Chapter 11 Cethin #2
But not everyone else was the king.
He arched a brow, waiting for someone to challenge him, but they all bowed their heads.
The lead guard opened the door for him, and as he passed, Cethin said, “I’ll send word if I need anything.”
“We’ll be ready, your Majesty.”
Descending another set of stairs that took him beneath the castle, he heard the door snick shut behind him.
His boots echoed in the stairwell, everything cooler down here.
Despite routine cleaning, traces of moss clung to the stone walls.
Moisture in the air made everything a little musty, and the smell mixed with that of those being held within the bars.
Jarek had ensured she was at the end with no one around her, and Cethin didn’t look at the other few prisoners. His focus was singular, and he was determined to leave here with the outcome he wanted.
He knew she was awake. He’d given orders to send word as soon as she stirred, and that message had come as the sun was rising.
That message had set everything in motion.
Finally, he reached her cell, stopping directly in front of it and facing her fully.
She was seated on a pallet of straw, her knees pulled up to her chest and the blanket wrapped around herself.
He could see the tattered remains of her pants, her bare toes curling into the straw.
Her hair was a wild tangle of knots. He could have brought her a brush.
Then again, she could have ten of them once she agreed to his proposal.
With her chin resting on her knees, her amber eyes flickered up to his, smoke and ashes swirling slowly within their depths. He didn’t know what that meant. Was she tired? Weakened? Still under the effects of Niara’s enchantment?
“Tiny fiend,” he said after an extended silence.
“King,” she rasped, her voice scratchy and raw, he assumed from the violent screaming. He was amazed she could speak at all, and he should have thought to bring her tea. Again, something to remedy after this conversation.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said, stepping closer to the bars.
She lifted her head, brow furrowing slightly. “Did you not choose to walk down here? Seems you controlled how soon you saw me considering I cannot go anywhere.”
“That’s not… I meant so soon after you left the castle yesterday. Our bargain came to fruition sooner than expected.”
Her lips pursed, and she shifted where she sat, the blanket slipping down her shoulder.
“I brought you fresh clothing,” he offered, holding up the package.
She glanced at the parchment-wrapped bundle and then back at him. “Why?”
“Because your clothing is torn to nothing.”
Kailia looked down as though she were just realizing that was a true statement. Then she pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
“And what must I do to have that clothing?” she asked, the words dripping with derision.
“I’m glad you asked. We do have some negotiations to tend to,” he replied, dropping the clothing bundle at his feet. Keeping hold of the other bag, he reached inside and pulled out a roll with cinnamon and frosting. “Want one?”
“No,” she snapped, and he shrugged, bringing the sweet treat to his mouth. She watched the movement, gaze glued to the food.
Swallowing his bite, he said, “We have a lot to talk about, Kailia. Do you really want to do so with a set of bars between us?”
“I didn’t make these arrangements.”
“You didn’t?”
“No,” she scoffed, shifting on the pallet of straw once more.
“Did I not tell you if you stabbed me again, you’d end up in these cells? And did you not stab me again?” he asked, taking another bite of the roll.
“Which has fulfilled our bargain,” she retorted.
“Exactly. So we need to make a new one.”
“No.”
He shrugged again. “Then you remain behind these bars.”
“It’s comfortable enough. I’ve stayed in much worse,” she said airily.
His lips turned up into something sinister. “I can ensure that is no longer the case.”
“That’s not the threat you think it is,” she muttered.
Not sure what to make of that, he took his time finishing the cinnamon roll while he watched her. Her eyes stayed trained on him, features giving nothing away. She had no tells as she sat there. No, she only reacted when she was touched unexpectedly.
He’d had suspicions as they’d walked the gardens a few days ago.
Watching her lose complete control when Razik had picked her up though?
It was all the confirmation he needed; now he wanted to know why.
But that was a conversation for another time.
Once he’d gained her trust. Right now, he needed her to agree to his proposal. The rest could come later.
Stepping closer still, his voice was low as he said, “I have a warm bath being drawn for you as we speak. We agree to a new bargain, and I can take you to it.”
“I made that mistake once. I won’t make it again,” she replied.
“You would rather stay in there? Unable to access your magic? I know you’re not in manacles, but the bars themselves will slowly drain your reserves.
In the meantime, innocent people will continue to die because you refuse to help us,” Cethin said.
“We come to an agreement, or you face a trial for attempting to murder the king.”
“You set this all up,” she seethed, suddenly shooting to her feet.
“This was your plan all along!” When he didn’t offer a denial and simply stared back at her, she scoffed.
Coming to the bars, she stuck her arm through, the blanket dropping to the floor.
“Give me the clothes. I won’t walk through your castle on display. Or is that what you wish as well?”
“I don’t want anyone seeing you like this,” Cethin growled.
Because there was far too much skin showing.
Her entire midriff was exposed. One sleeve of her tunic was completely gone.
One leg of her pants had so many rips it may as well not even be there.
The other was torn completely up the side clear to her hip.
If she turned to the side a fraction, he was definitely seeing the curves of her ass.
But he couldn’t give her the clothing until she agreed to his terms.
“I’ll give you the clothing, and you will agree to negotiate terms on becoming my wife,” he said, pulling a dagger from his belt. The same dagger she’d shoved into his thigh.
“Do we have an accord?” he asked, the blade poised over his palm.
“I hate you,” she replied. The words were flat, but the loathing swirling in her eyes echoed the sentiment. “With every piece of my soul, I hate you and what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” he asked, tilting his head. “We’ve only known one another for a handful of days, tiny fiend.”
“And in that time, you’ve managed to coerce me into marriage or face a public trial that will result in my death,” she replied, rotating her wrist, so her palm faced up. “Is that what you want? A wife who loathes you?”
“My kingdom doesn’t seem to care who is at my side so long as I have a wife,” he deadpanned. “If anything, I live to serve. It’s all I do these days.”
Kailia clicked her tongue before muttering a foul name under her breath.
“Do we have an accord?” he asked again.
“Not willingly,” she sneered.
“But agreed nonetheless,” he said simply, slicing his palm.
She held his stare as he drew the tip of the blade across her flesh, red immediately welling. Clasping her hand in his, he felt the Bargain Mark prickle along his skin, right above the place where she’d stabbed his thigh.
How fitting.
Yanking her hand back, she crouched, reaching for the bundle of clothing. Cethin merely moved it closer with his foot, letting her pull it through the bars.
“I suppose you went back to the same shop Wren took me to,” she muttered, pulling on the twine that was wound around the paper.
“I did,” he agreed. “But the offerings there didn’t seem like something you’d wear.”
“As if you know anything about me and what I’d wear. Turn around or move out of sight. I’m not changing in front of you.”
He gave a mocking bow of his head, but stepped to the side, just out of view.
“And how do you find the clothing, tiny fiend?”
“Dreadful,” she retorted.
He smirked to himself, and after a few minutes, she let him know she was finished.
His gaze swept over her in a black dress with deep slits up the sides.
It gathered slightly at her waist, two panels covering her breasts and tying at her nape.
Cut low in the front, the back scooped just as low, stopping right above her ass.
The fabric had a faint pattern of stars and moons with the barest hint of silver thread.
“It seems to fit well enough,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry and the words a little hoarse.
“Better than pants,” she grumbled.
Placing his palm on the cell door, his power flared faintly before it clicked, and he slid the door to the side. “Ready?”
“To step from one prison into another?” she said. The words didn’t carry any emotion, as though she was simply stating a fact. He supposed that was one way to look at it.
Stepping to the side, she moved past him, the low light of the sconces catching on the blue crystal still hanging around her neck.
Sliding in front of her, she lurched back, just like he’d wanted her to.
Her back bumped into the stone wall, and he braced his forearms on either side of her, caging her in.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her chest rising and falling a little too fast and betraying her panic.
With one hand, he reached for the necklace, twisting the crystal between his fingers. “Trying to figure out who gave my future wife jewelry.”
“Does it matter where I got it?”
“It most certainly does. How is it going to look to announce my wife while she’s wearing jewelry from another male?”
“Who said I got it from a male? Maybe I purchased it myself,” she countered.
“Did you?”
Her smile was all sarcastic derision. “I suppose you’ll never know.”