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They were soft, but not as soft as I’d hoped.
They were gentle, but with a firmness that spoke of barely leashed aggression.
They were nice, but five seconds was enough, so I pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” Bron murmured, blinking down at his lap.
“I should head back.” I stood, fingers fluttering against my lips. “I’m sure another delivery of clothing has arrived by now.”
Bron joined me, and what had seemed like a short walk now felt as though it would drag into eternity, the silence between us a cold wind.
I wasn’t satisfied that I’d proven the prince could be tempted to care for me, to help me, even if it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. I was nothing but… hollow. A chasm, one that seemed to grow wider than the divide between our realm, had made a home within my chest.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to, yet I knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t.
At the top of the stairs, Bron opened the door to my cage and bowed. “Thank you for…” He stalled, sputtering roughly, “Well, for joining me.”
All I could manage was a smile and made to walk inside to the new mountains of clothing I could see awaiting me on the floor.
A large hand gripped my upper arm, pulling me back slightly.
Bron whispered to my ear, stirring my hair as my spine stiffened, “You should know that I’m not really sorry.” With a smirk curling his lips, he gazed at me momentarily, then released me and waded back downstairs.
Inside, I leaned against the closed door. The apple, still clutched in my fingers, had coated my hand in its sticky blood.
The king of wolves did not show that evening, and the following day, I remained in my rooms, determined to weave the golden thread myself.
Perhaps if I could, he wouldn’t come back. At the very least, he’d have no reason to stay if he thought to pay me another visit.
And so although no gold laid before me after hours spent with different items of clothing, I was ready, frustrated but ready, when he arrived.
Though as shadow unfurled into a large male, it occurred to me that I was wrong. That as he slipped inside the window, boots landing silently on the floor, and pulled the collar of his coat as high as the sharp bones of his cheeks, I was never going to be prepared for all that he was.
A monster masquerading as a rare form of art.
The flames in the sconces on the wall guttered and swayed, the soft light and dark highlighting the harsh angles of his face, the sensual lips, and those eyes… I swallowed and looked at the open window, wondering why I’d never thought to close it.
“I’d open it,” he said, with a crack of his neck, tracking my vision and line of thought. “Nothing keeps me from what I want.”
Those words were like stones sinking inside my burning ears. As I fiddled with an apron in my lap, my skirts trussed around me on the bed, I laughed a little, the sound dry. “You want to toy with me?”
I couldn’t not look at him as he took the same seat he had last time on the end of the bed, this time removing his boots before lifting his long, muscled legs. Pants that resembled breeches but appeared thicker wrapped around them, moving like water as he crossed his legs. My eyes bugged when I saw them mold over the largeness at his crotch, fire infusing my cheeks as he chuckled, and I looked away.
“I love to toy with you,” he purred, hatred and heat filling my stomach. “It’s amongst one of the many things I long to do more of with you.”
“Before you kill me?”
His eyes thi
I had to move away from the subject, from him, but alas, hundreds of garments awaited me, and though I hated it, I couldn’t do this alone. “Let’s just get to work.”
His fingers squeezed gently. “Of course.”
We were four pieces deep, my gaze fastened on the gold unspooling from beneath my hand, a gentle warmth floating through every vein, flowing through my fingers to their tips, when he asked, “Who else knows of your ability?”
“That I’m a swan?”
He lifted a golden brow, dragging a pair of fur-lined pants between us. “The shadows hear all, Princess.” Noting my frown, he went on, voice so low I felt that heat return as I studied his lips to be sure of what he was saying. “The mortals have not only heard but spun tales of the only shapeshifter to grace the golden Fae, and so I’m sure some are also aware that the spi
“Those tales likely mean nothing to them,” I snapped, yet whispered the harsh words. “Only our kind, and to be honest, I’m not even sure why.”
“Ah.” The king of wolves smiled down at our hands. “They never told you.”
“That it’s a bad omen of some sort, yes,” I muttered. “I’ve gathered that much.”
The king scowled, eyes darting over my face from beneath curling lashes. “It’s just the opposite.” Sighing as though he were confused and a
Shocked by his outburst, the snarl that so suddenly roughened his voice, warped his expression, and raised his upper lip, I couldn’t move as he lunged toward me, then knocked me back onto the pillows. Warm puffs of air, tickling and stomach snatching, trailed over my neck, lower jaw, and then finally, my mouth. “The toad kissed you.”
The air he’d stirred with the gown had given the prince and me away. Enough time had passed, and I’d washed, that I hadn’t even thought about the fact he might scent Bron on me, and to be honest, I hadn’t really cared.
Fool. I was a damned fool to forget who was stealing inside of this cage.
He was not like most Fae who resided in these lands. He was a wolven beast with a heightened sense of smell that exceeded even those of us with the grandest senses.
A low growl rumbled near my ear, and I felt him shaking above me—shaking with unmistakable rage.
Now was not the time to provoke him. “Stop,” I said as gently as I could, trying to keep my voice from wavering. “Please, it’s fine.”
But he didn’t move, just released a violent curse and dragged his nose over my cheek. “You let him touch you.”
Not a question, and so I didn’t treat it as one, and merely waited with my eyes shut tight for him to get off me. A minute passed, maybe two, with him just breathing, low and deep and deadly, arms braced by my head, his nose pressed into my jaw.
He was holding himself back. From doing what, I didn’t want to know. But for all my taunts about him murdering me…
No. Not like this.
I infused his name with every inch of fear crusading through me. “Dade.”
It seemed to work. He rose, staring down at me with ocean-deep eyes, then cursed once more. Shaking hands swiped through his hair as he retreated back to the end of the bed and then scrubbed over his cheeks.
Another suffocating minute swept by. I couldn’t look at him.
Unsure what else to do, I retrieved more clothing and his hot, stiff hand, keeping my eyes on the task. His fury didn’t ebb. If anything, it became a thundercloud between us, and I grew tense, never daring to look at him as I waited to see if it would erupt.