Chapter 7 #3
I traced my fingers over the garments before selecting a beautiful blue dress of fine linen and spreading it across the bed.
In the dresser, I found pale white underthings, crisp and pristine.
As I slipped them on, Emily spoke. “I’d like to learn more about what Malik meant when he called me a Timebound.” Her voice was thoughtful with curiosity. “What do you think that means? And how does a Timebound differ from a Timeborne?”
“I wonder that too,” I admitted, struggling to fasten the tiny buttons of my bodice through the equally infuriatingly small holes.
My fingers fumbled. “I guess we’ll have to ask Malik and see if he’s willing to answer.”
Finally managing the last button, I smoothed the front of my dress and twirled. “How do I look?”
Emily grinned. “Once your hair is combed, you’ll look beautiful.”
She retrieved a silver brush from the dresser and held it up. “Come here.”
Obediently, I turned, allowing Emily to pivot me so I stood before her.
As the brush glided through my hair, smoothing the tangled strands into a glossy sheen, I let my eyes slip closed for just a moment, letting myself breathe.
“How does she look, Rosie?” Emily asked, stepping back to study me.
Rosie clapped her hands together, her little face lighting up. “So pretty! We all look like princesses!”
With a laugh, we went downstairs and entered the dining room.
I halted.
The table was lavish—an absurd amount of food, enough for an army, stretched across the elegant blue and gold runner.
Four place settings sat neatly arranged, gleaming silverware atop matching blue and gold napkins. Crystal goblets, their rims lined with gold, stood near each plate.
Emily gasped. “Oh, my goodness.”
Rosie squealed in delight, running toward the table. “So much pretty food!”
A door across the room opened.
Malik entered.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
He wore a flawless black jacket draping to his thighs, paired with black trousers and a fitted black shirt. A deep emerald-green paisley ascot rested at his throat, adding a touch of opulence to his already commanding presence.
I realized I was gawking at him.
I shut my mouth.
“Good morning,” he said smoothly, like a gracious host welcoming esteemed guests. “Please, sit and enjoy yourselves. I wasn’t sure of your dining preferences, so I had Cook prepare various dishes.”
He swept a hand toward the extravagant spread.
“Besides breakfast fare, we have veal olives, raised pies, ragouts, fricassees, fruit pies, and plum puddings. There’s hard cider for the adults and fresh apple juice for Miss Rosie.”
He smiled at Rosie.
She beamed back.
“Eat,” he urged. “Build your strength. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll answer all your questions.”
Emily and I exchanged a glance.
Then, cautiously, we took our seats as Malik exited through the same door he had entered.
I waved Rosie over. “Sit with me.”
She climbed onto my lap, her small body warm against mine.
I plucked a few green grapes from a fruit plate and held them before her lips.
She scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “No!” She pushed them away.
Suppressing a smile, I reached for a plate of sliced cheese, broke off a chunk, dipped it in honey, and held it to her.
Rosie’s lips pressed tight. She wrinkled her nose, pushing my hand away.
“No! Don’t want it!”
Emily chuckled, plucking a piece of bread for herself.
“Want some meat, sweetie?” I asked, carving a slice of succulent roast beef and placing it onto my plate.
Rosie picked up the meat and flung it across the room.
“Rosie!” I scolded, lifting her from my lap and setting her firmly on the floor. “Where are your manners?”
I sighed, crossing the room to retrieve the discarded slice of beef. The bloody flesh lay unceremoniously on the floor. Grimacing, I picked it up and set it at the edge of my bread plate, making a mental note not to eat it.
Emily, ever the peacemaker, offered gently, “Maybe I could take a turn with her?”
“No!” I shot back, perhaps too quickly. “I can do this on my own. I want to feed her.”
Truthfully, I had no experience raising a child. But for some reason, I felt the need to prove that I could master the simple task of feeding a fussy little girl.
A voice, smooth as silk, interrupted.
“I’d love to feed Miss Rosie.”
I turned to find Malik reappearing from the kitchen, an easy smile on his face.
Rosie immediately extended her arms toward him as if this were the natural choice.
I stiffened.
“I’m perfectly capable of feeding Rosie,” I said coolly, sniffing my displeasure at him.
“I’m sure you are,” Malik said smoothly, his gaze unreadable. “But I’d love to feed her.”
I wrapped my arms protectively around Rosie, determined to keep her close, but she pushed me away.
“I want Malik!” she declared.
I blinked, stunned, and glanced at Emily.
She gave a subtle shrug, leaving the decision entirely to me.
With reluctance, tightening my chest, I lifted Rosie from my lap and set her on the floor. “Go to Malik,” I said, forcing a lightness into my tone. “Let’s see if he has better success.”
Doubtful…
Rosie tottered toward him, her small feet padding against the floor.
Malik scooped her into the air and tossed her high.
I shot to my feet, my heart lurching as instinct screamed at me to catch her, as if I could reach her in time.
But Malik caught her effortlessly, his arms sure, his movements fluid.
Then—
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
The act was so uncharacteristic—so full of love and care—that I could only stare.
“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Malik said, moving to his chair at the opposite end of the table. He patted the seat beside him, and Rosie eagerly climbed up, her little head barely visible over the table’s edge.
Malik handed her a spoon, and Rosie wasted no time.
She scooped a bite of stew and chomped down, humming with delight.
Rosie ate with relish, licking her fingers between bites.
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms.
Well.
Malik was better at feeding children than I was.
And for some reason—
That bothered me.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” He slid his napkin out from under his silverware and handed it to Rosie. “Where are your manners?”
Rosie obediently took the napkin, wiping her face with an exaggerated grin.
Without hesitation, Malik began selecting food from several silver platters and ceramic bowls and carefully arranging it on her plate.
I sat speechless on the other side of the table, watching.
Who was this man?
“Shall I load your plate next?” Malik asked, cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“No!” I snapped, my voice more forceful than intended. Heat crawled up my neck as I quickly reached for a muffin, tearing off a chunk and stuffing it into my mouth.
Malik smirked.
Ignoring him, I ate, sneaking occasional glances at him and Rosie.
It must be his dark, seductive power. He’s tricking her the same way he tricks me.
I chewed thoughtfully, my mouth full of plum pudding, studying him.
Malik scooped up a serving of pudding and plopped it into Rosie’s bowl before adding a generous slice of pie.
“And now for dessert,” he declared.
Rosie eagerly dug into the plum pudding, slurping it up noisily like an overenthusiastic puppy.
Malik wagged his finger. “Ah, ah, ah, Rosie—where are your manners? You must eat with decorum.”
Rosie froze, glanced at him, and then at her bowl before dramatically adjusting her posture and taking dainty, delicate bites. She was the very picture of a refined little princess.
Malik chuckled. “Much better. But use a fork for the pie.”
He handed her a small silver fork, and she took it with her tiny fingers, carefully spearing a bite of berry pie.
“Perfect!” Malik praised, his voice warm, indulgent.
Rosie grinned and patted her tummy. “I’m full.”
“I see that,” Malik said, his gaze brimming with something unreadable—satisfaction, perhaps? Pride? He looked like a father pleased with his child’s success.
“Why don’t you help Cook in the kitchen?” he suggested. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the assistance.”
For a moment, Rosie hesitated, then tilted her head up at him, her eyes full of wide, innocent affection.
“Can I stay with you and sit in your lap?” she asked softly.
Malik smiled, indulgent, patient, dangerously charming.
“Of course,” he murmured.
He patted his thigh.
Rosie giggled and eagerly climbed into his embrace, nestling against his chest like she belonged there.
I gripped my fork a little too tightly.
Something about this—about him—was unnerving.
I glanced at Emily. We exchanged a look, both shaking our heads in silent bewilderment.
He was so… patient with her. So effortlessly loving.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Malik was a demon. A creature of darkness. A manipulator.
But this? This man sat with Rosie, holding her like she was something precious—he appeared human.
Not like the darkness at all.
Malik pressed his palms on either side of his plate and met my eyes.
His expression shifted. Somber. Stony. Carved from ancient granite.
“I assume you are ready with questions,” he observed. “Am I correct in thinking this?”
My tongue twisted into knots at the sheer sternness of his demeanor.
“Y-y-yes,” I stammered.
I winced and quickly cleared my throat. “Yes, we’re ready.”
Malik gave a nod. “What are your questions?”
He scooped something from his plate, placed it on his fork, and slid it into his mouth, chewing with infuriating leisure.
I looked at Emily, who remained cautiously silent, then turned back to him.
“We only have two questions,” I said, steadying my voice. “Where is the journal, and what is a Timebound?”
I nodded to myself, satisfied with my composure. No stammering this time.
Malik continued chewing.
He took another bite.
And then another.
Each movement—each long, calculated chew—felt designed to crawl under my skin.
My impatience bristled, rising like a horde of marching ants.
I clenched my fists. “Are you going to answer me?”