SIXTEEN
I t was evident this king brought out the worst in me. Maybe it was paranoia, but I couldn’t help but think that was part of his ludicrous plan.
To climb under my skin and irritate.
After years of perfecting the art of biting my tongue and learning how to hone my words to a precise and sharpened edge, I should have been able to keep from constantly reacting.
It more than unsettled me. It made me feel like a failure. Like someone who’d lost the skills to survive.
It made me fear I couldn’t control my emotions.
The felynx hissed before we’d even rounded the stairs into the foyer, scenting the black cat perched atop the banister.
Lime green eyes disappeared behind gathering darkness that burst as Daylia morphed into her faerie form. “Oh, my great goddess.” Hurrying toward the cub, she pulled at her high-waisted lacy skirts, then crouched. Her question was pitched. “Aren’t you just the most precious thing?”
“It has fangs the size of my little finger. I’d hardly call that precious.”
Satisfied Daylia wasn’t a threat, the felynx brushed her head against the steward’s hand.
“She doesn’t mean it, darling,” she crooned to the cub. “She secretly adores you, doesn’t she?”
I snorted, then walked past them to the stairs. I made it halfway up them before the cub joined me, and Daylia asked, “What have you named her?”
At the landing, I frowned and turned back to her. “I don’t intend to name her.”
“But you have to.” She pushed a thick orange ringlet from her cheek, her eyes agleam. “She’s likely waiting for it.”
I peered down at the felynx, who waited patiently beneath the next set of stairs. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she deserved a name. I supposed it was that I believed she deserved more than me. More than someone who would take her into an uncertain and perilous future, if any at all.
“I don’t think forming much of an attachment is wise.”
“It’s far too late to worry about that,” the steward said.
Exhaling heavily, I continued to the king’s rooms, pleased to find he’d finished bathing and had vacated them in my brief absence.
As much as I loathed it, Daylia was right. The cub needed to be called something. So I rummaged through the king’s nightstand drawer for the parchment and ink I’d glimpsed when I’d searched for my featherbone some days ago.
A ruse, really. I needed that featherbone, but I’d also delighted in foraging through his simple belongings.
I’d known he’d discover my nosiness. If not from his shadowy spies, then from my scent. I hadn’t cared. Save for small blades, a well-loved book about war and peace, and more maps, I hadn’t found much of interest.
After a late lunch, I stretched over the king’s bed and continued to scribble names upon the parchment. I’d narrowed it down to two possibilities by the time the sun sank toward the horizon. Deciding to mull it over in the bathing pool, I left the door ajar in case the cub didn’t appreciate being locked out.
The felynx yawned when I returned, then curled into a furry ball upon the divan, a leathery wing covering her like a blanket. “Just like that, huh?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Taken from all you know, and you sleep as if nothing happened at all.”
“It’s because of the bond she’s formed with you,” the king said, seated at the table.
Tensing, I clutched the silk robe tight over my chest.
I hadn’t heard him enter nor any sound of dishes being prepared. It was too late to care about putting something proper on, his gaze an ember that drifted over my bare legs.
It returned to the table—to the list of names I’d curated. He poked it. “Stripes,” he scoffed. “An insult.”
“She has black stripes in her fur.”
“And you have the darkest green eyes I’ve ever seen, but I don’t call you seaweed.”
Stunned momentarily, I laughed. I searched but found nothing to say to that. So I muttered, “Stormy it is,” as I padded over to the table and took the seat opposite him.
“Just as bad, if not worse.”
“Apologies,” I crooned dryly. “But I don’t remember asking for your input.”
Ignoring me, he pushed half a potato into his mouth. It bulged in his cheek as he mumbled, “Found her in a meadow. Call her that.”
Reaching for the decanter of wine, I discovered my goblet had been filled. I stabbed at the green beans, about to refute his suggestion. I couldn’t, but I still refused to admit I liked it.
“When will she learn how to fly?”
“She already knows how.” He sipped his wine, gesturing to the window he must have opened. “She’ll leave when she trusts she’ll be let back in.”
I looked over at the felynx watching me with one half-open, glowing eye. Being wanted in such a way would take some getting used to. Being needed for nothing more than company and refuge.
While eating a few mouthfuls of lamb, I peered at the king’s wings, which sat carefully tucked behind and beneath him. “And when did you learn to fly?”
He paused in gathering the remnants of his meal and seemed to ponder it. “I think I was five or so years.” His smile was a brief tilt of his lips. “My father pushed me off the ballroom balcony.”
I blinked.
“Vorx was far from a warm soul, as I’m sure you’ve heard, yet he should have forced the matter much earlier.” The king shrugged. “A necessary cruelty when one is afraid of heights.”
Still mildly shocked, I ate slowly before asking, “Are you scared of heights now?”
“Petrified.” A gruff and quick confession. “I rarely fly unless I have to.”
It shouldn’t have, but such vulnerability failed to settle right. That a male of his status, with such power and brawn, could be scared of anything.
Resisting the desire to prod at him was impossible. “You’ve revealed a weakness, beast king.”
“If you believe you can push me from any great height, I encourage you to try.” His feral grin was an invitation. “Princess.”
Fighting a smile, I resumed eating, unsure the information he’d provided was useful. But it was wise to gather what I could nonetheless—for when the inevitable came and I’d be forced to play more games to keep my life.
The king collected our dishes and set the tray outside of his rooms.
I watched him, savoring the dregs of my wine, as he removed his loose tunic and tossed it to the floor beside the bed. Within grabbing distance, I noted, attempting not to explore the maze of his abdominals with my eyes.
Some of the rumors were too true. He was indeed a monster.
His broad chest tapered slowly into large hips so sharp, they could injure. Dark auburn hair dusted his chest, a thick smattering leading toward the waistband of his pants. His pectorals were small mountains, shifting as he fluffed the pillows.
It was then I woke from my trance. “What are you doing?”
He dug out his favored book from the nightstand and sat on the bed. The wooden frame squeaked. “I do believe that’s obvious.” His wings stretched, the grand span and gradient darkness stealing my attention and irritation.
“But…” I set the goblet down with a thud. “Where will I sleep, then?”
His wings folded as he reclined on his side. “These are my rooms, Mildred, and I’ve been away from them long enough. If you don’t wish to share the bed, you may sleep on the divan.” He opened the book, setting a strip of leather that had marked the page next to his stomach.
I shook my eyes free from his abdominals once again. “ You sleep on the divan.”
“Again, my rooms.” He huffed. “And I’d have trouble fitting.”
My bones tightened. I rubbed my neck as I glanced away from him. “Then kindly find me other accommodations.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Why?” I’d discovered plenty of empty guest rooms. One with a small balcony overlooking the wild gardens had piqued my interest.
He turned the page. “That is obvious.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then stop asking redundant questions.”
My teeth clenched. Colorful cusses formed over my tongue. I didn’t set them free. I couldn’t because I needed to stop reacting and because how dare he desire to sleep in his own bed, in his own rooms, in his own castle…
I’d grown comfortable in here during his absence. Far too comfortable, it seemed.
Sighing, I tipped the remaining wine from the decanter into my goblet. But I only needed a gulp before remembering what I did best.
This was another challenge, and I’d be damned if he was going to win.
Vane’s gaze remained on his book as I crossed the bedchamber. Even so, he was wholly aware of every step I took. Likely every breath I drew. Changing out of the robe would only show more hesitation and fear. So I tightened the silk ties and crawled onto the bed.
The felynx joined me.
She settled between us, perhaps knowing I desired a buffer from the king who’d found her. Grateful, I stroked her soft fur. As she purred, I pondered naming her meadow in an effort to ignore the flood of Vane’s scent and the heat he expelled. It was akin to lying next to a dying fire.
His voice was a rough grumble. “Do you always sleep in a robe?”
I’d wager he knew I didn’t. “I’m not exactly going to sleep naked, am I?” An intentional prod, but I couldn’t help myself.
“You certainly could, and I certainly wouldn’t mind.”
I did my best to ignore that. I failed, rubbing my hot cheek into my palm as I curled onto my side. “Comforting, thank you.”
He chuckled, turning the page again.
I wasn’t sure he was truly reading. I was sure he’d read that book many times already, so maybe it didn’t matter if he wasn’t absorbing the words properly. I shouldn’t even care. I should be ignoring him—dragging this ordeal out until I found a way out.
For some reason, his presence alone made that impossible.
“You’re a king, accustomed to having females fall at your feet.” Referring to how I’d arrived here, I smirked. “Quite literally.” I scratched the cub’s cheek, which appeared chunky until my finger sank, and I discovered it was all fur. “Is that why you assumed I’d want to kiss you upon first meeting you?”
As if he had been reading and wanted to finish a sentence, a few moments passed before he answered. “I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t…” He stalled. “I’ve little experience when it comes to romancing females.”
“Beyond fucking them.”
He released an amused breath. “Yes.”
Quiet settled.
My tone softened against my will. “That’s why you asked me to show you how to make me fall in love with you.”
“That,” he said, “and you also made it clear quite quickly that taming you would be no easy feat.”
“I’m not in need of taming.”
His response was so delayed, I thought there wouldn’t be one. “I’m beginning to see that.”
I smiled at the felynx when she attempted to nip my finger for being too rough. My hand fell beside me, and she nudged it with her velvet snout. “Well, I’m beginning to like Meadow.”
A comfortable silence blanketed.
Perhaps a minute later, pages fluttered. The book lay on the bed, Vane’s fingers stilling over the cover.
Gently, I pulled it free of his hand and found the last page he’d read by the stronger trace of his scent. I tucked the leather strip in place, then set the book on the nightstand.
His snoring soon rumbled through the bedchamber.
I should have been offended that he thought me no threat—this king who trusted I wouldn’t or couldn’t kill him. Rather, I wondered when he’d last slept and why he hadn’t.