36
I glanced in annoyance at the black, blue, and gold pigments accentuating my appearance, at the powder that flushed my cheeks, and at the red hue applied to my lips.
My hair was arranged in several braids pulled back at the nape, embellished with a large gold bay leaf clip that stretched across the back of my head from ear to ear.
“By the gods, enough with that oil,” Lotte suddenly snapped, and the two servants massaging it on my arms and chest obeyed.
My brow cinching, I gazed at the tiny golden flecks shimmering on my skin—thankfully immune to the sunlight—so light and smooth in contrast to the complexions of the two girls who had prepped me for the last few hours.
“Now, the sandals,” the housekeeper said curtly.
I stood up from the stool in front of the narrow dressing table, which had a mirror and was filled with various hairbrushes, creams, and scented oils, brought into our room for me soon after we had arrived at the house. I lifted my skirt and allowed the slaves to tie my shoelaces.
In that moment, the door swung open, and Amlach hesitated at the threshold, with only a white towel hanging around his hips.
His eyes followed the lines of my blue dress, highlighted by a gold belt that hugged my waist and a long stole flowing gracefully behind my wounded shoulder—stitched by the healer.
His expression darkened ominously as his gaze rested on my made-up face.
“Finally,” Lotte exclaimed in a harsher voice than usual, shattering the heavy silence that had settled in the room. “Prepare him, quickly!”
The girls turned away from me to pick up the blue tunic adorned with gold embroidery they had placed on the bed—next to our collars and handcuffs—and grab the matching leather sandals. Then, they approached Amlach, both intimidated and captivated by his magnetic presence.
He did not pay the slightest attention to them, his eyes so anchored to mine that it felt like he wanted to invade my thoughts.
“Where have you been?” I asked him in a hard tone.
“I needed to calm myself down,” he replied, and a spiteful smirk curved his lips as he removed his towel and tossed it away.
I maintained eye contact with him as my imagination started to race unbridled, showing me images of Amlach giving pleasure to himself, his big hand wrapping around his hard sex, his head tilting backward with a sensual sound.
Showing me images of the curvy young woman who had offered herself to Amlach in the servants’ bathroom going down on his erection, again and again, him holding her by her hips and setting her rhythm as she moaned and screamed.
Which one was the truth?
Amlach’s expression dared me to question him, to give vent to my jealousy. To keep denying the desire I felt for him.
The two slaves’ embarrassed giggles interrupted the duel of stares between us.
That’s when I realized that he was completely naked. And I had not turned around. I was facing him without shame. Without fear. As if he were my . . .
Lotte suddenly clapped her hands, startling the girls. “Stop it, you two,” she burst out. “Like you haven’t seen one before . . . Hurry up!”
I turned sharply and walked to the window, clutching the windowsill tightly to fight the overwhelming urge to snatch the tunic from the hands of those two brats and dress Amlach myself.
Why was I feeling this way? How could I be so drawn to a human?
“Do your best to cover his cut,” the housekeeper urged. “And make it quick, or they’ll be even later.”
The wooden stool squeaked as Amlach sat down.
I took deep breaths to regain control of my emotions and turned around.
One of the slaves was using a brownish cream, the same one she had used to disguise the wounds on my temple and forearm, to cover the laceration on his neck, trying to make the dark stitches less noticeable.
So he, too, had met the healer—who knows when and in which room of the house. Or had he sewn himself up?
The other servant started to outline his eyes with black graphite, then she smudged it across his eyelids and along his lower lashes with her fingertip.
Amlach dismissed any suggestion about his hair, and the girls applied the shiny oil on his arms.
A new wave of jealousy washed over me when I saw them massaging his powerful muscles with lingering appreciation, sneaking mischievous glances at each other. I inhaled like a wild animal ready to lunge at anyone who dared to trespass on its territory and . . .
My gaze met Amlach’s in the mirror.
I held it as if my life depended on it. As if it were the sole flame in the deepest darkness. As if the center of my universe had been narrowed down to the ravenous intensity of the look on his face.
As if he were everything.
“Enough.” Lotte lost her patience and shooed the young women away from Amlach. “The collars, come on.”
Reluctantly, I approached Amlach, who remained seated to allow the servants to chain us together again.
Lotte turned the key in the silver bands and snapped her fingers in front of Amlach’s face to urge him to get up so she could glance at us one last time to check if we looked perfect. “Very well,” she eventually approved, her delivery flat. “Go, you’re expected.”
Without another word, she left with the two girls.
Although we were standing in front of each other, I kept my attention on the threshold and ordered my feet to move. But every fiber of my being wanted to stay close to Amlach.
“Ask me,” he said suddenly.
I took a sharp breath. “I don’t want to know,” I replied, then bolted for the door.
Amlach stopped me from going through it by placing a hand on the doorframe to block my path with his arm.
I leaned against the doorframe, instinctively pushing my palm against his tight abdomen to stop him from pressing his body against mine.
He covered my fingers with his own and pushed them more firmly against his belly, leaving me stunned, igniting the lust that coursed through my veins like lava.
“ Ask me,” he repeated vehemently.
“ I don’t care,” I hissed, trying to withdraw my hand.
“Yes, you do.” Amlach pinned me with a stare that petrified me. “And the answer is no. No, Nauriel. I didn’t go and fuck anyone else.”
The relief that filled my heart left me speechless. And so angry that I felt an urgent need to physically attack Amlach, with my nails, with my teeth.
He let me go and tried to touch my cheek, but I slapped his hand away and swiftly slipped under his arm.
We made our way to the reception hall in silence. The wrath radiating from Amlach seemed to merge with my own, like two sea snakes battling amid the enormous waves of a stormy sea.
Near the peristyle before the hall’s entrance, we slowed down to nod to the coming and going of servants carrying trays of food and drinks.
Amlach huffed and wore a mask of arrogance, offering me his arm with a look that was both alluring and sharp. I shot him an equally cutting side-glance and tucked my elbow into his.
We crossed the peristyle, passing by the fountain adorned with a blue mosaic, the buzz of celebrations growing louder and more irritating.
“Smile,” Amlach told me.
I dug my nails into his arm out of spite. Then we entered the hall.