Chapter Five #3
When I walk in, he is sitting at the head of the table, looking thunderous. “You’re late,” he says.
“Yes, I am,” I respond, and then take a seat two chairs away from him, to be inflammatory, because I might not turn it into a war, but I may make it a small skirmish.
“I find you ungrateful,” he says.
I am stunned into silence. All I can do is stare at him with my mouth dropped open. “You find…me…ungrateful?”
“Yes,” he says. “You are entirely ungrateful. I had all those books sourced for you, and those shelves built in a mere few hours. You have any idea all the work that went into that?”
“You didn’t do the work. Point me in the direction of the people on your staff who did it and I will send them a thank you.”
“It was my idea,” he says.
“It is also your idea to prevent me from doing the thing that I truly want to do with my life.”
“It was your idea to submit yourself to this marriage,” he says.
I can say nothing to that because he’s correct, damn him.
“Would you like me to swap you out for your sister? Because there is still time. And if you think that I won’t because of public perception, then I need you to stop and think about me. About all the things that I’m willing to let the public believe. Do you think that I care about my image?”
“I thought that this marriage was about improving your image.”
“There’s still time to commit a few acts of villainy before then, surely.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I don’t want him to go and take my sister away from her happy life. Because I don’t want…
I still don’t want to trade places with her. And for some reason, the idea of leaving…
It makes me feel strange. Makes me feel like I would be leaving behind a project that I was in the middle of, and I really hate that thought, even if I don’t understand why.
“Why do you care at all then?” I ask, my voice a near whisper.
I meet his gaze, those ice-blue eyes making me shiver. He makes me feel something I can’t readily define and I don’t know what to do with that at all. I want to run from him and draw closer at the same time.
“There is a time to move forward into the future,” he says. “That time is now. Alabria needs more. Better. It can’t happen as long as we’re isolated.”
“But you would keep me isolated.”
“I would keep you safe.”
“I don’t want to be a prisoner.”
“It isn’t a prison.”
“No. It’s a cage. How is that different?”
“It is entirely different. Don’t be disingenuous. If a bird flies free in the sky, it might be eaten by a hawk. But it can also be put into an aviary, and kept beautifully. Its life will be longer for its captivity. And it will be cared for.”
“And will you clip its wings?”
“If the wings must be clipped in order to ensure its safety. Then yes.”
“There is one problem, though. That means you think you know better than the bird. That you’re smarter. Better. More powerful.”
“If we’re talking about you now, I don’t believe that I’m smarter. But I do know more about this world that you find yourself in. I know more about the threats that exist out there.”
“We aren’t at war anymore,” I say.
His face goes hard. “We do not need wars for death to find us.” He says nothing for a long moment.
“You know, I was tortured quite extensively when I was captured. And yes, it was a period of war. But I think you should know that there are people out there, regardless of their beliefs or what they attach themselves to, who simply enjoy inflicting pain. They attach their hatred to a cause, because then it makes them feel justified. But what they really enjoy is harming others. If one of those people were to get ahold of you, the things that they would do to you to get at me would be…” He touches the side of his face, and I can hear the gravity in his voice.
“I hope that you never have any concept of what it feels like to experience your own skin melting. It is something you don’t forget. Even thirty years later.”
He speaks of it with such calm, matter-of-fact cool. Like he’s talking about someone else. But I feel the impact of what he’s saying like a gunshot.
I can’t say anything, because what he’s telling me is horrible.
He would’ve been a boy thirty years ago.
I knew that he hadn’t been injured in a simple accident, and the scars are grotesque.
But I didn’t realize it was torture. I assumed it was some kind of explosion, battle injury.
I didn’t realize it was something so targeted. Something so…
“You are shocked. Because you think that I am the only thing in this country to be afraid of, but you are wrong. The press reports what the palace decided the world needed to know, and there were some things about me we’ve always decided were best…
kept under wraps. That I was ever held captive was one of them. ”
“Why?” I ask, the word hushed.
“Who wants to know their leader is vulnerable?”
“So you let them think you’re a monster?” I ask, and regret it. He looks at me with such ferocity I feel…
It isn’t fear. My stomach is tight, my breathing shallow.
“It is true,” he says. “We let it go a bit far. It is changing now.” He gestures around the room. “I can keep you safe. But you have to let me.”
“You want to keep me safe?”
“I have no desire to have to marry again. Two wives lost is one thing, three begins to look careless.”
“It begins to look like murder is what it begins to look like,” I say.
He laughs. “I didn’t murder anyone. I know that severely impacts on my mystique. I won’t tell you that I’m not a killer, because in the context of battle and self-defense, back in those days, I did what I had to do and more. But I have never harmed a woman.”
I want to tell him that harm can be caused in more ways than just the physical. But I don’t.
“I’ve survived this long, you should listen to me.”
“I didn’t know you until three days ago.”
He inclines his head, a slight smile on his lips. And then we are interrupted again by dinner. I wish that I could hide my excitement for the food. But I can’t.
“I do enjoy watching you eat,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose when I look at him. “And why is that?”
“You take such obvious delight in it. It is exquisite. I told you, I wish to learn your favorites.”
“I like this,” I say, looking at the creamy pasta in front of me.
“And you enjoyed the cake.”
“Yes,” I say.
There is no point in being churlish about the food, because I do enjoy it, and I don’t want him to serve me anything that I don’t like. I have pride, but I also have to be somewhat realistic. And I don’t want to be self-defeating.
“Tonight the cake is strawberry.”
I do try to not look too pleased about that. Because there is a line between pleasure and humiliation. I don’t wish to cross it.
But then, I never do. I try to keep my dreams manageable. Cerebral. Not emotional.
I’m pleased, though, by the mention of strawberry cake, and I try to hide my pleasure on principle.
He is looking at me in that way that he does. That way that makes me feel like my skin is covered with prickles. That way that makes me feel as if he can see straight inside of me.
I don’t know how he’s taken me from talking about my own captivity, trauma and war, to strawberry cake.
It’s one of the ways in which I find him to be so dangerous, really.
I can’t anticipate him. My sister always accuses me of using my science brain when I’m being practical or analytical.
I find that my science brain doesn’t help me with Lucian.
He doesn’t behave in the way that I expect him to.
He doesn’t behave in quite the way I would expect anyone to.
He is frightening. But I don’t get the sense that he’s cruel. He’s something. And he is certainly utterly implacable in the face of what I want. He doesn’t mind looking me in the eye and telling me that he’s putting me in a cage.
But I’ve been blunt with him from the very beginning. He, in return, is blunt with me. He claims, also, that he hasn’t killed anyone. I do wonder why he’s never denied it in the media. But then, he doesn’t make announcements in the media. Apparently, he even suppresses the media.
Using my science brain, and maybe, also a little, my instincts, I decide that I’m going to be as direct with him as he is with me.
“I want my family to be present at our wedding party.”
“Of course they will be. I will include your sister’s fiancé, if you like.”
“I would like,” I say. “I would also like to be very clear that my family is going to be well compensated for all of this. That they’ll always be taken care of.”
“Obviously the family of the queen will not live in penury.”
I scoff. “I wouldn’t say that we do now. We are modest, but we do all right for ourselves.”
“Silly little sparrow. You can’t decide whether you want to have your pride or have a handout.”
I’m offended by that as well. “I don’t want a handout. But I had plans for my life.” My voice catches. “I truly hoped that I was going to help benefit my family.”
“And so you shall,” he says.
“I think that we need more of the citizens of Alabria to come to this wedding. It cannot be something rarefied like you were planning on doing with Princess Emerald.” I ignore the fact that maybe, maybe part of this is because I don’t want the wedding to be exactly the same as the one he set into motion last year.
I don’t know why it should matter to me. I don’t need to be special to a maniacal dictator, after all. Except, I also know he isn’t those things. But he is a puzzle that I can’t quite work out.
“Make me your guest list, sparrow. I will give you whatever you wish.”
“Except for my freedom.”
He inclines his head. “Except for that, I regret.”
The strawberry cake is served then, and I have to make a decision. Between my pride and my stomach. I choose my pride. I stand up from the table in front of the luscious pink piece of cake, and I look at him directly. “I’m going to bed. I find that I am extremely tired of the entire day.”
And with that, I leave him. I half expect the dragon to follow me. But he doesn’t.
There has been no blood spilled. It makes me wonder if this dragon even wants to be satiated at all.
Or if he is living for the game, for playing with his prey.
I, for certain, am his prey.
What the outcome of that will be, I don’t know.