CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“I’ll behave,” Sterling promised. Winter would never trust her, that was for certain, but she could continue to not fight against him.
It had seemed to work somewhat thus far.
She thought of Talia, what she’d revealed about Winter.
“So … your mate fucked someone else? I’d heard other reasons about why you rejected her.
” That didn’t come out as caring as she’d hoped, but that was the best she could do.
The prince scoffed. “Fuck her.” Pain wasn’t in his eyes, only rage swirling in their depths. Even though Winter was clearly a bastard who didn’t deserve a faithful mate, it still didn’t sit right with her.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re over it.”
Winter smirked. “You want to hear how many harlots I’ve fucked since then?” He leaned close, only a hair’s breadth from her. “How many times I’ve made them moan?”
“No, thank you. The village gossips more about your fucking than your cruelty.”
“Finish eating, then bathe,” Winter said, resting the antiseptic on his desk. “If you pass out in the water, don’t expect me to save you again. You’ll drown all on your own.”
She started on a long piece of savory jerky, feeling much improved except for tiredness and the sting of her wounds.
Winter stayed silent as he sat on the bed across from her and carved into a block of wood. Did he treat all his other prisoners like this? Pamper them by tending their wounds and let them clean themselves in his bath, then hang them later?
Plopping the last raspberry into her mouth, she padded to the bathing chamber, where the scent of clovers and embers—Winter’s smell—washed over her. A copper tub rested near a textured stone wall. The others were made of wood, a large wash basin and cabinet against one.
Unfastening her torn cloak, Sterling let it pool to the floor, followed by her blood-stained and dirt-caked clothing.
With a heavenly sigh, she slipped down into the warm bath, her aching muscles relaxing into the herbal-infused water.
She released a blissful sigh before taking a used soap bar, that had most certainly glided across Winter’s naked form, and skated it across her shoulders.
She rubbed her skin thoroughly, avoiding the patched area, then washed her hair until all the grime was gone.
Sterling didn’t truly know if she could trust that her brother wasn’t being treated like a prisoner, but thus far, Winter hadn’t lied to her. And even though she hadn’t won the game by her own hand, the prince had still allowed her to advance to a second round in an attempt to free Cyan.
Sterling stepped out from the bath, draped a fluffy towel around her body, and peered down at her filthy clothing.
“I need something to wear,” she called through the door.
“You have clothing,” Winter replied, a smile in his tone.
Sterling frowned and stepped out of the bathing chamber in only her towel. “I’m not putting those bloody things back on.”
Winter peered in her direction, his movements from shaving scraps from the block of wood stalling. His gaze darkened and hungrily swept down her body as her heart thundered. And why wasn’t she wholly loathing it?
“Suit yourself.” Winter shrugged, setting his things on the night table. He stood slowly from the bed and opened her cage. “Get in. I’m tired.”
Sterling blinked incredulously. “You’re tired. You weren’t the one running around the forest, murdering people.”
“I killed two of them, remember?”
Sterling huffed, then stepped into the cage. As he locked the gate, she asked, “Can I at least have a pillow?”
“No.” Winter removed his boots and clothing. Naked. She couldn’t take her gaze from his firm buttocks until he was comfortably beneath the covers. Spoiled prince.
Sterling shivered, gooseflesh prickling her legs. She drew the towel from her body and brought her legs to her chest, then covered herself the best she could.
She glanced at the prince one more time, only to find him watching her.
“What?” Sterling snapped, and the prince rolled over while chuckling.
“Up, let’s go,” a woman’s voice said, not entirely harsh.
“Go where?” Sterling cracked open her eyes to find Amalli unlocking her cage, her blonde hair braided into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“You’ve slept through most of the day. The celebration is starting, and the prince asked me to help you get dressed.” Her stare lingered on the towel that had slipped down to Sterling’s stomach. “Seems you need it.”
“A celebration?” Sterling asked, wrapping the towel around her body, still sore from the night before.
“For the game’s conclusion.” Amalli opened the barred door for Sterling to step out of the cage and handed her a jar of salve. “The prince wants you to use this on your stomach.”
Sterling applied the salve to her wound, the ache subsiding. Amalli applied a new bandage before leading her to the bed where a servant’s uniform was laid out. At least it hadn’t been her bloody cloak. Though she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been.
Amalli must’ve noticed her observing the uniform and patted her back. “You, Red Riding Hood, are to help me serve the wolves.”
Sterling pressed her lips into a tight line as she imagined the wolves telling her to bring them this and that. But she slowly nodded. “Of course.”
“You’re more obedient than I expected,” Amalli said while handing the simple deep blue tweed dress to Sterling. “It’s because of the boy in the cellar, isn’t it?”
Sterling stilled. “You’ve seen him?”
Amalli unfolded the pleated white apron. “Sweet little thing. You, not so much. You killed my closest friend.” Her gaze turned stern but not altogether hateful.
“And you’re not treating me awfully? Calling me a cunt or a bitch?” Micah had made sure to call her a name at every encounter, despite him being the one to scar her and deal the final blow that killed her grandmother.
Amalli stepped forward and ran her callused finger over Sterling’s marred flesh. “We all have our scars, don’t we? History in our court hasn’t ever truly been pretty. The humans had it well, then they didn’t and the wolves did… Most of us want peace with humans. Now dress.”
Sterling took a deep swallow and let her towel drop to the floor to pull the dress over her head. She slipped her arms through the apron’s sleeves and Amalli tied the back of it. The brown leather boots were a size too small when she shoved them on, but she didn’t complain about their tightness.
Amalli led her down the stairs and into the kitchen where two other male servants were pouring steaming stew into porcelain bowls. The savory smell made Sterling’s mouth water, and Amalli pointed to a plate with bread and jerky beside a drinking glass on the counter. “Eat, then we serve.”
Sterling bit into the bread, not caring that it was too stale and the jerky too chewy. She quenched her thirst by swallowing the water in only a few gulps.
Amalli cleared her throat and pointed to the bowls of stew for Sterling to pick up her pace.
As Sterling collected two bowls, she wondered what meals Cyan was being served.
Was he telling them that he didn’t eat meat?
If that was all he was being offered, she hoped he was forcing himself to consume it.
Sterling entered the dining room where a variety of antlers hung on the walls, and an ornate wooden table took up half the space. Of the twelve seats, eleven were taken by three female wolves and eight males. Winter sat at one of the table’s heads and Micah beside him.
“There’s the cunt,” Micah sniggered when she set the bowl a little too roughly in front of him, but none of the liquid sloshed over the sides.
The prince didn’t give her the time of day as she rested the other one before him. She continued to bring out the bowls, followed by jeweled copper goblets, then finally a bottle of wine. The wolves taunted her as she filled their glasses.
“I see why she concealed her face with a hood.” One chuckled.
“I’ll add another scar to the bitch,” a woman hissed.
Sterling held her tongue and approached the prince, his goblet the last to be filled. After she finished pouring, Winter snatched her wrist. With his free hand, he dipped his thumb and two fingers into his stew, then plucked out a plump piece of meat.
“Kneel for me, Red Riding Hood,” he cooed. “Open your mouth, so you can taste one of your own. Perhaps it’s from one of your kills.”
Sterling’s eyes widened as she peered across the table from face to face, realizing what was inside the stew. They were eating the meat of the dead. Horror coursed through her, and her eyes widened.
“What?” Micah purred. “Do you not eat the meat from the animals you slaughter?”
“No, I’ve never once eaten a wolf, but I do recall you eating my fucking grandmother,” she spat.
The table fell silent, and Winter’s thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. “Eat if you want to play in the next game,” he drawled.
Sterling heard the threat. If she didn’t play in the next game, then that meant her brother wouldn’t be set free. Narrowing her eyes, she set the wine bottle on the table and knelt before him. Unclenching her teeth, she parted her lips for him.
“On all fours.” He smirked.
Nostrils flaring, she pressed her palms to the wooden floor and tilted her chin up, even though she was being shamed in front of everyone.
Winter trailed a warm finger across her lower lip, allowing the juice to brush her tongue.
Nausea thrummed in her stomach as he placed the meat inside her mouth, and she slowly chewed.
Her eyes narrowed further—she knew her meat, more than well. This was boar.
“Now, sit in the corner and be a good girl until I need more wine.” Prince Winter grinned at her, his dimples burying themselves in his cheeks, and the table roared with laughter.
Sterling’s blood boiled, her cheeks heating as she sank down in a corner.
Her loathing gaze remained on the prince.
He’d been somewhat nice the prior night by carrying her to his room and stitching her up, rather than letting her bleed out.
But perhaps it was all so she wouldn’t die just yet, to continue to be his spectacle.
Still, Winter watched her every time he lifted his goblet to drink, his expression unreadable.
“Come on,” Amalli said after the wolves left the table to go hunt. “It’s time to clear the table, then we have to get you back to your cage.”
Sterling wordlessly helped Amalli put the dishes in the kitchen for the other two servants to clean before accompanying her to the prince’s room. Exhaustion swept over her, her wound aching once more.
Two brown objects inside Sterling’s cage caught her eye. A brown silken pillow and a furred blanket.
“Did you put these here?” Sterling asked.
“The prince asked me to.”
Sterling’s brows creased as she stepped inside and lowered herself onto the soft blanket. She barely heard the lock click on the cage or Amalli leaving while she stroked the fur. What sort of game was the prince playing with her now?