Chapter 27 #2
“I thought about it. Every day in that cage, I thought about what would happen when someone finally came to hunt me instead of fuck me. Whether it would be quick or slow. If they’d make me run first and give me hope before they took it away.”
“I didn’t—” My voice comes out strangled. “I wouldn’t have—"
“You would have.” His hand slides down, fingers curling around my throat. My pulse hammers against his palm. “You would have put an arrow through my heart, and you would have smiled while you did it. Then you’d have gone home and everyone would have toasted your skill and your bravery.”
He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. But I remember the excitement I felt, the thrill of the hunt.
“But here’s the more interesting part, Moirthalen. You walked past Vel. She spat at you, and a guard beat her for it. Beat her until she couldn’t stand.” He pauses. “Did you stop him?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Did you tell him to stop?”
“No.”
“Did you do anything at all? A word? A gesture? A single sign that you saw her as something worth protecting?”
“No.”
“No, you didn’t. You stood there and watched while a human male beat a fae female with an iron rod, and you did nothing.
And now you want me to believe you’re sorry?
” He laughs, the sound so cruel it sends a shiver up my spine.
“I’ve had three hundred years of humans being sorry after the fact.
It’s amazing how much remorse they can muster once the entertainment is over. ”
“I am sorry. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I am. I didn’t understand."
“No, you didn’t.” His grip tightens slightly, trapping the air in my throat. “And now you want me to let you out? To care about your comfort?”
“Please.” I hate how desperate I sound. I hate how aware I am of his hand on my throat, his body so close to mine, the heat of him. “Please. I just need to see the sky. I need to breathe. Please.”
“Again.”
“Wh-what?”
“You want out of this tent?” He traces my lips with one finger. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll consider it.”
“Please … please let me out.”
“You can do better than that. I’ve heard humans beg before. For their lives, for mercy, for one more day, one more hour, one more breath.” His thumb strokes along my throat. “You’re not even close.”
“Please.” I hate the desperation in my voice. I hate how my body leans toward him even while my mind screams to pull away. “Please let me out. I’ll do anything. I’ll kneel. I’ll crawl. I’ll—”
“There.” His voice is soft, almost satisfied. “That’s better.”
I stop, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I can’t look away from his eyes. Gold and burning with an intensity that steals my breath.
I don’t understand what he wants from me.
Why making me beg puts that look in his eyes.
Why his thumb is still stroking my throat like he’s calming a frightened animal.
“Kneel.”
My legs fold instantly. I’m on my knees before I can think, his hand sliding from my throat as I go down. The furs are soft beneath me.
“Tomorrow. Dawn. Someone will come and fetch you.”
The relief that courses through me is so intense my vision blurs.
“Thank you.”
The change in his expression is immediate. The satisfaction vanishes, replaced by something hard and dangerous.
“Don’t. Don’t ever thank me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Get out of my sight.”
I scramble to my feet and retreat to the furs, heart racing, one hand pressed to my throat where I can still feel the imprint of his fingers.
He ignores me for the rest of the evening, sitting in his chair, and studying the maps spread across the table. I curl up on the furs and try to make myself invisible.
Tomorrow, I will see the sky. I’ll be outside of this tent and breathing fresh air. I’ll feel the sun on my skin.
I press my face into the furs and try to sleep.
I wake up drowning.
Water in my mouth. My nose. Everywhere. I can’t find up, I can’t get air. I’m choking. My lungs are burning with the desperate need for oxygen.
Hands haul me upward. I break the surface and everything comes up at once—water, bile, sounds I shouldn’t be able to make.
I’m choking, retching. My body heaves and heaves, while I throw out a hand to try and stop me going under again.
My fingers touch something cool, and I hold on, shaking so hard I can barely keep my grip.
The coughing doesn’t stop. Every time I try to breathe, more water comes up.
Get out. I have to get out.
I lunge sideways, still choking—
Something slams down on my shoulder and shoves me back. I go under again. Just for a second. Long enough to swallow more water before I’m hauled up, coughing and retching all over again.
“Sit still.”
The voice barely registers. I’m too busy trying not to die, trying to get air into my lungs.
Water. I’m in water, and it’s so cold it makes my bones ache. I try to get up again. The hand shoves me down.
“I said sit.”
Slowly, the coughing eases enough that I can suck in air without choking on it. I look up through eyes that sting.
Cairn is crouched at the side of whatever I’m sitting in, watching me choke.
He almost drowned me. How? Why?
“You smell like dirt and human.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out but a wet croak.
“Get up and take off the nightdress.”
My eyes automatically look down. My nightdress … oh gods, the white fabric has turned translucent, plastered to my skin, hiding absolutely nothing. I can see my body through it. The outline of my nipples, the darker shadow between my thighs.
I wrap my arms around myself. “No!”
His sigh is irritated. “It’s in the way.”
I try to get up. His hand catches my shoulder, fingers digging in. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub.
Where did it come from? Where did the water come from?
“Take it off. Or I’ll do it for you.” He reaches for the top button.
I grab his wrist, trying to pry his fingers loose.
“Why—” I’m still gasping for breath. “Why are you—”
“Because you stink.” He leans closer. “I’m tired of smelling you every time I walk into my own quarters.”
“Let me—” I cough again. “Let me do it.”
“No. None of my people were given any privacy in the cages. Why should you?” He releases my shoulder. “Take off the nightdress. I won’t ask again.”
No man has ever seen me naked. Not once. And now he wants me to strip in front of him? But what is the alternative?
My hands are shaking as I grip the hem. The wet fabric clings, fighting me as I peel it up over my hips, my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut as it passes my breasts. As if that will make it feel better. As if not seeing him watch will erase the fact that he’s looking.
I drag it over my head and drop it over the side of the tub. Then I’m naked. Completely and utterly naked in front of a man for the first time in my life, and I want to die. I want to sink under the water and never come up again.
I wrap my arms around myself, hunching forward, trying to cover my breasts and between my thighs at the same time. It’s impossible. There’s too much of me exposed and not enough ways to hide it.
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks, slowly and thoroughly, almost as though he’s taking inventory. His gaze moves over my shoulders, my arms crossed over my chest, down to where the water laps at my hips.
“Arms up.”
“What?” The word comes out strangled.
“Arms up. Away from your body.” When I don’t move, his voice sharpens. “Now. You’re not hiding anything I haven’t seen before.”
“Please—” I’ve never begged like this. “Please don’t make me—”
“Arms. Up.”
I raise my arms. The cold air hits my wet skin and I shiver violently. I want to vomit.
His gaze lowers to my breasts, then down to my stomach.
“You’re thinner than when I took you. We’ll have to fix that.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” He stands. “But you’re no use to me dead.”
He reaches out a hand, and I scramble backward, water sloshing over the sides. “Don’t!”
“Relax. I’m not going to wash you.” His lips curve. “As much as you might enjoy it.”
Heat floods my face. “I wouldn’t!”
He ignores me and turns toward the entrance. “Bring her in.”
The flap opens, and for a moment I can’t process what I’m seeing.
Nella … my Nella … stumbles inside, her face blotchy and tear-streaked. She’s carrying soap and a wash cloth. When she sees me, naked in the water, she freezes.
Her eyes go wide. “My lady!”
“Nella.” Her name is a sob. “What … how?”
“I don’t know.” She’s crying. “I woke up and I was here.”
“I hate to break up this reunion.” Cairn steps between us. “She’s here to wash you. Your hair especially. It’s disgusting.”
Nella stumbles toward the tub, still crying. When she touches my shoulder, I flinch, and she makes a small, wounded sound.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” I grip her hand. “Nella, look at me. This isn’t your fault.”
She’s shaking as hard as I am. And Cairn just watches, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face impassive.
“Wash her.”
Nella moves closer, and does as he’s ordered. She washes my back, my arms, my shoulders, gentle even though her fingers shake. She’s done this a thousand times. But never with a man in the room. Never with one watching every pass of the cloth.
She washes my hair, working the soap through the tangles, rinsing and washing again. And through it all, he watches. I can feel his gaze like hands on my body, touching places no man has ever touched.
“Turn around,” he says when she’s rinsed my hair. “Let me see.”
My stomach drops. Nella freezes.
I turn slowly in the water, and his eyes travel over my body.
“Wash her hair again.”
Nella’s hands are shaking so badly, she keeps catching her fingers in the tangles. I think she’s crying, but I can’t turn around to comfort her. I can’t do anything while he’s standing there, watching.
When she’s finally done, he nods toward the edge of the tub. “Out.”
I don’t even fight him. I stand, water streaming down my body. Nella tries to shield me with a cloth. It’s too small to cover much, but she tries, stepping between me and Cairn.
“There are clothes on the chair. Dress her.”
Nella scurries over and picks up the material, unfolding it. A tunic, short and shapeless, and I realize in horror that it’s the same kind he was wearing when I hunted him.
Nella’s face crumples again. “I can’t … this isn’t right.”
“Put. It. On. Her.”
Nella helps dry me, and then lifts the tunic over my head. It falls to mid-thigh … barely. The fabric is coarse against my skin, and there’s nothing underneath. No undergarments, or chemise, or stockings. Just this rough smock that leaves my legs bare.
I’ve never worn anything like this. Even my nightdresses fall to my ankles. My hunting clothes, as practical as they are for riding, are loose-fitting and cover me from throat to foot. I’ve never felt air on my thighs like this, never felt so exposed while being clothed.
The hem brushes against my bottom when I move. One wrong step, one gust of wind, one stumble, and—
Heat floods my face, my stomach heaves, and I press my hand over my mouth, swallowing hard against the bile rising in my throat.
I’m going to be sick.
This is what the fae were made to wear—barely enough fabric to count as clothing, designed to humiliate, to strip them of dignity.
“There. Now you look the part.”
Nella braids my hair, and when she’s finished steps back, looking lost.
“Good.” Cairn moves toward the tent entrance and pushes the flap aside. “Therin.”
A male fae appears, tall with cold, dark eyes.
“You can take her back now.”
Nella’s eyes widen. “No, please. Let me stay.”
“No.”
“She needs me.”
Cairn doesn’t even look at her. His eyes are on me. “She has everything she needs.”
Nella grabs my hand.
“Go with him,” I tell her. “Please don’t fight. I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
She doesn’t believe me. I can see the fear and desperation in her eyes. But she lets go of my hand, and Therin leads her out.
“Why is she here?”
“Because I brought her.”
“She has nothing to do with this!”
“She has everything to do with this.” He moves closer to me, and I force myself not to back away. “She matters to you. Which means she matters to me. As long as you do as you’re told, she’ll be treated well.”
“And if I don’t?”
He gives me an amused look. “Do you really want to find out?”
I hold his gaze. “If you hurt her—”
“I won’t. Not unless you give me a reason to.” He reaches out and I flinch, but he just tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear. The touch is almost gentle. “Behave yourself, pet. For her sake.”
And then he’s turning toward the entrance.
“Someone will come for you soon. For that walk you begged so prettily for.” He glances back, eyes tracing over my body. “I think you might regret it.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in the tent, shaking with cold and fury.