Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Thirty-Six

The soldier sneers at me. “Do I? You don’t know what it’s like⁠—”

One of the men coughs, kicking sand against his angry companion who stands in the doorway.

The guard holding the sword straightens, as if remembering himself. “Did you want this food or not, princess?”

“Yes, of course I want it.” I hate that I have to be polite and friendly to this ass. If my sister knew how he was treating me, he’d be strung up and his head on a pike in front of the castle gates. But I’m here alone, and I need that food, as much as I need Nemeth not to lose his mind and attack the men. So I pick up the rope and tug on it. The sled doesn’t budge, too weighted down. The men give me another wary look, and then all three of them line up at the back end of the sled and push it forward while I tug it inside. The moment the runners are over the threshold, the men pull back and I grunt and drag the sled another foot or so. The men on the other side have pronged sticks that they lean on, shoving the sled forward until it’s clear of the door.

I dust off my hands, dropping the rope and stepping forward again. “Thank you for the supplies. Tell me of news back at the castle while you’re here? Is my sister well? Does Allionel grow strong?”

The leader holds his sword up again, shaking his head. “Stay back, princess. You have your supplies. Now we must brick up the door again.”

So soon? “Oh.” I bite my lip. “You can’t leave it open? Just for a few hours so I can enjoy the breeze?”

He shakes his head. “I have my orders.”

The men shut the doors before I can plead again, and the darkness swallows me once more. I fight the knot in my throat, tears threatening as I’m left standing there. Sand grit under my slippers is a reminder of what I’m missing out on as I hear the men bar the door from the other side. “Get the bricks,” one calls, voice muffled.

And…that’s that.

My people are gone for another year. I blink hard, my jaw working. I didn’t even get a hint of news about my sister, or the war. I don’t even know if they sent me firewood. All I know is they were extremely unpleasant…almost as if they resented me. I’m giving up seven years of my life for that?

I clench my jaw so I don’t cry. I’ll cry tomorrow, so Nemeth doesn’t realize just how rattled I am at that interaction. All my life, I’ve been treated well by the Liosians. No one’s ever disrespected me like that. I wonder what it means. Did they somehow see Nemeth? Do I have love bites on my neck? I touch my throat absently, wondering what caused such disgust.

“Are you all right?” Nemeth asks, and he emerges from the shadows once more.

“Perfectly lovely,” I say with false brightness. My gaze strays to the door as the scraping, slapping noise of the door being re-bricked hits my ears. I’m truly starting to hate that sound.

“I didn’t like the way they spoke to you,” Nemeth tells me, a glare on his hard face as he moves to my side. His big hand goes protectively to my shoulder and he extends a wing, curling it around me as he pulls me against him.

“I wasn’t a fan of it either,” I admit, then tease, “I shall have to send a sternly worded letter to my sister.”

“I’m serious, Candra.”

I am, too. I’m helpless without the authority that my name brings. If they don’t care that I’m a Vestalin, how do I have any sway? I might as well have been talking to the walls for all that those men cared. They didn’t want to hear from me. They simply wanted to dump my supplies and brick me back up again. I don’t think I could have said anything to sway them.

And I’m used to swaying men.

I touch my hair, wondering if the lack of daylight is affecting my looks. I turn to Nemeth. “Do I seem unappealing to you? Any marks on my face? Wrinkles? Is my hair a fright?”

His wing curls even more protectively around me. “You are a vision, Candra. As I have said before, I have never seen anyone as lovely as you.”

“Well, sometimes a woman needs to hear it again,” I admit. “No marks on my neck? You’re certain?” He inspects me, and when nothing is found, I’m puzzled. It’s not because I’m with Nemeth in a carnal sense, then. It must be something else entirely. “So very puzzling. To be here early and so rude, too.”

“Are you truly going to write your sister?” Nemeth asks, his claws stroking over my braid.

“I don’t know if it would do anything,” I confess. “Provided that I could count on them to deliver it and not simply cast it into the sea the moment we’re shut away? It’d still take another year to get a response.”

“Exactly. So best to just ignore it.” He strokes a knuckle over my cheek. “You don’t know the reason behind their moods. They could be separated from their wives. They could be on duty with instructions to return quickly. Or perhaps your king is superstitious and told them not to speak to you.”

Now that I can absolutely believe. Lionel hates me as much as I hate him, and he would take any opportunity to twist the knife. He knows I would loathe being here, so it’s very possible they were expecting me to break out and push past the guards. If I take one footstep outside the tower, the goddess will be furious and cast her wrath down upon all of mankind. My selfish actions would make people starve, and ships wreck, cities upon the coasts sink into the furious waters of the sea.

A year ago, I would have absolutely done it…but a year ago, Nemeth was still my enemy. He’s saved me in so many ways. Six more years trapped in this tower seems like a lifetime, but I don’t hate it as much with Nemeth at my side.

I look up at him thoughtfully. His fangs are gleaming in the light he holds, and the slant of it illuminates his strong, rock-like jaw and the harsh angles of his features. His strange nose and heavy brow cast shadows and make him look monstrous, but I see the warmth in those glowing green eyes, and the wing that’s tenderly tucked around me shields my form as if he can protect me from the rest of the world.

How horrified my sister would be to know that I’m in the arms of a Fellian, and I adore it. She would view it as a betrayal. That a Vestalin must do their duty to the kingdom first and foremost. After all, she put aside all of her own personal wishes so she could marry Lionel and secure the throne and the future of the Vestalin line.

Erynne would have killed Nemeth before the first month was out. Of that, I have no doubt.

I guess that makes me a bad sister because I’m ready to crawl back into bed with him and see if he wants to put his face between my thighs after all.

So I smile up at him. “Shall we return to bed?”

Instead of agreement, I get a baffled look. “Now?”

“What’s wrong with now?” If nothing else, I can get away from the sound of them laying bricks outside, which I’ll probably hear in my nightmares. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

But my fussy Fellian shakes his head. “Right now we should get a quill and some ink and make an inventory of all your supplies so we know exactly what you have for this upcoming year. That’ll give you the best chance of making it all stretch. We can plan our meals ahead.”

Ugh, so practical. I guess I’m not getting his head between my thighs after all. “Fine, fine.”

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

The interaction with the Liosian soldiers bothers me all afternoon as Nemeth carefully catalogs each bag full of dried goods. There’s an entire trunk of dried animal pancreases for my medicine, along with bushels of herbs and more vials and needles. There are a few new dresses. There are candles, and soaps, and another book full of recipes and practical advice that I clutch to my chest, just because it means that Riza hasn’t forgotten me. There’s even a heavy trunk at the bottom filled with thick, dark-looking bricks of dirt that Nemeth calls “peat.”

“Do you ever burn this in your castle?”

“No, never.” I wrinkle my nose. “It looks gross.”

“It can have a strong smell,” he agrees. “That is most likely why. At least they sent fuel this time.” Nemeth seems pleased with my supplies, weighing a bag of dried meat with his hand as if he can tell how much is in it, then making notes on his parchment.

In a chest full of herbs, there is a book—my sister’s favorite epic poem—and tucked into it are several envelopes.

I gasp in delight at the sight of them, clutching them to my chest. “Letters!”

Nemeth smiles at my pleasure, pausing in his inventory to sit back on his haunches. “Who are they from? Your young lover?”

Holding the first one close to the light, I eye the handwriting. “Balon is not much of a wordsmith,” I admit. “This one is from my maid, Riza.” Hot tears well up in my eyes. By all the gods, I really do seem to cry a lot lately, but I’ll allow myself a moment of softness for this. “And one from Nurse.” I flip to the third letter. “And my sister, Erynne.”

“No love notes, then?”

I’m so happy I don’t even care that Balon didn’t write. “Jealous?” I tease, hugging the letters against my breasts.

“Anything that can make you smile so broadly? Aye, a bit jealous.”

My happiness bubbles over, just a tiny bit more, at his admission. “Balon probably found someone new to flirt with. He was only interested in the Vestalin name, anyhow.” The moment I say it, I think of my enchanted knife, and my happiness sours a little. It had told me that Balon wasn’t coming back, ever. That when I asked if he was well, it was silent. Maybe he’s sick and I feel guilty. “He’s a sweet boy.”

Nemeth grunts and gestures at the letters. “Are you going to save them or read them now?”

I chuckle at that. “Now, of course. Why would I save them?”

“In case you want to savor them.”

I drop my hands and give him an exasperated stare. “You and your savoring.”

“You don’t agree?” The look he gives me is pure innocence. “Savoring can make the pleasant moments last longer.”

Dragon shite. “Or I can read it now, and if I need more pleasant moments, I can read it again. And again. Which I will probably do.”

Nemeth gives me a lazy grin. “Then read, o greedy princess.”

“Thank you, I shall.” I flick my finger under the wax seal of my sister’s letter and unfold it, holding it close to the light. While I’m excited to read all three of my precious letters, I’m most eager to hear my sister’s words. The moment I see her handwriting, that confident, swooping script that’s so very familiar to me, a knot forms in my throat. I’m quiet for a moment, then clear my throat. “Dearest Candromeda,” I begin, and then pause. Should I read this out loud if it has to do with the war? Will there be state secrets I need to keep from Nemeth? When he nudges my knee, I give him a quick smile. “She has such messy handwriting, some of it’s hard to decipher.”

“I’m good with script,” Nemeth says, holding his hand out. “May I?”

I shake my head, resisting the urge to clutch the letter to my chest. “I’ve got it.”

He relaxes, unaware of my thoughts, and smiles up at me.

That smile makes me ache. I feel like I’m doing something wrong as I hesitantly read out my sister’s letter. “Dearest Candromeda,” I start again. “It has been a year now since you have left my side and went to do your duty in the tower. It feels like it has been forever, and yet we still have six more years to go. The thought of not being able to see you again for that long is unbearable. I cannot imagine what it must be like in the tower. I hope you are cozy and well, and…” I falter over my sister’s next words.

I hope you took my advice and dispatched your enemy swiftly. There will be no judgment on my side. We must do what we must do.

“It looks like she spilled ink right here,” I say, my giggle high-pitched. “Here we go.” I continue on blithely, skipping forward. “I trust that the supplies have held you through this first difficult year. Know that I am thinking of you daily. But enough about me, worrying over you. I am sure you want to hear news of the outside from me instead of my muttering over how much I miss my dear sister. Nurse Iphigenia is wonderful with the baby, but she compares you to him daily. She misses you dreadfully and tells me constantly that she will be too old to tend to you when you get out, that her hands will be withered with age. Riza and I both roll our eyes. If anyone is full of determination to work all their days, it is your nurse. Even now she’s fussing at me and insisting I drink a hot posset because it will help the baby. Alas, I am pregnant again.”

I pause, glancing up at Nemeth.

He doesn’t seem overly interested, his gaze more focused on me. “Are you surprised? She is young enough.”

I shrug. Part of me aches that I haven’t seen her first child and now a second one is coming. We are missing out upon so much.

I continue reading. “Alas, yes, it is Lionel’s. I am not bold enough to take someone else to my bed, though the thought has occurred to me time after time. I suppose if I must sleep with Lionel, at least he is fecund. One week was all it took, though that was plenty for me.” I chuckle over my sister’s dry humor, glancing up at Nemeth from over the pages of the letter. “It is the court’s worst-kept secret that my sister is not overly fond of her husband. She will do her duty to the Vestalin line, though.”

“Not her duty to her husband?” Nemeth raises a heavy brow at me.

I make a face. “No. Theirs is a marriage of state.” I don’t mention Isabella, and I suspect my sister will not, either. She protects Isabella, because if anyone found out how my sister truly felt about her, Isabella would be in danger. “I don’t think anyone loves Lionel.”

“His men do.”

Nemeth isn’t wrong. “His men have poor taste,” I say cheerfully. “Shall I go on?”

He nods.

I continue. My sister goes on for pages about Allionel, how he’s a clever baby and so very smart and already has several teeth. That he unfortunately looks just like his father and Lionel is besotted with him. How Allionel was born with Lionel’s golden curls but they immediately fell out and now he has the dark hair of the Vestalin line. He’s healthy and well (no blood curse) and everyone adores him. He’s become somewhat of a talisman for Lios to get them through tough times.

Of course, my sister never says what those tough times are, and it frustrates me. Her letter goes on talking about court, about some political marriages that have been made, visitors from outlying territories (that I suspect are there due to the war) and the unusually cold winter we recently went through. Her tone seems to be cheerful, and she closes her many-pages-long letter with a personal note.

I took your friendship for granted when you were at my side, Candra. Now that you’re gone and out of reach for the next seven—six (here seven is crossed out)—years, I feel very alone. I didn’t realize how dear you were to me and I think of all the times I scolded you for rolling out of some fool’s bed. I would take back all those scoldings in a heartbeat just to be able to see your happy smile. Please take your medicine every day, and think of your sister, and know that she loves you and misses you dearly. Yours forever, Erynne Vestalin.

Tears blur my eyes again, and Nemeth’s hand touches my knee. “Piss off, I’m not crying,” I say as I sniffle through my tears. He chuckles and gives my knee a squeeze, knowing me too well at this point. “I just miss her. That’s all. I want to see her babies and I want to go back to court and I hate this gods-damned tower.” I carefully fold Erynne’s letter again, knowing that I’m going to read it over and over while I’m trapped here in the tower. “It’s just surprisingly good to hear how much someone on the outside misses me. I love my sister, but…”

“But she’s always been the dutiful one and you were not?” Nemeth guesses.

I nod. “Lionel almost sent her here when I refused to go.” Surely that can’t be a betrayal of state secrets to mention that? After all, I am here. Clearly it didn’t work. “My sister was heavy with his child and he was still going to lock her away in this tower to prove a point to me. He’s a loathsome man and I despise that he’s king of such a good nation.” With a little sigh, I run my fingers over the letter again. “Oh, and it’s not as if that’s a secret. The entire world knows that King Lionel does not get along with his wife’s squat, sickly sister.”

“Squat? Sickly?” Nemeth snorts. “You are neither of those things. You are a goddess and I have no doubt that if he would have sent your sister to the tower, he would have taken you to wife instead, all to keep his clutches on the throne. You know his family’s claim to it is weak. Of course he wants a Vestalin wife at his side. It doesn’t matter which one, I suspect.”

Nemeth’s words make me pause. He…isn’t wrong. Lionel’s family line—the Rivertree family—is a younger branch, and they are only on the throne because two generations ago, a general overthrew the puppet king and slaughtered the existing king’s family, only sparing the Vestalin line due to the Golden Moon Goddess and her curse. Ever since then, Rivertrees have been marrying Vestalins. My mother was married to a Rivertree cousin, and Lionel’s father was married to one of my great aunts. I’m not sure how incestuous it makes our family line…I’m just glad I didn’t have to marry Lionel myself.

Poor Erynne. She’s just as trapped as I am, she’s just not in a tower. Instead, she’s being forced to make babies with that odious man. I give Nemeth a tight smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m here, then, and not Erynne.”

“I am glad of it,” he says, a hint of fangs flashing in his smile. “Call me selfish.”

Maybe it is selfish to say such a thing, but I don’t mind hearing it. Not from him. And I know what he means. I wouldn’t wish this tower upon anyone, but if I must be here, I’m glad to be here with him. I smile. “You’re lucky it’s not Erynne anyhow,” I comment. “She snores dreadfully.”

Nemeth laughs. “I wouldn’t share my bed with your sister, Candra.”

“Wouldn’t you? She’s quite lovely. And they probably would have given her the same amount of firewood they gave me, which is to say, none at all. She would have crawled into your bed and begged quite prettily for some warmth.”

“And I would have kicked her out,” Nemeth says easily. “Because a Fellian’s heart is not won by pretty words and a smile.”

“Oh no?” That sounds like dragon shite to me.

“We like a challenge. Like a spoiled princess who tells us to piss off.”

Now that makes me laugh. I giggle at his words and have the strangest urge to fling myself over the mountain of trunks and kiss him silly. Erynne’s letter has made me sad, but he’s managed to cheer me up despite things. Surely that deserves a kiss or two.

To my surprise, he holds up one of the soaps included in the trunks. “You said you wanted to try out some of the things you’d been sent. Would you like to bathe, princess?”

“It depends. Are you going to watch?”

His wings give an agitated flutter. “It depends. Would you let me?”

“I would,” I say, hopping to my feet. “I’ll even let you wash my back. If you’re good, I’ll let you wash my front.”

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he practically purrs.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

My heart is racing as we head down to the kitchens. I don’t know if Nemeth is trying to distract me or attempting to pick up where we left off this morning, but I’ll gladly take it. I’m already wet with anticipation, my pussy slick enough that I can feel my folds brushing against each other as I move. He carries the lamp for light, sets it down on one of the tables, and pulls out the tub. “I’ll start a fire and heat the water for you.”

“It’s not necessary.” It’s a lot of work to heat the water—distracting work—and I’d rather have him focused on me. “If I get too cold, you can always warm me up.”

His reflective eyes flare with arousal. “If you like.”

Oh, I like.

I watch in silence as he fills the tub with bucket after bucket of water. When it’s hip deep, I slip off my robe and chemise and step forward, naked. My skin prickles, but it’s more from awareness of his gaze than the cold. Ever since I entered this tower, my baths have been cold, since it seems like a waste of fuel to make a fire just to heat water. I’m rather used to it.

Nemeth holds a hand out to me, and I place mine in his as I step into the tub. I can feel his gaze roaming over my pale limbs. I do wonder if he finds them unnaturally pale or unpleasant looking compared to his own, or the fact that I’m all rounded softness where he’s hard planes and angles. I haven’t seen many Fellians in my life, but the ones that I have looked like him. Is that why he wants to go slow? To “savor” things? So he can get used to my appearance?

I stand in the calf-deep water and consider him, still holding onto his hand. “Does my appearance repulse you? Be honest.”

“Repulse me?” He shakes his head. “You are built differently, but I do not find you repulsive.”

I glance down at my legs, and my knees that bend forward instead of backward. My lower half is definitely quite different than his. His kilts are short, frequently offering glimpses of the wrap that protects his cock, and his powerful hind legs flex under the skimpy shield of leather. One of his thighs is as big as my torso, and he’s made large all over—even with legs that bend backward, he’s still taller than Lionel, taller than any of the men at the Liosian court. I can only imagine how massive he’d be if he was built with the same legs as us. Tall as the tips of his wings that loft above his head, maybe?

Picturing that, I shiver with fascination.

“Cold?” His other hand slides over my shoulder, enormous and warm, and I bite my lip to smother the moan that threatens to rise. I’m so hungry for touch that I want to fling myself onto him and forget all about the bath. Savor, Candra, I remind myself. Savor!

With a little sigh, I lower myself into the water. “Not cold. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” I slither deeper into the water. It rises now that I’m in it, no longer calf-deep but brushing against my breasts. I lean back against the wall of the tub and rest my arms on the edges, which leaves my body free for his perusal.

Nemeth is silent. “So it was a bad shiver.”

“No such thing as a bad shiver,” I reply, my tone light. “Certainly not when it comes to you. Wash me?” And I raise one foot into the air.

Those wings of his give a telling shake and he crouches low next to the tub. He picks up the bar of soap that he’d set aside and studies it, then looks at me.

I wink at him, even as I lower my foot onto the lip of the tub, keeping it out of the water as I wait to see how he’ll react.

“Do you toy with all the males that come into contact with you, I wonder?” Nemeth muses as he dips the soap into the water. The cake looks ridiculously small in his huge hand.

“Only the ones I like,” I tease. “Are you this shy around all women?”

“Only the ones I like,” he confesses, a sly look in my direction.

That makes me smile. I wiggle my toes at him, beaming. “You can’t be shy around me. I’ve sucked your cock and rubbed your knot. That should make you more at ease in my presence.”

Nemeth groans as if pained, closing his eyes. “And when you say such things, it reminds me of those moments and makes it impossible to concentrate.”

As if that’s such a bad thing. “You were the one that offered to bathe me.”

“So I did.” He drags the cake of soap through the water again and then lifts it to my leg. Nemeth carefully runs it over my calf, and the scent of roses fills the air.

Roses. Erynne does love her roses. I sigh with contentment and close my eyes. It doesn’t even matter that the water is cold. I love that someone’s taking care of me. I love that it’s Nemeth.

He grunts to himself as the soap moves over my foot. “You have such small toes. No claws, either. Humans really are a helpless race. I have no idea why you wish to war with mine.”

“I don’t want to war with anyone,” I deflect as he lifts my leg by the ankle and continues to wash me.

“No,” he muses. “You wouldn’t. You’d kiss everyone until they got along.”

“Not everyone. Only the handsome ones.”

“Then it’s a pity you’re stuck with me.” His big, wet hand trails up to my knee and rests there, going no higher.

I open one eye and scrutinize him. Why is he speaking so negatively of himself? Because I’m flirting? I thought he liked my blatant attempts at seduction. “Is something bothering you, Nemeth?”

“Aye,” he says, and moves to my other calf, washing it. He doesn’t look me in the eye. “I am reminded how very different we are. How you must have had a lively life back at court, full of suitors who were hungry for your attention. And then I think of myself, and how you must be with one such as me simply out of…boredom.”

Boredom? Frowning, I lift my clean foot and shove it against him, catching him in the arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

Nemeth blinks those soulful, glowing eyes at me. “I’m not. I am a scholar. A Fellian. I am acutely aware of what I am.” He holds up one hand. “I have claws. Fangs. Wings.”

“A knot,” I agree. “And a cute little tail.”

He shoots me a quelling look. “Tails are private. Do not call mine ‘cute’ or ‘little.’”

Oops. “If it helps, your knot is enormous.”

Nemeth’s wings twitch. After a moment, he admits, “That…does help, yes.” He starts to wash my leg again. “My point is that I know you are not truly interested in me. I am no court swain. I am not Liosian. I do not know how to properly court a human female.”

Court me? I blink in surprise at that. “You want to court me?”

“Is that so strange?” He gestures at my legs. “I am touching you. I share a bed with you. When my people mate, they mate for life.” He pauses. “I am asking if you truly wish to be mated to a Fellian. If you have thought this through.”

I’m without words. “We can’t just flirt and enjoy one another?”

“Is that all this is to you? A diversion?” He gives me a soulful look.

I swallow hard. I truly have no idea how to answer that. I adore flirting with him. I adore him. At the same time, I’m greatly aware that this flirting between us isn’t allowed. If my people were to find out that I’d kissed him? That I’d sucked his cock? I’d be treated like some sort of aberrant. I’d be a filthy whore in their eyes, Vestalin princess or not. I’d be giving up everything once I got out of here. My home would no longer welcome me.

I wouldn’t be a martyr and a heroine. I’d be a freak.

And yet the thought of turning Nemeth down makes me hurt, deep inside. I want to kiss him more. I want to touch him more. Six more years of being with him and not being with him might be more painful than being locked in this tower.

“You’re not a diversion,” I say softly. “You’re my friend. I care for you.”

“But you wouldn’t give up your people for me?”

How did we go from a lighthearted, flirty bath to defecting to the enemy? “Must it be decided today? This feels a bit like manipulation.”

He gives me a stricken look, his hand hesitating on my leg. “I didn’t mean for you to feel like that, Candra. I just…I am Fellian, I suppose. My mindset is that of my people. And I cannot think of devoting myself without asking for you to be my mate and all that entails.” His claws trail up my leg in a teasing gesture. “It’s difficult for me to try to think of it in human terms.”

Mmm. “Humans don’t exactly think differently, either. At least, not the wealthy ones. All of those marriages are for wealth, land, or name. If you’re a noble and you have a daughter, she’s little more than a cow for you to sell off to the highest bidder.” I make a face at the idea. “It’s only because of my name that I have the slightest bit of freedom, but perhaps that’s why I struggle. I have had marriage proposed to me seventeen times, despite the fact that I bear cursed blood. Seventeen different people all wanted to marry me, all because they want to be tied to the Vestalin name. Because they think their magic cocks can somehow ‘cure’ my infertility.” I snort. “And that’s the problem. No one wants me. Candra. So when I hear a marriage proposal, I know it’s shite, and I automatically wish to run straight for the hills.”

“Even a proposal from a Fellian,” Nemeth muses. “I understand.”

“Do you?” I study him. “I’ve never been in control of my fate. Not as a woman, not as a Vestalin. The only reason I didn’t have to marry those seventeen men that proposed was because the court astrologer said they would have no children if they married me. It was never my choice, understand? Even as the cursed Vestalin, I still would have been made to marry. The only thing I have ever had control over is my body, and who I share it with. Must I give that up so easily, simply because I am fond of you and want to touch you?”

“I understand,” he says again, his expression somber. “You might think I do not, but I do understand what it is like for your life not to be your own.”

I realize what he means—that he is of the First House of Darkfell, and thus a Royal Offering. He is a prince of his people. Perhaps he does understand. I reach for his hand and grip it in mine. “Then you know in a world without freedoms, those that we have are more precious than ever.”

Nemeth smiles at me, his expression slightly sad. He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, then hands me the soap. “I do. And I must think on it. Can you finish your bath without me?”

And then he disappears into the shadows, melting away and leaving me alone in the room with my tepid bath, which is far less exciting now that I’m alone.

Hmph. “You could have at least stayed to watch me soap my breasts,” I call out. “Being horny is not a crime.”

There is no answer.