Chapter 9 Serena
SERENA
Kylian has gone to great lengths to win me over.
I’ve never tasted food so delicious. The courses keep coming long after I am stuffed. I decline the wine, however, wanting to keep my wits about me. From my periphery, I keep tabs on that strange mirror leaned against the wall.
Is Kylian oblivious to its power? It’s draw? Does it sing for him too?
“Did you enjoy your meal?”
He studies me, swirling the contents of his golden chalice. My eyes haven’t left him once this whole night, which only served as amusement for him. He ate and sipped his wine, a small bemused smile tugging at his perfect lips as I watched hawk-like from the other side of the table.
This cat and mouse game must really get him off.
“I would have enjoyed it a lot more if it weren’t for these.” I hold up my shackled hands. “I’m starting to get sores.”
“Give me what I want and I’ll remove them straight away,” he says in a chipper voice.
“Stop torturing your brother, and maybe I’ll consider it.”
The fire crackles from across the room as he leans back in his chair.
“It’s going to take more than your mere consideration for me to do that.” He smiles flirtatiously, flashing two rows of perfectly straight teeth.
Handsome bastard.
“When will you tire of this game and give in to me?”
I say nothing. He sighs, crossing one muscled arm over the other.
“You and I are inevitable, Dragon Rider. It’s odd, though. I invite you to my chambers, I feed you, I offer you kindness and still you do not warm to me.”
“Warm to you?” I slam my fists down on the table, causing the dishes and silverware to leap in response. “Tell me how a prisoner should warm to their jailer?!”
He rises, closing the distance between us to perch on the corner of the table. His depthless blue eyes peer into mine.
“Everything I have done—including this—has been for your own good. If you choose to believe nothing else out of my mouth, believe that.”
What does that even mean?
“How in hell can you misconstrue all of this as having my best interests at heart?”
“I know you think I take pleasure in this, but you’re wrong. I don’t enjoy hurting you.” It’s astonishing how genuine his words sound. So genuine, I almost believe them. He continues in a slow, steady voice, “But I will if I must. Do not force my hand.”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that violence isn’t the only method of getting what you want?” I lift my chin, staring at him with cold defiance.
“It’s certainly the most efficient. Anyone with real power at their disposal who doesn’t use it is just wasteful.” I glare at him, itching to punch the cheeky smirk off that pouty bottom lip.
“But,”—he sighs, hanging his head—“as much as I hate to admit this, you may have a point. Maybe you and that bleeding heart of yours would be more responsive to other…methods of persuasion.”
Kylian’s fingers trail down my biceps. I rip my arm away, ignoring the delicious wave of chills that spring to life on my skin.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex. But funny how your mind goes straight to the subject,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “What would you propose?”
“A show of good faith. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement.”
“The only agreement I’m interested in is marriage.”
I get to my feet. “You know, my cell sounds really appealing right now. I think I’m going to go.”
He moves fast—turning and pinning me against the table as his hands reach out to bracket my waist. All the air leaves the room. His presence, his stature, his hands make me feel so small.
“Stay. Tell me what you had in mind.”
I swallow hard, looking up at him. “Stop beating Kai.”
“Why would I do that when I know how much it unnerves you? Each time I beat that little maggot, you come closer to caving in. I see how it wears on you. On your weak, little heart.” He grips the edge of the table with locked arms and leans in dangerously close.
“It isn’t a weakness to care,” I manage to get out, feeling his cheek brush mine.
“The weakness lies in having a heart,” he says, his voice softer than midnight rain. My eyelids threaten to flutter at the sound.
Why is he standing so close? And why is it getting harder to think?
“If I left him alone—” His eyes trace a brazen line down the plunging neckline of the flowing red gown he gave me for tonight, slicing into me with perfect precision. “What would I get in return?”
“I’ll consider your request. Seriously.”
He pulls back, giving me a doubtful look. “Oh, I’ll need something more tangible than a flimsy promise.”
“Then what do you want? I won’t marry a sadistic king who murders females on a whim and beats his own brother to the brink of death. If you can show me there’s more to you than that, then I will consider it. But the more you do this, the more you torture him, the farther away you push me.”
He looks over every detail of my face as if trying to swallow me with his stare.
“I’ll stop.”
My eyes almost fall out of my head. I remain silent, worried that even one breath and he’ll change his mind.
“In exchange for what?” I force out. I know this won’t come for free.
Kylian eases back and walks over to the high-backed leather chair by the roaring fire. He sits down, his posture arrogantly sensual, leaned back, legs spread out before him.
“Dance for me.”
Now my eyes really do fall out of my head. “Excuse me?”
“Dance. For me.” His lips form each word slowly, decisively. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
I dare a step closer. “I—I can’t dance.”
“Try.”*
My stomach fills with rocks at his request. But his silken voice wraps around me, tugging me closer on an invisible string.
Nothing good can come from this. But maybe it will protect Kai. Protect my friend, who has already endured such horrible atrocities for my sake.
I can do this for him. I will do this for him.
I glance back at the table, to my untouched wine. Snatching up the chalice, I chug as Kylian looks on with an endeared smirk on his face. I drink every last drop, buying myself as much time as I can.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turn back to him and step forward, a little unsure of myself.
He tracks my movements with a hunter’s stare. The sound of my racing heart and uneven breaths thunder in my ears, tangling with the snapping fire.
“There’s no music,” I mutter, holding his intense gaze. He leans forward, power crackling around him.
“Are you stalling, Dragon Rider?”
I suck in a deep breath. “I’m not. Sit back,” I command.
Slinking back into his seat, he folds his arms behind his head. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
I stare at the floor as I start to move. Awkwardly at first, my movements lacking the intended grace and sensuality. I wonder if my inability to be seductive is a good thing. Dance too well, and it will rile him up. On the other hand, dance poorly, and I’ll disappoint him.
Either way, I’m bound to lose.
“You can do better than that,” he purrs.
This isn’t to get him off, I realize. He has plenty of bimbos floating around the castle for that. This is to humiliate me. My anger flares, but I continue to sway my hips and run my hands through my hair.
“Better. But you’re still holding back,” he coaches.
I bite back my frustration, lifting my arms above my head.
“Closer.”
He brings his electric eyes to the floor then back to mine. I reluctantly oblige, slipping between his knees and forcing him to stare up at me.
“Better.”
The wine begins to sing inside me, dulling the sharp edge of shame and revulsion that shadows each sway of my hips. With my eyes closed, I can almost forget who it is I’m dancing for. I can almost picture I’m somewhere else, with someone else.
“I want you to dance for me like you would for your little captain.”
My eyes snap open, and fury bubbles up inside me. Before I can stop myself, my hand lashes out to slap him. He catches my wrist with little effort as I seethe down at him.
“There it is.” He leans forward, bringing his face close to mine and whispers, “I want to see your fire. I want to feel it.”
Slipping my free hand into my belt, my fingers close around the dinner knife I stashed there while I drained my wine.
“Feel this, you fucker.”
The satisfaction of seeing his eyes bulge as I drive it deep into his gut is like nothing in this world. I back away as he slowly pulls the knife out, and blood pours from the wound.
I race toward the door, but a hand shoots out and grips me by the hair. His granite arm bands around me, cradling me to his chest.
“You little hypocrite,” he commends. “You preach peace and practice violence.” Cheek pressed to my head, he takes a deep inhale and whispers, “My soap smells delicious on you.”
I reach around and dig my fingers into the fresh wound. His laugh becomes a hiss as I dart for the door again. Shadows like swirling whips lash out to slide the locks on the door shut, sealing me in with an angry bear.
“Stay away from me,” I warn, pressing myself against the door and inching toward the open balcony.
Kylian ignores my request, taking a gracious step in my direction as his corded shadows retreat and dissipate. The gash on his washboard stomach knits together, sealing itself into a tiny red scratch.
“Let’s not fight, darling.” He holds out his arms, suppressing a smirk as I near the fireplace. “Truce?”
Snatching the poker from its iron rack, I twirl it once before angling the pointy end his way. He snickers and gives me a patronizing golf clap.
“Well played.” He bends over the chair between us, his voice confidential. “But I think your moves could use some refining.”
A scream flies past my lips as he appears an inch from me with unnatural speed. I swing the poker toward his head on instinct. He grabs the pole and yanks it, ripping it from my hands as I crash into him, chest to chest, nose to nose.
“Next time”—Kylian snatches up my wrist and places my hand flush against his bare chest, over his left breast—“you go straight for the heart.”
“What heart?”
I stare up at him, snarling. He stares back with searing intensity.
He doesn’t release my hand. His fingers slide over mine, trapping them there.
My breathing evens out as I focus on his face.
I hate that face.
I focus on his eyes.
I hate those eyes.
I focus on his lips.
I hate those lips.
I don’t know how or when it happens, but suddenly his hands are on me, tugging me closer, and I don’t pull away.
Not even as they braid through my hair.
Not even as they bring me up to his waiting lips.
Not even as they taint me with sinful pleasure.
* Cue: Talk by Hozier