Chapter 5
GWEN
As Merak speaks to the proprietor of the inn, a skinny fae male I suspect is part-human, I sit in an ornate lounge that’s larger than my house back in Braemar, holding my hands out to the hearth to warm myself.
In addition to the numerous velvet-upholstered sofas and chairs, there’s a sparkling chandelier above me, shelves holding more books than I’ve ever seen in one place, crystal dishes that contain glowing, ussha-blessed fruits, and even a large blown-glass bowl brimming with peppermint candies.
Unable to resist, I swipe a few of the candies and shove them into my pocket.
I listen as the proprietor boasts about the amenities of the largest suite that the inn has to offer, not quite believing what I’m hearing.
The skinny fae male claims the suite is fully furnished with a large bed draped in silks and velvet, has running water that’s spelled to remain hot, two large tubs for bathing, a small library of its own, and a well-stocked kitchen area, though he also promises that hot, lavish meals can be delivered upon request. Merak proceeds to request such a meal, asking for it to be brought to the room immediately.
He leans closer to the proprietor and murmurs something else I can’t quite hear, then hands over a money bag that’s bulging at the seams. Though I can’t glimpse the coins the proprietor counts out, I hear the repeated clinks, and I know it’s no small amount.
“Five nights,” Merak says, and my stomach does a little flip.
Five nights. We’re about to spend five nights alone together.
I suppose I should be relieved in a way, because once we leave Ellonnar, we’ll be traveling back to the Winter Court’s war camp.
I shiver at the prospect of being in a fae war camp, even if Merak promised I wouldn’t be joining the other slaves.
In fact, he’s said that I won’t be treated like a slave or a servant at all.
I’ll be his companion.
Whatever that means.
I suddenly become warm all over and a bit achy between my thighs.
I try to tell myself it’s the heat emanating from the hearth that’s affecting me so, but that’s not the truth.
The truth is, not only am I attracted to Merak, but I’m intrigued by him as well.
There’s something about him that feels familiar in a way, but also dangerously seductive.
I’ve never kissed a man, but as I gaze at the savagely handsome fae male, admiring the way his muscles bunch beneath his leathers with his every movement, I find myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
Would he kiss me softly? Or would he clutch my face and delve his tongue into my mouth, claiming me with hunger and passion?
The heat searing my face increases, and I finally scoot away from the hearth.
I stand up and start perusing the bookcases.
When I spot a book about trade routes, I pull it off the shelf and begin flipping through it.
Excitement spreads through me at the sight of the maps and the landmarks drawn on them.
I’ve always loved maps. Back in Braemar, I had a small collection of maps and trinkets I purchased from traveling merchants.
Thankfully, my stepfather never minded me collecting such items.
My heart aches as I think about all I’ve left behind. Not the maps and the trinkets, but the people. My family. Gods, I miss them. What is my mother doing right now? What about my siblings? Do they miss me as terribly as I miss them?
I’m about to return the book to the shelf when a shadow falls over me. The familiar scent of peppermint, smoky wood, pine, and spices causes my pulse to race faster.
I glance up to meet Merak’s eyes, and my breath catches.
He has no right to look so darkly handsome.
I try to remind myself of what he is. He’s a highborn fae of the Winter Court.
He’s King Theron’s most skilled aerial scout, so he’s clearly part of the army that conquered Braemar.
Did he take part in the attack? If so, how many of my people did he slaughter that day?
His fingers brush mine as he takes the book from my hands. He turns it around and flips through the pages, then he gives me a curious look.
“Maps? Trade routes? Why does this interest you, my dearest?” A second later, before I can even formulate an answer, his face darkens. “Are you planning to escape me and try to hide yourself among a caravan of traveling merchants?” He closes the book with a harsh thud and returns it to the shelf.
Tears burn in my eyes, and a cold heaviness settles in my chest. Perhaps he is no better than my birth father. Perhaps he is the sort of male to quickly reach erroneous conclusions without taking the time to learn the actual truth. If he is, maybe I should consider running away from him.
I lower my gaze and stare at the fine stitching on his leather shirt, my throat burning.
Anger also rises within me, fierce and hot, ready to burst. I want to shout at Merak.
I want to hit him over the head with the book he just took away from me.
But of course that would be foolish. And as a rule, I abhor violence.
Just as I don’t care for people who are quick to anger and become physical, like my birth father, I don’t want to imitate him in any way either, so I try to tamp my fury down.
“Answer me, Gwen.” Merak places a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his dark eyes. Eyes that flicker with annoyance, but also… hurt.
Then I feel it. A wave of his emotions that I wish I couldn’t detect.
Gods damn the residual fae magic that’s coursing through me. I almost give a sigh of exasperation.
In addition to his irritation, I sense he feels wounded, and I think it means he’s taking it very personally that I might want to escape him. He’s hurt by the idea that I would plan to run away.
“Gwen,” he prompts when I take too long to respond.
“I happen to like maps,” I say. “I collect them, and I find trade routes very interesting. It’s a hobby, I suppose you could say. That’s why I was looking at the book, not because I was actively planning to escape you.”
His expression abruptly softens, and I detect a faint hint of a guilt from him. Good. I hope he feels rotten for falsely accusing me of something, being a grump, and taking the book away.
“You like maps? Why?” he asks, and I sense his genuine curiosity.
I glance at the nearest row of books. “Because some maps are quite detailed. They show mountains I’ve never seen, lakes and oceans I will probably never visit, exotic landmarks, and other elements that I can’t help but find fascinating.
Until the Winter Court army arrived in Braemar, I never left the walls of my home city, but I used to dream about going on an adventure and seeing all the sights the realm has to offer.
As a woman, unless I were to marry a traveling merchant, I probably wouldn’t get the opportunity to travel like that.
And so, I have an affinity for maps and trinkets from across the realm. ”
He stares at me quietly for a moment, and I can’t help but feel a wave of vulnerability over the confession I just made. I just shared a personal part of myself with him, a part I usually keep hidden from others.
Whenever people outside my family learn about my hobby and my yearning to travel, they often smirk and make remarks about how a poor girl could never hope to travel… unless she became a whore.
My face burns as I think about the times men boldly asked if I were planning to sleep my way from village to village as I traveled the realm, spreading my legs as I collected coins.
Merak suddenly turns to the shelf, retrieves the book he just put away, and adds several others to the pile. He tucks the books under his arm. “I will purchase these books from the proprietor, my dearest, and you may keep them.”
My throat burns so intensely, I struggle to speak.
I’m touched by his gesture. I don’t want to be moved by his kindness, but I am.
Well, perhaps I was the one who quickly reached an erroneous conclusion without taking the time to learn the actual truth.
Perhaps Merak isn’t like my birth father at all.
My birth father would’ve never purchased books containing maps and trade routes for me after wrongly accusing me of plotting to run away.
“Thank you, Merak,” I finally say, though my voice comes out strained.
The only other man who’s ever bought me a gift of any sort is my stepfather. Perhaps I shouldn’t accept the books from Merak, but I cannot bring myself to refuse them.
He nods and gestures toward the stairs. The proprietor stands awkwardly nearby, presumably waiting to show us to our suite. The suite we will share for five nights.
“Come. Let us retire to our suite. I know you must be eager to wash the dust from yourself and put on clean clothes.” He steps back and holds out his hand.
I stare at his offered hand for a moment too long. Eventually, he clears his throat and gives me an expectant look that’s also mildly gentle and encouraging. I sense that he’s not used to being so patient and accommodating, but for some reason, he’s making an effort for me. Why?
Is it because he’s lonely?
Is it because he longs for companionship?
He could be stern and order me around. He could drag me around by my hair rather than wait for me to come with him willingly. He’s spoken to me harshly a few times, but he hasn’t been physically rough with me. Not yet. I pray he keeps his promise not to hurt me. I pray it’s not some sort of trick.
Finally, I place my hand in Merak’s much larger one. Though his hand is cool to the touch, and a shiver quickly courses through me, it’s not due to the coldness that emanates from him.
It’s because of the tension that flares between us as his eyes gleam with pleasure and he pulls me closer.
I can’t seem to draw in a full breath as I stare up at him.
My pulse quickens and heated throbs affect me between my thighs.