Chapter 8
THERON
I stare down at Helena, hypnotized by her beauty.
Curled up on the sofa, she’s fast asleep, the firelight casting an orange glow over her delicate features, accentuating her beauty.
I find it curious that she chose the sofa rather than the bed, but then I suppose she fears I might view it as an invitation to claim her if I discovered her sleeping in my bed.
Gods, claiming her is all I can think about.
As I presided over yet another evening of court in the banquet hall, all I could think about was returning to her side and touching her.
Holding her. Breathing in her unique floral scent.
Frost flowers. That’s what she smells like.
The resilient blue flowers that thrive on the frozen mountaintops of the Winter Court lands.
When I carried her upstairs to my bedchamber, she seemed to fit in my arms perfectly.
She also doesn’t seem bothered by the coldness of winter that inevitably clings to me.
I recall her lack of goosebumps when I stood close and cupped her face.
What an unusual and beguiling little creature she is.
If I was ever to take a pleasure slave or a concubine, she would be the perfect choice.
And yet…
I still can’t fathom forcing her.
I remind myself of the promises I made to her. That I wouldn’t kill or violate her. I mean to keep those vows. What sort of king would I be if I went back on my word, even to a human?
My pulse races as she stirs in her sleep.
A lock of wavy, dark hair falls across her forehead, and she emits a soft sigh.
Her breathing remains rhythmic, and every so often, her eyelashes flutter and she makes a faint noise in her throat.
Her expression isn’t as peaceful and relaxed as I would like, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s dreaming about.
Her eyebrows keep knitting together, and sometimes she grimaces.
I kneel in front of her and study her expression up close. Why does every little movement she makes, from her steady breaths to the way her lashes flutter, fascinate me beyond measure?
She whimpers and grimaces, then she utters a name. Repeatedly. A human man’s name. Harry.
Jealousy rips through me. I rise to my feet and stare down at her, watching and listening as she keeps repeating his name. Who the fuck is Harry?
Her late husband? A new lover?
Surely it’s not the brother-in-law who was harassing her in the street when Alaric came upon them.
Helena belongs to me. She is a gift I can’t return or part with, and I don’t like hearing another male’s name on her lips.
For her sake, I pray Harry is her late husband.
If it’s another man… then his days are numbered.
Perhaps I’ll scour Braemar, round up every adult male called Harry, and put them all to death.
A growl resounds from my throat before I can stop it, and Helena jerks awake with a gasp. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she quickly sits up, keeping her cloak wrapped around her front like a shield.
She lowers her head and stares at the floor, and guilt hits me a moment later. Fuck. With the way I’m glaring, she probably fears I’m angry with her.
“Am I not allowed to sleep on the sofa?” she asks in a soft whisper. “Um, if you prefer that I sleep on the floor, I suppose—”
“For fuck’s sake, Helena, you are not sleeping on the floor.” I turn away from her and drag a hand through my hair, directly between my thick, curving horns. I spin back to face her. “Who is Harry?” I demand.
Her eyes widen further. “What do you mean? How do you know that name?”
“You were talking in your sleep, darling human.” I cross my arms over my chest and give her an expectant look. I must know the identity of the man who affects her deeply enough that she dreams about him.
She meets my eyes, and there’s a proud tilt to her chin that I can’t help but admire. She’s still afraid of me, as evidenced by the slight trembling of her hands as she clutches the cloak, but she’s trying to be brave.
“Harry was my husband,” she says. “He died nearly a year ago.”
Relief rushes through me. Her husband. Her late husband. That’s who she was dreaming about. Not a current lover.
“How did he die?” I ask.
She blinks fast against a sudden sheen of tears, and she keeps her chin lifted high. Her fingers tighten perceptibly on the cloak. “He was stabbed to death by thieves during his mail route. They took his near-empty money bag and wedding ring.”
“That sounds rather tragic,” I reply.
“Are you mocking me? Are you making light of his death?” There’s a sharp edge to her voice, and it makes me admire her all the more.
Doesn’t she realize I’ve killed others for less?
I shake my head and try my best to give her an earnest look, though it makes my face feel strange.
“I am not mocking you, darling human, nor am I making light of your husband’s death.
It is simply that… you humans have such short lifespans as it is, so it seems especially tragic that you would lose your husband when you are still so young. ”
An alarming thought strikes me, and I nearly gasp.
“Did you have any children?” I ask.
“No, we never had children.”
Relief fills me. Gods, if she’d left children behind, I am not certain how I would’ve contended with the situation. Surely I couldn’t bring human children to the castle. But if I kept her apart from her offspring, I would forever remain a monster in her eyes.
You are a monster. The coldest of them all.
You collect the skulls of your enemies.
“How long were you married?” I ask.
“Less than a year,” she whispers.
“Yes, rather tragic,” I murmur again.
She stares at me in silence for a long moment, as though assessing whether I’m being honest. I hold her gaze and resist the urge to… fidget in place.
Fucking fires. What is this female doing to me?
Perhaps I sustained a head injury during the battle. I can think of no other explanation for the wave of self-consciousness that hits me, an emotion I don’t believe I’ve experienced since childhood.
I bite back a string of curses, and I stand taller, if only so I might project an aura of confidence.
“Yes,” she eventually says. “It was rather tragic. Although, the proper thing to say when someone tells you about a loved one dying is: I am sorry for your loss.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I cannot fathom her boldness. Why, it almost feels like she’s scolding me. Is she trying to goad me into becoming angry with her? Surely she must realize it’s entirely inappropriate to tell a highborn fae male what he must or mustn’t say in a particular situation.
“I will keep that in mind, Helena, though I daresay you won’t be losing any more husbands. You belong to me now, in case you have forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. Now, tell me, were the perpetrators who killed your husband caught?” I try to tell myself that I’m only asking this question because it’s important to know how many murderous thieves might be roaming the streets of Braemar, but the truth is that I just can’t help my curiosity.
I want to know more about Helena and her life experiences, even her darkest, most tragic memories.
She gives a brief nod. “Yes, the two criminals were caught the very next day when they tried to rob another man. A contingent of soldiers rounded the corner at just the right moment, caught them red-handed, and saved the other man. The criminals were arrested, my husband’s belongings were discovered in their pockets, and they made a full confession.
I watched them hang a week later. I stood at the very front of the crowd…
” Her voice trails off, and her gaze becomes distant.
I move to her side and sink down on the sofa. The piece of furniture creaks under our combined weight, but thankfully, it holds. I turn toward her, reach for her hands, and slowly pry them away from her cloak. I cup both her hands in mine as I stare into her eyes.
Eyes that are so sapphire-blue and… faelike.
I glance at her ears, only to realize they’re covered by her hair. Perhaps I’m being ridiculous, but I must know. I must see for myself if her ears are curved like a human’s or if they hold the slightest point that might indicate fae ancestry.
With utmost gentleness, I place her hands in her lap, then I reach for her hair and slowly, tenderly, brush her dark, wavy tresses behind both her ears… her curved, very human ears. Well. Perhaps some humans just have very, very stark blue eyes and smell like frost flowers.
“What are you doing, King Theron?” she whispers.
“I’m basking in your loveliness, darling human.” It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie. She doesn’t need to know that I thought, perhaps for just a moment, that she might be part-fae.
Besides… if she were fae, or even just part-fae, then she would have a fated mate somewhere out there. Which means I wouldn’t be able to keep her.
Why does the prospect of letting her go fill me with rage?
My gaze falls to her mouth, to those perfect pink lips I’m aching to kiss. But I don’t kiss her. I fear if I start, I won’t be able to stop. My cock lurches in my pants, and my scrotum tingles with pleasure.
I keep caressing her hair behind her ears, and at one point, she emits the faintest sound of pleasure, an almost sigh that borders on a whimper. My pants become tighter. If she looks down, there will be no missing the immense bulge.
Would my desire scare her?
There’s a knock on the door, and a fae male slave enters with a large tray that holds two covered plates.
His face remains blank as he walks deeper into the room and places the tray on a table.
Heavily glamoured, he almost looks like he’s sleepwalking, yet he performs his tasks with as much skill as a regular, non-glamoured servant might.
Helena regards the slave with a fearful look.
“He won’t hurt you, darling human. He’s a fae slave. You needn’t be afraid.”
“Something is wrong with him.” She gives me a wary glance before her eyes dart back to the slave. “What did you do to him?”
Ah. It would seem my little prisoner is unfamiliar with the fae practice of using glamoured slaves. With a dramatic sigh, I nod at the slave, and he scurries into the corridor. Before he’s able to close the door himself, I send a frigid gust of wind to slam it shut.
“That was rather rude,” Helena says.
My gaze swivels to her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, that was rather rude.” Her eyes narrow. “He was just doing his job. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with him? He seemed like he was in a mindless daze as he performed his tasks.”
“In the Winter Court, and the other courts as well, if a fae commits a grave crime, particularly a crime against a highborn fae, they are sometimes sentenced to a lifetime of slavery rather than death.”
“Yes, but he…”
“We don’t usually keep our human slaves glamoured, so long as they don’t prove troublesome, but we always glamour our own kind and castrate the males as well. It prevents rebellion. Don’t feel sorry for that particular slave, Helena. Long ago, he attempted to kill my uncle.”
Her expression darkens with worry. “If I prove troublesome, will you… glamour me?”
I lean closer to her, take a deep inhale of her enticing scent, and allow my fingers to trail over her curved, human ears. She makes a light choking noise before clearing her throat.
“I would never glamour you, darling human,” I finally say. “You are far more fun like this. Brave yet a little scared, trembling yet strangely curious. And bold. Let’s not forget how bold you are. More than once, you’ve made a comment that’s shocked me.”
“I am not strangely curious about you in any way.” Her face flushes.
Then I smell it. The sweetness of her arousal in the air.
I can’t restrain a growl. Fucking fires, how will I resist tasting her? Her slickness is the most tantalizing scent I’ve ever inhaled.
I rub my thumb over her earlobe, and a shiver runs through her. Her cloak slips, and I see the evidence of goosebumps near her wrists. For the first time ever, I’ve finally given her goosebumps.
And not from the cold…
From my touch.
From my light caresses of her ears and hair.
“Please, you-you promised.” She suddenly appears alarmed, and she jerks away from my touch.
I drop my hands and lean back, giving her space as she shoots to her feet. She places her hands up in a defensive manner.
I mimic her gesture, in a way, as I hold my hands up in a show of peace. “I am not going to harm you. Come, dinner is waiting.” I stand up and offer her my hand.
She eyes me dubiously but eventually places her tiny hand in my much larger one. I thrill at the trust she just displayed. How could she know I didn’t plan to pull her close and harass her?
Perhaps it’s because you’ve been too accommodating with her thus far.
I nearly growl at my own thoughts. Logically I know I am showing tremendous restraint around Helena, in a way that is not typical of my people, yet I still cannot imagine hurting or scaring her.
I help her into her chair before taking my own place at the table. I uncover both plates and set the lids aside. Ah, one of my favorites. Maple-glazed salmon and a medley of roasted vegetables native to the Winter Court. I pick up a utensil, more famished than I realized.
“Please, Helena, eat your fill.”
She picks up a utensil and pokes at the salmon. “Um, is it safe? I mean… I’ve heard that fae food can be dangerous to humans.”
“I promise it’s safe. There are some fruits that can make humans intoxicated if consumed in excess, but my personal cook has been informed of your arrival, and he will refrain from using any ingredients that might cause you trouble.
” Yes, before I’d returned to my bedchamber, I visited the kitchens so I could give careful instructions to my cook.
She takes a cautious bite of the salmon, and my cock stiffens further when her tongue briefly darts out.
Gods, perhaps I shouldn’t have gone over three hundred years without having a female.
A short while around Helena, and I feel as though I would sacrifice my beating heart just to kiss her.
A proper kiss, one filled with passion and intimacy.
Gods. Fuck.
Passion and intimacy?
I tense and shoot her what I’m sure is an accusing look. I promised not to glamour her, and with the gods as my witnesses, I will keep that promise. But what about her? She’s not fae, yet I could almost swear that she’s glamouring me.
When Helena’s eyes darken under my censorious glare, I don’t back down. I don’t soften my gaze. I summon my highborn kingliness and the cold ruthlessness for which I’m known and wear it like armor.
Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with her.
She belongs to me.
Perhaps I need to remind her of her place.