Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Richard
I didn’t think anyone so small and thin could eat three bowls of stew.
After Noam had his first bite, his appetite took over. His movements were cautious at first—small, hesitant spoonfuls, as if expecting the food to vanish before he could finish. But once the warmth settled in his belly, the dam had cracked.
He still didn’t trust me. That much was obvious.
It was there in his wary glances, in the way he kept his back close to the bed as though I might suddenly lash out. Someone had broken him, reduced him to survival instincts, mistrust, hunger…
The kind that lingered long after the stomach was full.
When I reached for the tray to take his empty bowl, Noam flinched—barely, but I caught it. A trained eye would, just as I caught the way his fingers twitched like he was preparing for something to be snatched from him.
I ignored the reaction, careful to move slowly. This was a delicate balance, and I had no intention of making him feel weak while letting him know he was safe.
“Would you like more?” My tone was neutral. Steady. Non-threatening.
His eyes darted to the bowls then to me.
That hesitation told me more than words ever could.
Noam wasn’t just debating whether he was still hungry—he was calculating how much trouble he’d be in if he said yes.
Someone had made him fear asking for more.
That realization left an unpleasant weight in my chest.
While waiting, I kept my expression impassive, no pressure or expectation in my gaze. If he refused, I wouldn’t push. But if he said yes, I would keep feeding him until his body accepted the truth—he would never go hungry in Winterhaven.
Swallowing, he dropped his gaze. “No, I'm full.”
A lie.
His fingers clenched subtly in his lap, like he was restraining himself.
Careful not to let my expression shift, I took the tray. There was no point in calling out the falsehood. If Noam had spent his life rationing meals, one conversation wouldn’t undo the conditioning.
Trust was earned, not demanded.
“Very well.” I carried the tray to the side table. “I’ll have breakfast prepared for you in the morning.”
At that, Noam stiffened. As if eating twice in one day was a foreign concept.
I turned back, crossing my arms, leaning slightly against the chair. “Do you have any allergies?”
He blinked at me. Like I’d spoken in a foreign tongue.
“Allergies?”
“Yes. I’d rather not poison you.”
His face twisted in confusion before something flickered in his gaze. Amusement, brief but fleeting. There, then gone. I’d never seen anyone so afraid, and it gutted me. Noam was too small, too fragile for anyone to abuse. My anger flared, but I kept it from showing.
“No,” he muttered. “No allergies.”
“Good,” I nodded. “Then I'll make sure you get something warm in the morning.”
He didn’t respond, only curled his arms around his legs again, his body folding inward, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Fuck. His timidity was heart-wrenching. Noam was still on edge, still waiting for the trap to spring. But he had eaten. He had taken something from my hand and put it into his body.
That was progress.
I would take progress.
“I am allergic to lies.” He slowly stood but remained by the nightstand.
I turned, raising my eyebrow. Had he just made a joke? “As am I.”
Noam twisted his hands together and glanced away, but slowly, he turned back to look at me, and damn, I loved how he visibly shored his shoulders. “Good, then we agree on one thing.”
Something told me there was more to this human than met the eye. Someone who desperately wanted to simply be himself but too afraid to allow even a glance at his depths.
He’d just shown me a peek, and I took that trust seriously. I knew the struggle he was going through, the fight inside of him, because I had been him at one point in my life. If the true Noam wanted to shine, then by damn, I would hand him the polish.
I knew that all it took was one person to show they cared, to make you feel as if you mattered. There had been two people in my life who’d believed in me, in my worth, and if I could be that one person for Noam, I would love to see anyone stand in my way.
“Can I…” Noam glanced around the room. He was easy to read. I saw the way he pulled at his clothes, the way he fidgeted from one foot to the other.
“The shower is through that door.” I jerked my chin toward the door on the other side of the room. He was about Kyson’s size, so I would see if he had a few clothes to spare.
Noam’s eyes rounded. “Do you have mind-reading powers?”
I suppressed a chuckle. Oh, he was going to be such a delightful addition to Winterhaven. We already had too many apex predators living under one roof. Malachi and Giovanni were enough to give one a headache with their testosterone levels. Which was why I thoroughly enjoyed Dane’s and Kyson’s company. Noam would fit in perfectly with them.
Stop. You’re acting if the decision for him to stay has already been settled. He isn’t you. Noam isn’t a means to change your past.
No. He wasn’t. What had been done to me could never be undone. But if I could save him from the path he was currently on, by damn, I would. No one should be molded into something they weren’t, to be beaten into submission.
My nostrils flared as images of my past surfaced, but the memories quickly died when I saw Noam’s reaction to my anger. He took a step back, worry creasing the corners of his eyes.
“Mind reader?” I pretended to contemplate his words. “Right now, you are thinking of a hot fudge sundae.”
It was sad that he assumed I had such a gift. I’d only noticed his needs, which told me no one in his life ever had. No one had paid him any attention in a way that wasn’t cruel.
I was determined to give him what he desired, without guilt, without permission needed, simply because he deserved it. I was fully aware I was being over the top, and if I was, I didn’t care. Just like Dane and Kyson, Noam had come to Winterhaven broken, but not defeated. If those two could flourish under this roof, then so would Noam.
He frowned, but I saw the spark in his hazel eyes. “No, but that sounds amazing.” His brows hiked, the worry returning.
I took a single step toward him, softening my features. “Then we’re about to gorge on ice cream , chaton .”
Not my favorite dessert, but if Noam wanted one, we would eat them until we were so sugared we bounced off the walls. The man had been denied so much, had lived in fear for so long, that I was determined to show him that life was more than hunger and pain.
Noam wasn’t going to shower until he was alone, so I took the tray to the kitchen where Kyson and Dane were lying in wait for me. What I loved was the fact Kyson had finally reclaimed the room as his own. For nearly a year he’d refused to step inside the room. No one could blame him after a demon had killed him in the very corner Dane stood by.
And honestly, I’d missed my friend, even though I knew he secretly called me Dick. Brat.
“What did you find out?” Dane didn’t waste time.
“That certain people under this roof are extremely nosy.” I set the tray of dishes on the counter, wondering if Noam was already in the shower or still debating on if he was allowed to be in his own bathroom.
“I told you not to ask,” Kyson said to Dane. “Would you have wanted Di—chard to tell your business when I kidnapped you and brought you here?”
I wasn’t sure if I liked Kyson’s attempt at correcting himself by calling me Di-chard or simply calling me Dick. I didn’t prefer either, but at least Di-chard had a humorous ring to it.
“I see your point,” Dane argued, “but if we’d helped each other instead of burying our problems, like you said to me almost a year ago, we might’ve been able to heal sooner.”
“So we just, what, highjack him and become his friend?” Kyson asked.
“No!” I felt my eyes glowing brightly. That was the last thing Noam needed. Too many of his choices had been taken from him. I would be damned if I allowed that to happen again.
Kyson and Dane stared wide-eyed at me. I’d shocked even myself with my vehement outburst. Not once had I allowed my composure to slip while living here. The last time I’d let my emotions control me…
A slow smile formed on Kyson’s face, but he had enough tact, at least right now, to keep his thoughts to himself.
“We weren’t going to actually kidnap him, Richard,” Dane said, still appearing stunned.
I needed to back off of Noam. He was getting under my skin.
Look at you. This isn’t how a future king behaves.
My anger boiled at my father’s words. He was the last person I would take advice from.
Instead of continuing the conversation, I started to clean the kitchen, using the time to not only compose myself but to list every reason why taking Noam under my wing was a very bad idea.
* * * *
After three times knocking, I entered Noam’s room, concerned that he hadn’t answered. The first thing I noticed was the open bathroom door.
The second thing was Noam softly singing. He was off-key, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that made my heart ache.
“...and I-I-I will always love you-ou-ou,” Noam’s voice cracked on the high note, followed by a string of muttered non-curses.
I stood frozen, not wanting to interrupt this private moment. Noam’s vulnerability was on full display, and I felt like an intruder.
But I couldn't bring myself to leave. When was the last time I let my guard down and just acted like myself?
I hesitated, torn between announcing my presence and allowing him this moment of normalcy. The decision was made for me when the singing stopped.
“Hello?” His voice echoed slightly in the tiled bathroom. “Is someone there?”
I cleared my throat. “It's Richard. I apologize for intruding, but you didn't answer when I knocked.”
There was a brief pause then the sound of sloshing water. A moment later, Noam’s head peeked around the corner of the bathroom door, his hair dripping wet.
“I apologize for barging in.” I held up the small pile of clothes Kyson had given me. “I brought these for you.”
His gaze dropped warily to the clothes. “For me?”
Genuine shock registered in his hazel eyes, as if no one had ever freely given him anything. I felt his mistrust like a blade to the chest.
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Yes, they’re for you. I thought you might like something clean to change into.”
Noam’s eyes darted between me and the clothes, as if trying to decipher some hidden motive. After a long moment, he reached out with one dripping arm and took the clothes. “Thank you,” he mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom but not before I saw his reflection in the mirror, revealing a network of scars across his back. I caught the growl before it escaped. Instead, I went to the door, grabbed the tray I’d left out there, then brought it inside.
I set the tray on the small table near the window, arranging the bowls and spoons. The ice cream was already starting to melt, rivulets of chocolate sauce trickling down the sides of the glass dishes. I took a seat, giving Noam space to emerge from the bathroom at his own pace.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Noam stepped out hesitantly, tugging at the borrowed clothes. They hung loosely on his frame, emphasizing how thin he truly was.
“Better?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Noam nodded, his damp hair falling into his eyes. He hovered near the bathroom door, gaze darting between me and the ice cream.
“I wasn't sure what toppings you'd like, so I added everything,” I explained, pushing one of the bowls toward him.
He perched on the edge of a chair, hands folded in his lap.
I let the silence linger, giving Noam the space to decide whether he wanted to speak or simply eat. His gaze flickered to the ice cream, hesitation warring with hunger. He reached for the spoon, but his fingers hovered above it like he was waiting for permission.
“You don’t have to ask,” I said gently. “It’s yours.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and finally, he picked up the spoon, stirring the ice cream absently. The mixture of chocolate, caramel, and crushed nuts swirled together, melting faster than he seemed ready to eat it.
“You put cherries on it,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“I did.”
Noam’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but then he shook his head and took a small bite. He tensed for a moment, as if bracing for disappointment—or worse, a trick—but then his shoulders slowly relaxed. His next bite was quicker.
I sat back, watching without making it obvious. Noam needed this to be his choice, needed to know he wasn’t being tested or judged.
After a few bites, he glanced at me, brow furrowed. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
I tapped my spoon against my bowl. “I was waiting for the official review.”
Noam blinked. Then, to my surprise, the smallest, most hesitant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s… really good.”
Satisfaction curled through my chest, but I kept my expression unreadable. “Good.”
He took another bite, slower this time, like he was actually allowing himself to enjoy it. Then, quieter, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear, he muttered, “I’ve never had ice cream like this before.”
I didn’t ask what he meant by like this. Because I already knew.
A meal that wasn’t rationed. A moment that wasn’t tainted. A kindness that wasn’t conditional.
My jaw tensed, but I forced myself to keep my voice neutral. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Noam hesitated, looking at me for a beat too long.
And then, in a whisper so soft I almost missed it, he asked, “Why?”
That single word held too much weight. Too much history.
But I wasn’t going to lie to him.
So I met his eyes, steady and sure. “Because you deserve it.”
Noam looked down at his bowl, expression unreadable. But he didn’t argue.
Noam’s spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, but he didn’t look up. His shoulders were drawn in, his expression unreadable. I let the silence stretch, knowing that pushing him for a response would only make him retreat further.
Finally, he set his spoon down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I should… probably go.”
I arched a brow. “Go where?”
Noam’s lips parted, but no answer came. His gaze darted to the window, as if he expected to see a way out. He exhaled, clearly frustrated with himself. “I don’t know.”
“Then stay.”
His fingers curled into the fabric of his borrowed shirt, like he needed something to hold on to. “I don’t belong here,” he said quietly.
I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “Where do you belong, Noam?”
The question landed heavy between us. Noam’s throat bobbed, but he had no answer.
I sighed, standing to collect the bowls. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to expect anything from you. And you will never go hungry in Winterhaven.” My voice was firm, final. A promise.
He watched me closely, as if trying to gauge whether I truly meant it. “And if I wanted to leave?”
The thought sent a sharp, unexpected pang through my chest. But I wasn’t my father. I wouldn’t keep him here if he didn’t want to stay.
“You’re free to go whenever you choose.” I turned, meeting his gaze with unwavering honesty. “But where will you go?”
Noam flinched like I’d struck him. His walls snapped back into place so quickly it was like watching a door slam shut. “I—I’ll figure something out.”
I inclined my head. “Then I hope you’ll allow yourself the time to do so. No one will force you to stay. But no one will force you to leave either.”
Something flickered across his expression—doubt, hesitation, something I couldn’t quite name. But he didn’t argue.
Instead, he let out a slow, measured breath. “Okay.”
It wasn’t an agreement. Not yet. But it wasn’t a refusal either.
And for now, that was enough.
* * * *
“What are you going to do about the male?” Malachi asked as he strode into the kitchen.
That was a damn good question, but I saw right through the prince.
“What do you mean what am I going to do? Since when is Noam my responsibility?”
He watched me as I moved around the room, cleaning what was already clean. I really hated it when he did that, like he was staring into my soul. He had a gaze intense enough to make a person rethink their life choices. Thankfully, I wasn’t someone who withered under such scrutiny. For the past five years, I’d tried to blend into the background, to not be seen, but that didn’t mean I was easily intimidated.
I tried not to dwell on my upbringing, but if nothing else, it had forged a spine of steel in me. I was a natural-born alpha male. Very few could make me sweat.
“Then I guess I read things incorrectly,” he said. “I thought maybe—”
“Thought what?”
Not only did his features darken but his lip curled. “Do not speak to me in that tone, Richard. I might consider you family, but don’t test my patience.”
Malachi was a hard person to deal with. He rarely cracked a smile and joked around.
Neither do you. You haven’t freely laughed since before…
“My apologies.” I went back to wiping down the spotless counter. “I told Noam he’s free to leave any time he chooses.”
Malachi looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “You and I both know someone is abusing him. Are you going to let him return to his situation?”
“What do you want me to do?” I argued, frustrated with the fact I’d already grown attached to the tiny human. That had always been my problem. Defending those who couldn’t defend themselves.
A trait my father had loathed and probably the reason I’d done it.
Keep lying to yourself.
“He’s closed off, scared, and doesn’t trust anyone. You know as well as I do that pushing someone when they aren’t ready only causes further damage.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about the scars on Noam’s back, and I wanted to fucking kill the person who’d put them there. He couldn’t be any more than five-three maybe five-four, weighing around one hundred and ten pounds. Too small for anyone to lay a hand on.
And god, the fear that radiated off of him. I was waiting for him to either crawl under the bed or completely fall apart.
But what I couldn’t stop thinking about was how he’d huddled against the nightstand when I’d approached him the first time.
Only someone severely abused reacted that way.
“Then he’s under your charge while he’s here,” Malachi stated, his gaze following my hand as I absentmindedly wiped the counter.
“Why would you place him under my care?” I growled, unable to stop the sound from escaping.
Instead of becoming angry, Malachi’s features softened just a fraction. “Maybe Noam isn’t the only one who needs to heal.”
I didn’t want to be his caretaker. Not because I held no compassion but the last time I was charged with anyone’s safety…
“Richard.”
I glanced at him.
Malachi looked as if he was also remembering that night. “It’s okay to forgive yourself.”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand, my jaw clenching. “That’s not for either of us to decide.”
Not after what I’d done. I was the last of my kind because… I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the thought. Forgiveness was for those who didn’t know what they were doing or held no malice in their heart. Neither applied to me. That was why I could never allow myself to lose control of my emotions again.
When I did, people died.