meant to give.
The kiss turned deeper, hungrier. He tasted of wine and power and dark promises. His tongue swept against hers with devastating skill, each stroke deliberate and claiming. When he nipped at her lower lip, the sharp edge of pain made heat pool low in her belly.
She made a sound that might have been a protest or a plea. She couldn't tell anymore.
Her hands rose to push him away but ended up clutching his jacket instead, holding on as her knees threatened to buckle.
He angled her head back further, taking the kiss deeper still, until she could taste nothing but him, think of nothing but the demanding press of his mouth and the possessive sweep of his tongue.
He kissed her like he owned her. Like he had every right to devour her against her own door. Like her mouth was just another part of her that belonged to him.
And her treacherous body agreed, arching into him despite every rational thought screaming in protest.
When he finally released her, she could barely stand. Her lips felt swollen, her breath coming in short gasps. He looked perfectly composed except for the dark satisfaction in his eyes as he gazed down at her.
"There," he said softly, thumb brushing her lower lip. "Now you understand. Your anger, your pride, even your hate, they exist because I allow them. Just like this."
She knew she should say something, that she should slap him, or curse him, that she should do anything but stand there trembling with her lips still tingling from his kiss. But words had fled along with rational thought.
"Sweet dreams, little thief." He stepped back, and the absence of his warmth left her cold. "Try not to think too hard about why you didn't bite me."
Then he was gone, leaving her slumped against her door with her heart racing and her thoughts spiraling into chaos. She pressed fingers to her lips, feeling the lingering heat of his claim.
He was right about one thing. She hated him. But she feared him as well, and now she belonged to him in ways that law and magic had made absolute.
Once inside her room, she pulled off the formal shoes with shaking hands. Her reflection in the water mirror showed someone already changing—lips red from his kiss, eyes dark with confusion, marks spreading toward her throat with patient inevitability.
Briar touched her mouth again, remembering the possessive heat of his, the way her body had betrayed every instinct for survival by wanting more.
The marks pulsed with each heartbeat, spreading their claim a little further. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, watching the forest breathe in the darkness beyond.
He'd been right about one thing.
She was definitely thinking about why she hadn't bitten him.