Chapter 3 #2
“Make no mistake, my dearest. King Theron is as coldhearted as they say. I could tell you stories about his cruelty, particularly toward humans, that would give you nightmares.” He leans back slightly and searches my face.
“But it would seem his human mate has softened him somewhat. I will admit I was surprised that he asked me to track you down. In fact, you aren’t the only missing human woman he wanted tracked down.
His mate also asked him to learn the whereabouts of two of her friends who never showed up on Tribute Day—Isabel and Tomas Sinclair, a father and daughter.
My comrade, Commander Ashvale, was sent to find those missing humans, and I recently received a missive with the news that he succeeded. ”
Though I don’t know Helena well, I remember that she was always kind to me in school.
She never once teased me for wearing threadbare clothes the way the other children did.
More than once, I recall her sharing her lunch with me.
I suppose we might’ve become good friends if I’d allowed myself to trust her, but I was always afraid that she might join the others in mocking me one day, so I held her at a distance.
I held everyone at a distance, only feeling comfortable and like I could truly be myself when I was at home with my family.
My family…
Gods, I miss them so much.
But I probably won’t see them again.
“What do you expect from me?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer. “What are my duties as your slave?”
He appears startled by my question, then his expression darkens anew.
It takes all my willpower not to try pulling away from him again.
Somehow, I manage to keep holding his gaze as I await his response.
I pray my duties as his slave won’t be too awful.
Maybe he just wants someone to cook and clean for him.
But the more I think about it, it’s difficult to believe he wants me solely for cooking and cleaning when he keeps staring at me with longing, running his fingers through my hair, and calling me beautiful.
“Please,” I whisper. “I must know.”
He draws in a deep breath, as though to calm himself. Clearly, my question has made him uncomfortable. Good. I hope he feels ashamed.
“I must admit, Gwen, that I have never owned a slave before.” He resumes gently stroking my mussed locks.
“In the war camp, glamoured slaves serve me meals, wash my clothes, and keep my tent clean… but I do not own them. They are simply there to serve all the highborn males who are part of the Winter Court army.”
As he continues running his fingers through my hair, I almost lean into his touch.
Almost. I can’t help it. He’s being so gentle, and I suppose I’m a bit starved for affection, so I find comfort in his touch.
To my surprise, the coldness that clings to him doesn’t bother me.
Instead, it sends little, pleasurable shivers through my body.
“By the laws of the realm, you are my slave. You belong to me,” he says slowly, carefully, “but I don’t intend to treat you as a slave or even a servant. More like a… companion.”
“A companion?” I draw in a shaky breath. “You mean a whore?”
“No, Gwen, that is not what I mean.” Flustered, he mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “We will finish this conversation later. It is time for us to resume the journey to Ellonnar.”
He rises and spreads his wings, and the snow flurries finally drift down on me.
I briefly lift my face to the sky, savoring the chill.
Before the arrival of the Winter Court army, it didn’t snow in Braemar very often, so there is still something new and exciting about snowfall to me.
I suppose it’s a remnant from my childhood, those carefree memories of wandering through a rare snowfall with my brother.
That is, before he went off to become a soldier, died from a festering wound, and our birth father began drinking more.
I stand with Merak’s help and step off the blanket.
He quickly shakes it out, folds it, and places it in his rucksack.
He thoughtfully offers me the waterskin one last time, and I accept it gratefully.
I still don’t understand what he plans to do with me, but it’s a comfort to know he won’t deprive me of food and water.
Yet he claims he won’t treat me as a slave or a servant. Does he expect the other slaves to wait on me while I lounge about his tent in the Winter Court’s war camp like some kind of glorified concubine? I can’t help but wonder.
After I drink my fill and he puts the waterskin away, he steps closer and stares down at me with an intense look that steals my breath. Then I feel it again… a sharp wave of longing.
He cups the side of my face, leans down, and presses another lingering kiss on my forehead. I almost emit a sigh of pleasure, and I stiffen as I clamp my lips together, trying my best to remain still and silent. Thankfully, it works, and I don’t make a sound.
Merak steps back and lifts the hood of my cloak over my hair, sheltering me from the cold before sweeping me into his arms. I rest my cheek against the cool leather of his shirt and tuck my arms into my chest for warmth.
I wasn’t cold during the flight to this clearing, but I was feverish at the time.
But I trust that if I become too cold, Merak will take a break, or perhaps wrap the blanket around me.
I have a feeling if I voice my discomfort, he will be quick to meet my needs.
He tightens his hold on me and launches into the sky.