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I peek at the three men from the corner of my eye, noticing that none of them have picked up their silverware to eat. Their plates remain full. The conversation has started up again, growing louder and lewder the more alcohol they consume. None of the Kings say a word and none of the men try to include them in their pointless chatter. If the men are bothered by their bosses not partaking, they don’t show it. They seem completely at ease in this situation. They’re probably used to it.
Every now and then, I overhear one of the men make a dirty joke at my expense, but I ignore them. I lose track of time as I stare at my barely touched plate. I’ve been running scenarios through my head throughout dinner, searching for the perfect solution. Not that there is one. Any scenario can go perfectly in my head, but that doesn’t mean it will when put into action.
“May I be excused?” I ask, knowing the three of them hear my words despite the softness. My eyelids are beginning to droop, and my body is exhausted from the constant state of vigilance. All I want to do is go back to the solitude of my prison and sleep. When I don’t hear an answer, I look up. All three pairs of eyes are on me. They heard me. I know they did.
“No.” Drystan’s answer is firm and loud enough that it silences his men again for a moment. They didn’t hear my question, but they heard their boss’s answer. I lock eyes with Drystan.
“I’m tired.”
“You’ve barely touched your plate, and dessert hasn’t been served yet.” He’s mocking me again. The men around the table chuckle as they turn back to their booze, understanding the nature of the question I asked. I tear my gaze away, angry and annoyed.
“I’ve eaten enough.” Again, my words are soft, but now there is a bitter bite to them.
Drystan snorts. “Barely. Now be a good girl and finish your dinner, or you won’t get dessert before bed.” Why is he mocking me? What’s the point of having me sit here? Is it a show of power to his men? They’ve already witnessed what he can do. This is just petty control now.
“No.” My voice is a little louder now. He chuckles, emptying the wineglass in his hand.
“Suit yourself, little lamb.”
Chapter 7
Thalia
He turns his attention back to the table, his eyes darting between his fellow Kings. I sit through another two hours of rude, distasteful jokes at my expense. Dessert is served, but I see none of it. The waitstaff was told not to move my dinner plate until I finish it. I won’t. Soon, I’m forgotten, even by their men. Even Weylen and Asher make no attempt to speak to me during dinner.
I have no allies here. It’s something I need to remember.
Soon, my eyes begin to droop, and I lean heavily against my chair. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. It’s been a long day. One I wish I could forget about. For the first time in my life, I want to go home. Even if my siblings hate me, at least it’s familiar.
“Bedtime for the princess, I think.”
I jolt in my chair, unaware that I had fallen asleep. His hands are back on my shoulders, icy fingers digging into the muscles.
“Come, Thalia,” he orders, hands going to the sides of my chair and pulling it away from the table as if I’m not sitting there.
“Sleep tight, princess,” someone mocks from the other end of the table.
“Need someone to warm the bed for you?” Another jibe.
“I can come tuck you in.”
Ignoring the comments, I stand from my seat and follow Drystan, who does absolutely nothing about the catcalls and offers of sex. None of the Kings do.
I hope they all get food poisoning.
Weylen and Asher stay fixed in their chairs, bored expressions covering their faces as they sip lazily on their wine. It’s rich and red, and my stomach curdles at the thought that it might not actually be wine in those glasses.
Drystan closes the pocket doors behind us as we exit the dining room, and I get a glimpse of a train of barely dressed women entering from the other side. The room goes raucous again as wolf-whistles are released and men groan in appreciation. I swallow back the bile in my throat and try to push the images away. I need rest. Rest and to figure a way out of this shithole.
I barely pay attention to anything around me as he leads me up the stairs to my gilded cell. I’m not going to be escaping tonight, anyway. There will be plenty of opportunities to plot my escape when I’m more alert and awake.
“Stay close, little lamb.”
His deep voice startles me again. I’ve been following him with a good two feet between us. Something about being in his presence sets me off balance. My body and mind are warring against one another, fighting for control. One wants to melt into him, feeling safe by his side. The other is throwing up red flags left and right.
I quicken my pace to match his and end up slamming into his back as a result when he stops abruptly at the top of the stairs. If he’s irritated at my lack of coordination, he doesn’t show it. He simply opens the door and moves so that he’s not blocking the way.
“In you go.” He makes a grand gesture with his arms, beckoning me inside. Not wanting to anger him, I step into the room, hurrying across the soft carpet to put some distance between us. I thought he’d close the door and leave me to go back to the debauchery with his men downstairs. Instead, he strides in after me, closing the door with an ominous click behind him. The only light in the room comes from the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. It casts dark shadows over him, making it seem as if he fills the room.
