Chapter 17
ALEK
It was past noon the next day, and Feloré hadn’t come out of the washroom. I’d expected him to stay in there an hour or so, but all night long he’d been locked in there. Then all morning.
I would love to say I’d done anything productive with my time, but I had not.
It was impossible not to get sucked into his world of sounds. My attention would be stolen by a tiny sneeze, then by the time I realized it, hours would have passed. Hours on end where I just listened.
Some of his sounds were goddamn adorable. There was the sneezing and that one round of hiccups he’d had. There was the cursing he did under his breath when he tripped over his chain. I’d see it jerk under the door at the same time he’d hiss, Dammit or Stupid, shit chain.
Then there were the excruciating noises. Each delicate bead of water that dripped down his skin from the bath he took. Each full body stretch that ended in a satisfied sigh. Each click of his tongue piercing against the back of his teeth as he played with it.
I’d expected those noises. They held my attention in a tight fist that made my cock twinge, but what I hadn’t expected to hear were the tender sounds. Those were the ones that hurt my heart.
Like last night, right before sleep claimed him, he sniffled. And it was because quiet tears were slipping down his cheeks. The sigh he released wasn’t satisfied. It was hopeless, pitiful, and wrecked with pain.
And he’d said a name. He said it three times in one hour. Landry.
“I’m sorry, Landry,” he’d whispered against the cushion of the chaise. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I wanted so badly to rest my forehead against the door and say, Who is he? Why do you cry for him? Come out and tell me. Come out and trust me.
But I knew better. I didn’t even trust myself.
I couldn’t tell how much of my longing to be near him was driven by the monster inside me. Did I like his face because his expressions were fiery and enchanting? Or did I like it because I wanted to lick it?
And did I like his voice because it was raspy and filled with curiosity? Or did I like it because of my desire to hear it screaming my name?
I couldn’t tell. I supposed two things could be true at once.
I sucked hard on my cigarette as I pushed myself from the bed, only to jerk to a stop at the sudden sharp pain lancing into my ribs. Good gods. I winced as I carefully lifted my shirt to peek at the wound, which, shiiiiit.
I’d never had a laceration last this long.
It was like it wasn’t even trying to heal.
At least it wasn’t bleeding. Even if it was doing what I could only describe as oozing from the middle while it remained swollen and puffy around the edges.
I didn’t know what it meant or how to fix it. Burn it again? That seemed…barbaric.
It would heal with time, surely. So long as I didn’t do anything to make it worse.
With care, I pushed myself from the bed, my feet asleep and prickling with sensation as I hobbled into a walk. Feloré’s chain lay roped across the floor, disappearing beneath the washroom door.
I resisted the urge to reach down and take the heavy metal in my hands, just to smooth my thumbs over the cold links. But if I did that, then I’d also be tempted to pull.
No, I would be good. I would do neither, strolling toward the window with my hands in my pockets—not listening as I passed by the door.
He cleared his throat and I stopped, my eyes cutting to the door.
Well, what could a little bit of listening honestly hurt? I’d not done it in at least twenty minutes, so this was my reward for good behavior.
My eyes rolled shut as I paused by the door, tuning into his sounds once more. It didn’t take long to drown out the world and focus only on him and his movements as they waxed into the forefront of my mind like a stampede of quickly approaching horses.
His beating heart hit me first, and I had to pull back on my senses to hear less. The rustling of his body against the chaise lounge came next, and all I could picture was black velvet against milky skin.
I shot my cock a warning look at its excitement over that visual. Then I drew closer toward the door, because who the fuck was I kidding? I’d be here for an hour. Might as well settle in.
I gingerly rested a shoulder against the door, crossing my ankles and letting my head drop as I listened to whatever he was doing. Sitting. Lying down perhaps. Sucking on his lower lip. Turning a page.
My forehead creased. Wait, turning a page?
After a minute or two, another page turned. He was reading. There wasn’t anything in there to read, was there? Oh, how desperately I wanted to project myself through this door just to see him, but this blistering wound in my side would not appreciate the exertion that would take.
Gods, being intentionally kept away from him was even more torturous than being around him.
I closed my eyes again. What are you reading, darling? What did you find? Come out here and show it to me. Come out here and let me see you.
Then he whispered, “Oc-oce-ocean.”
My eyes shot open. I stared into space, waiting.
“Oce-ean,” he whispered again. “Ocean. Swim-ming in an ocean.”
Swimming in an ocean, huh? It felt a little like licking up a breadcrumb left behind. It was nothing and yet everything. What about swimming in an ocean, my love?
“The b-best part about sw-wimming in an oc-oce-ocean so full of life, is how…” He trailed off for a beat. Then he said, “Shit. Don’t know that one.”
I narrowed my gaze. He didn’t know the word he read?
“Oh,” he said, his tone brighter. “E-asy. How easy it is to, uh. Hmph. Oh, to d-dream.”
Wait a minute. It just occurred to me that I didn’t own any books that were written in Novithish. They were all in Vultaen. How the hell was he reading anything?
“Dreams of b-ig and little,” he continued, painfully slow, fighting with each word. “Dreams of s-sand and w-wash.”
My eyes rounded. It was familiar. No, more than familiar. I recognized that exact sentence.
Dreams of big and little. Dreams of sand and wash. It was from a book called The Fisherman and the Swill. It was one of my favorite stories about a fisherman who slowly and poetically turned into a sea creature. I’d probably read it ten times.
“Dreams of big and little,” he whispered. “Dreams of sand and w-wash.”
Holy shit. He could read Vultaen.
“Each day, every wave—”
“Delivers a new dream,” I whispered at the same time he said, “Deli-verss a n-new dream.”
A soft smile overtook my face. Oh, how intriguing. Could he speak it, too? The consequences for learning any form of Vultaen were so severe that I’d never met a human who would dare.
But here he was. Daring, indeed.
“What a little fox you are.” I traced a finger down the woodgrain of the door like it was the length of his spine, biting my lower lip as I smiled. “What other secrets are you hiding—?”
A knock sounded at my bedroom door. My smile vanished the same time Feloré gasped as he slammed the book shut, scrambling to hide it.
I squinted at the door. I’d been so enthralled in Feloré that I’d not heard the rustling of movement in the hallway.
It wasn’t Lucc; I could tell by the lack of panic.
It wasn’t my father. One could feel his presence from a hundred paces away.
No, it was calm and nearly reluctant, like whoever it was didn’t necessarily want to be here.
That alone suddenly made it very clear who it was. I wouldn’t want to be here either if I were him.
I folded my arms, glaring at nothing. “Announce yourself.”
After a long moment, he said, “Neopal.”
My head bobbed in nods. Barring my father, it was quite possibly the last vultus I wanted to see, but I wouldn’t be giving him the satisfaction of knowing that.
I steeled myself with a breath, then I opened the door. There he was.
Handsome, healthy, and strong with his hair pulled back and twisted at the nape of his neck in the overly tight style he wore it.
His bone structure had changed since I last saw him.
It’d gotten sturdier. It was probably because of how much he got to feed in his fancy position as my father’s right hand.
But the look he was giving me was the same one he’d started giving me a year ago, like he couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. Why I was the way I was.
“Prince Alekus,” he said, bowing before me because custom demanded it of him. He was nothing if not adherent to every formal rule imaginable. Well, except when it came to illegally kidnapping humans, apparently.
“Neopal.”
“How do you do?” he asked, rising to a stand with one hand positioned on his sword and the other behind his back. It was the trained stance of my father’s brigade, and we both knew it well.
“How do you think I’m doing, old friend?” I asked, resting a casual elbow onto the door frame as I shrugged. “I am a prisoner of my own room.”
His gaze flitted past me and into my room. “Well, judging by your appearance, I would imagine the human is still alive. We’ve come to serve him a meal.”
I had to blink hard to notice the three humans standing behind him. The brown birds in a tree. They were different from the ones that accompanied Lucc yesterday. At least, as far as I could tell.
“We have come to serve him a meal?” I asked Neopal, lacing spite into my tone. “As in, you and the servants?”
It was satisfying when his eye twitched.
“Tell me, Commander.” I skated my tongue across my smile. “Are you enjoying your new duties? So many hours spent training for the frontlines, only to find yourself here. In charge of nibbles for a human.”
He bounced on his heels once. “It is an honor to do whatever my king asks of me.”
“Undoubtedly. It seems there’s no limit to what you’ll do. Is it also an honor to chain an unwilling human to my room?”
His gaze darkened. “It is when my king is worried about his son.”
“If he was really worried, he’d set me free. This is a waste of my precious time.”