Chapter 20 #3
Her mouth formed a tight, thin line as she looked away and nodded. When she spoke next, her voice was hoarse. “Alright.”
What else was there to say? Madan’s heart cracked all over again as she wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away from them. Without another word, she followed in the wake of the rest of the crowd, leaving the three of them in a mournful silence they couldn’t escape.
It was not often that Loren took his meals anywhere other than the main dining hall.
He preferred to eat amongst his Court—the debutantes and Lords or sons thereof who now resided within the halls of his castle.
There, he could discuss societal matters with those who held the most influence over the cities and towns of Valenul, Laeton included, and ensure his orders were being upheld by everyone.
There was always one person missing, however, and Loren was determined to break Camilla Dodd of such terrible habits as ignoring the wishes of her King.
When he entered Camilla’s suite that morning for dinner, he found the hard-headed woman sitting on her couch, a book in hand, and purposefully ignoring his entrance. She did not stand, nor did she acknowledge him in any way. The impudence was at once infuriating and amusing.
“Good evening, Miss Dodd.”
No response.
Loren closed the door behind him with more force than was necessary, drawing a startled jump from the Caersan that signified that her ears did, in fact, work. “I have called on you to join the Court for dinner this last week. Have you not received the invitations?”
Without looking up, Camilla snorted. “You lock me in these rooms and expect me to thank you for it?”
“Well…” Loren crossed the room and sat at the table that had been set with a meal for two, per his request. Plates, bowls, cutlery, and steaming platters of food were spread out before him. “Yes, actually.”
Turning a page in her book, Camilla still did not turn her attention to him. “Then prepare to be disappointed.”
A silence stretched out between them. Loren served himself a ladle of bisque. No servants remained in the room as he had requested the two of them be left completely alone. A return to what had once been normal for him was strangely welcomed.
“Come sit with me.” It was not a request, but a demand.
Camilla did not move, and a flare of heat sparked in Loren’s chest at her defiance. Getting angry right away, however, would not help him—on the contrary, it would likely push her away even more. The last thing he needed was for her to shut him out completely.
“The soup is delicious,” Loren remarked after taking a sip from his spoon. “Much of your food has been sent back to the kitchens uneaten. One certainly cannot plan for a rebellion within these walls if they are not properly nourished.”
Indeed, she had refused to take from the vein of any Caersan he sent her way.
That she even had the strength to sit up on that couch was beyond Loren’s comprehension.
All he could attribute such strength to was pure spite.
She would refuse to eat or drink, and when she desiccated, her family would turn on him.
That would be unacceptable.
It was not until Loren was halfway through his bowl of bisque that the fire in his veins grew to unbearable levels. The steady swish of each page turn raked on his temper—a near-silent mark of her insubordination.
“Come, Camilla,” he snapped. “Sit and eat with me.”
Silence.
Loren stood, crossed the room, and rounded the couch. When she did not look up at him, he grabbed her face and forced her attention away from the book. Hate radiated back at him from russet eyes as she set her jaw defiantly.
“You will eat with me,” Loren hissed, “or you will never see your parents again.”
Something akin to fear danced in her expression, but still, she did not move.
“Do you not believe me?” His gaze swept across her face to rest on the hard line of her mouth. “You must know that I do not mean to kill you. You are far too valuable to me. Your father, on the other hand? Your mother? I will have them returned so I can butcher them at your feet for refusing me.”
Her lips parted. No words.
“Test me, Camilla,” he growled, “and you will witness just how cruel I can be.”
At that, she set the book on the couch cushion and slowly rose to her feet. Loren did not release his hold on her.
“Good girl.” He drew his thumb across her lips and patted her cheek. “For someone who has no issue getting on their knees for a servant, you are certainly making it difficult to convince you to bow to my will.”
Pivoting on his heel, he marched back to the table and flicked his serviette back over his lap. Camilla followed at a distance, lowering herself into the seat across from him in a slow, controlled motion. Hands in her lap, she did not take her eyes off him again.
“Is that what you need?” Loren asked as he dropped a ladle full of bisque into her bowl.
It splashed over the rim and dripped off the edge of the table onto her hand.
She did not so much as flinch at his words or the steaming liquid searing her skin.
“Shall I send you a Rusan or two? Perhaps they can fuck this poor attitude out of you.”
The lack of response grated on his nerves. Despite being able to see the rising tides of loathing in Camilla’s expression, it was not enough for him. How was he expected to break a beautiful woman such as she if she could not fight back?
“Eat.” He pushed her spoon closer to her.
As though driven by an unseen force, Camilla picked up the spoon and dipped it into the bisque. She raised it to her lips and sipped, all the while staring into his soul.
“I have questions for you that I expect to be answered.” Loren returned to eating his own soup as she continued to move through pure will alone. As he expected, she did not reply, and so he pushed forward. “I want to know what it was that Ariadne was taking from my library.”
At last, a response. No words, of course, but the corners of Camilla’s mouth curled up as she studied him.
From her expression alone, Loren gathered her thoughts: he looked like a fool for not knowing, and his brash actions in burning the book, then destroying the pages she had ripped free, only set him back.
Not even the royal historian could piece it back together.
“I am looking for a verbal response, Miss Dodd.”
Camilla blinked. “The library belongs to the Harlows.”
Loren ground his teeth and sat back in his chair. “So you can speak. I was beginning to think your mouth was only good for one thing.”
Her lips pinched together.
“Perhaps it is.” He grinned wickedly at her. “Care to demonstrate your skills?”
“You are vile.”
There. That was the fire he wanted so badly. Those were the flames he wished to douse as he smothered her spirit and crafted her into what he desired. Perhaps she would be even more malleable than Ariadne—a better Queen of Valenul.
“Tell me what she was doing.”
Camilla set her spoon in the bowl and returned her hands to her lap. “I am sitting here with you for one reason alone: to protect those I love from you.”
“No.” Loren leaned forward at that to glare at her.
“You are sitting here out of my good graces. That you fail to recognize my actions for generosity is a credit to your poor education. Perhaps if you spent more time attending to your studies than on your back for anyone with a hard cock, you would understand just how merciful I am.”
To her credit, Camilla did not blush. She did not blanche. She did not flinch. Instead, she leveled her hateful stare at him and continued to smile as though what he said meant nothing to her.
“What did Ariadne want?”
“To get away from you.”
Loren snarled in frustration. “You are insufferable.”
“And you are a fool.” Camilla tilted her head and studied him. “You truly believe she would ever choose you over Azriel? You truly believe she would stoop so low as to run to you for anything other than to use you? You truly believe she wanted to be your wife?”
“Enough.”
“You say I am no good for anything other than what is between my legs,” Camilla scoffed. “Yet you were so blinded by your own sick fantasies that you did not even see how much she despised you.”
“Enough.”
But Camilla pressed on, “Every touch made her skin crawl. Every word made her sick to her stomach.”
Loren’s blood boiled. “Silence.”
“No woman of worth would look upon you, Loren Gard, and see someone they wished to spread their legs for.” Camilla smirked. “Not even me.”
Shoving to his feet, Loren took up the knife from his array of cutlery. At first, fear flashed through Camilla’s eyes. She took in the blade as it flashed in the candlelight, then a peaceful resignation took over.
And that only infuriated Loren even more.
“Last chance.” Loren stood over her. “Tell me what Ariadne was doing.”
Camilla raised her eyes to him. “You will not kill me.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I can make you suffer. Tell me.”
Her smile widened. “Fuck you.”
At that, Loren pulled the pins from Camilla’s hair, releasing the beautiful golden curls. He tossed them onto the table. Several plopped into her soup, others onto the floor, until her hair hung loose around her shoulders.
Then he gathered it all into his fist and yanked it taut before drawing the knife through the length. Camilla did not move. Did not speak. Did not cry. He hacked away at the one thing he knew she would never forget without physically harming her and drawing the attention of her family: her beauty.
When he finished, he tossed the golden locks onto her lap and dropped the knife onto the table. Loren leaned down and pinched her face in his hands again, forcing her shimmering gaze up at him. “Now you will think of me every time you look in the mirror.”
Loren shoved her away and stalked for the door. On the far side, he said to the guards there, “She is not to come out unless I call upon her myself.”
As he slammed the door closed, the sound of a blade sticking into wood echoed back. Camilla had thrown the knife at his back.