Chapter 10
THERON
The little human is a temptation, a distraction I cannot afford.
And yet, she is now my responsibility. A deep growl echoes from my chest as I navigate the passageways of the castle, my hair still damp from a recent bath.
I cannot believe I allowed a human to take over the bathing area of my bedchamber, forcing me to go elsewhere.
You should have joined her.
My cock lurches in my trousers at the prospect.
Fucking fires. It’s my godsdamn bedchamber, the one I took over after seizing Braemar Castle.
Yet I not only arranged for her to take a bath, but I also gave her complete privacy and provided her with a luxurious nightdress and robe spun from the finest fabrics in the north.
She’s not your mate. She’s not Elssandra.
Another growl rips from my throat, and I hasten my steps down the passageway.
Two human servants scurry out of my path, eyes wide, faces pale with fear.
I’m used to being feared, and I relish it.
The certainty of my power. The knowledge that no one, not a single fucking soul, could best me in battle.
Yet I didn’t like seeing similar fear in Helena’s eyes. I didn’t like the coldness of her terror when she feared I might kill her or force myself between her thighs.
Why the fuck did Alaric gift her to me?
I drag a hand through my damp hair and walk faster. Despite the conflicting feelings she rouses within me, I’m eager to return to the little human’s side.
We’re going to share a bed.
My cock thickens further at the thought, even as I curse myself for issuing the order without giving it proper consideration. If she’s in my bed every night, close enough that I can feel her warmth, I am not certain how I will be able to resist her. Perhaps I secretly like to torture myself.
The sconces lining the stone walls are burning low.
Occasionally, the terrified scream of a human echoes throughout the castle.
After Tribute Day, the castle will be teeming with even more humans my people might prey upon, those taken in lieu of the ten pieces of silver we expect each household to offer.
Normally, thoughts of Tribute Day fill me with eagerness and bloodlust. Yet…
as I approach my bedchamber, all I can think about is how it might affect Helena.
Unless I erect a soundproof ward around my bedchamber, she’ll hear the screams of families being torn apart.
Unless I board the windows shut, she’ll see the line of frightened humans waiting outside the castle, stretching through the city all the way to the gates.
I try to tell myself that her opinion doesn’t matter, just as I try to convince myself that her fear doesn’t matter either. She’s my possession, a human female who holds no more rights than a slave.
A growl builds in my throat, and I quickly decide that I will erect no soundproof wards on Tribute Day. I summon an aura of winter power to remind myself of who I am. I am the Winter King, and I will not hide my true nature from the female who belongs to me.
Finally, I reach my bedchamber. I blow the door open with a gust of winter magic and stride inside… only for my steps to falter at the sight that greets me. My breath catches, and my cock lurches in my pants again, heated desire burning away the chill that always clings to me.
Seated by the hearth, Helena is combing her fingers through her long, wet hair, letting the fire do the work of drying it. Her hair gleams as it slips through her hands, glossy and heavy, each lock catching the firelight with her every little movement.
She flicks a brief glance in my direction but doesn’t pause in her task. The flames rise and fall behind her, casting her first in shadow, then in waves of molten orange.
I cannot look away.
I’m not certain how long I stand there watching her, but eventually I find myself approaching her, as though finally snapping out of a trance.
She doesn’t meet my eyes as I move to stand directly behind her, watching as she continues to dry her hair.
A groan almost vibrates from my throat, and my pants are so tight that I’m certain my cock will bust through the leather at any moment.
Raw desire sweeps through me. I want to reach out and touch her hair.
I want to gently brush her hands aside so I can finish drying her dark, gleaming tresses myself.
I take a deep inhale and almost groan again.
Frost flowers, eucalyptus, with a scent far sweeter and more feminine lurking beneath.
Gods, everything about her is intoxicating.
Her beauty, her scent, and the aura of innocence that emanates from her.
If she’s not glamouring me, then she’s a siren, I decide, an enchantingly beautiful creature from the deep southern seas, sent to lure me to certain death.
“Move your hands,” I say before I can stop myself.
A gasp catches in her throat, and she glances over her shoulder as her hands go still in her hair.
I step forward, standing behind her with only the sofa separating us, as I slowly push her hands down into her lap.
She tenses and I think she might be holding her breath.
As soon as I start combing my fingers through her hair, a shiver courses through her, and she finally releases a quick, shaky breath.
Though it goes against my very nature, I push the cold away from myself as much as possible, not wanting her hair to freeze at my touch.
I think of summer breezes and crackling hearths.
My hands become warm, partly from the fire but also due to my growing desire.
It feels as though my entire body is suddenly aflame with need for my little human captive.
Slowly, her hair dries as I repeatedly drag my fingers through the long, thick locks.
I take my time, in no rush to end the intimate act she’s allowing.
Is she permitting my touch because she likes it?
Or is she simply too afraid to push me away?
The second option doesn’t sit well with me, but I don’t stop the gentle ministrations of running my fingers through her hair, carefully drying one lock at a time.
My hardening cock presses against the sofa that’s between us, and my desire eventually swells to the point that I cannot restrain a growl. The savage noise vibrates from my throat as I continue drying Helena’s hair.
She gasps and briefly tenses, but she doesn’t attempt to flee.
Even once her hair is fully dry, I don’t stop the meticulous caresses. I keep petting her as the firelight bathes us both in brilliant waves of orange. The warmth seeps into my bones, a not unpleasant sensation, as my cock keeps lurching in my pants.
Then I smell it.
The sweet, pungent aroma of her desire, the unmistakable slickness that is gathering between her thighs.
Another growl leaves me, and I find myself tightening my hold on her hair, but not hard enough to make her grimace. Though I am her master, her conqueror, I still cannot fathom causing her pain. I tilt her head back slightly, then brush her hair to the side, exposing the pale slope of her neck.
The urge to lean down and trail kisses along her flesh steals through me, hot and urgent, a surge of longing I struggle to tamp down.
Despite my need for her, and despite her obvious desire, the sweet, feminine pungency that fills my lungs with each deep breath, surely it would be nothing short of madness if I were to claim a female who held such a strong resemblance to Elssandra.
Past events would blur with the present, leaving me distracted… making me weak.
Rage starts to build in my chest. Not anger toward Helena, but fury directed at my brother. Perhaps he has dark motives for gifting me with the little human. Perhaps he wants me distracted and weak.
I immediately yank my hands from Helena’s hair and take two steps back. She leans forward, then turns to peer at me with wide eyes… eyes that are clouded with both fear and desire.
She sucks in another shaky breath, and she wraps her arms around herself, as though suddenly cold. It’s then that I realize I sent a blast of wind at her as I backed away, though thankfully, it wasn’t harsh enough to extinguish the fire.
She runs a hand through her fully dried hair, and a look of uncertainty flickers across her face. She gulps hard, drawing my gaze to her lovely pale throat, to the part of her I almost trailed kisses over.
My cock remains hard as ever, and I know she sees the bulge in my pants. Every so often, she glances down, and her eyes flare just a bit wider. A pretty flush covers her face, and I don’t think it’s from the heat of the fire.
I consider the plush robe she’s wearing. Will she remove it when she crawls into bed with me? If I pull her close, will she allow me to hold her all night? Fucking fires, even though I suspect my brother hopes she’ll be a distraction, I cannot smother the need to keep her close.
Does Alaric have his sights on the Winter Court throne?
Hundreds of years ago, he expressed outrage when Rumarc, our brother, attempted to kill me and take the throne for himself.
On the very day I put Rumarc’s severed head on display in the banquet hall, Alaric marched into the hall in full view of the entire court, fell to his knees, and swore his allegiance.
And yet… I have always had my doubts about Alaric.
I have always held him at a distance, never quite trusting him.
He’s younger than me by a few hundred years, and I have no sons or even daughters who might claim the throne upon my demise. Since Elssandra perished before we were able to have children, Alaric is next in line for the Winter Court throne.
Unless…
My breath freezes in my chest at the thought that enters my mind.
Unless I sire an heir with a female outside the fae race, human or orc, though preferably human. Unfortunately, I cannot sire a child with a fae female, since my people always have mates and we never procreate with our own kind outside of a fated mating union. At least we’re not supposed to.
I stare at Helena, suddenly imagining her stomach swelling with a child. With my heir.
But the four fae courts are dying. Even if I have a child, there is no guarantee that the Winter Court will still be standing when I finally pass away, leaving the throne to my heir, a half-human, half-fae heir that my people might be reluctant to follow anyway.
Fucking fires. Curse this mess. Curse this entire situation. I feel my gaze harden as I continue looking at Helena. Her eyes are bright with more of that uncertainty that makes her so enticing to me. It’s as though she’s looking to me for answers… for guidance.
If I were smart, I would drag her to the dungeon, toss her in the darkest cell, and throw away the key.
The truth is, I have never much cared about my lack of an heir. Perhaps it’s because the four courts are dying and ussha is spreading fast into the human and orc lands, but the prospect of my bloodline dying with me has never quite bothered me.
And yet, as I stare into Helena’s sapphire-blue eyes, I can’t help but wonder if she might give me a child.
Yes, I promised not to force myself on her, and I fully intend to keep that promise, but perhaps we could make a deal.
I could give her something she desperately wants, and in return she could agree to have my child.
I tuck this thought away, intending to examine it later, intending to plot and plan for the future of my court that could very well crumble to dust at any moment, just like in my dreams.
“It’s time for bed, darling human,” I announce, and there’s no hiding the desire that thickens my voice.
Helena glances at the door, and I see her calculating the distance between the sofa and the door and whether she might reach the corridor before I could catch her.
A chuckle reverberates from my throat, and part of me wants her to run just so I have an excuse to chase her. An excuse to put my hands on her.
“I-I am not sleeping in your bed, King Theron.” She lifts her chin, obviously trying to affect an aura of bravery, but there’s no hiding the trembling of her hands in her lap, or the flicker of fear in her eyes.
“Get in the bed now. Don’t make me ask again.”