“A disaster?” I stop in my tracks, my brow furrowing.
Her smirk grows wider, and she waves a paw dismissively. “Her Majesty said to heal you, so come on. Hey, Orïon! Want to join us? Maybe we can find you a new eye while we’re at it!” She bursts out laughing and disappears inside.
My heart thuds in my chest. Did she just joke about his missing eye?
I glance at Orïon, expecting rage or violence, but he doesn’t react the way I expect. He simply grunts and walks away without a word.
“Orïon will be your nanny!” the female laughs, dragging me into the room.
My nanny? Like a caretaker?
“This is his punishment for going against Theron. If it was up to him, he’d be dead by now.”
A shiver runs over my skin. I look at the female who said these harsh words without even sparing me a glance. This is the female with those beautiful green eyes.
I stand awkwardly just inside the open entrance. It’s spacious, with furs scattered in the corners, and the furniture... Actual wooden cabinets that wouldn’t look out of place in Tárnov. How did they get here? Did humans make them?
Shelves line the walls, carved and filled with jars of herbs and powders. It’s so out of place in a world I thought would be all raw and primal.
Bard told me that, centuries ago, human women fled to the vólkins for refuge. It seemed far-fetched at the time, but... he might have been right.
Not about the part where there are no female vólkins. That’s clearly false. I’ve already seen two here and more earlier. But he was right about humans and vólkins living together.
Well, Noël and her mate seem to prove that. I doubt he hasn’t bedded her already.
“Come sit here,” the livelier female says, gesturing to a large, cushiony seat. I move to where she’s pointing and settle down. Oh, it’s softer than it looks.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Essin,” she replies, then gestures toward the other female. “And that’s Naïa.”
“Nice... nice to meet you,” I mumble, shifting awkwardly in my seat.
Essin seems approachable. But Naïa—well, she won’t even look at me, and the tension in her stance speaks loud. She clearly resents me. I doubt either of them knows why I’m here, so their guarded behavior makes sense.
Naïa grabs the front of my tunic and pulls me close. “We’re doing this because Her Majesty ordered us to. Don’t mistake it for kindness. No one here likes you. Not even Essin, she’s just smiling for some reason.”
I nod, swallowing hard as the lump in my throat grows heavier.
“Naïa, I’d never expect such harshness from you,” a calm voice interjects.
We both turn to the entrance. A new vólkin steps inside, a tall female with beautiful green eyes, like emeralds polished to perfection. A necklace with crystals hangs around her neck, glowing as she moves.
She approaches, and Naïa immediately releases her grip on me, stepping back without a word.
“He is our guest. As you know, we treat guests with respect,” she says, her calm voice directed at Naïa. Her green eyes move to me, but her gaze has no warmth, not a hint of kindness. “If he were a prisoner...” She walks to one of the shelves, and retrieves a jar filled with what looks like dried rosemary. “We could handle him however you wished.”
The discomfort settles in my chest. I don’t feel safe here, not even a little.
“I am Mina,” she says, placing the jar on a cabinet beside me.
“Nice to meet you, Mina,” I reply, though my voice is tight. My eyes dart to Naïa. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her attention fixed elsewhere.
“Take off your clothes,” Mina instructs.
Are vólkin females as interested in human men as their male counterparts are in human women? Will they mock my body the way the males did?
I inhale and peel off my tunic. They look, but there’s no sign of disgust. That’s... something. I unfasten my trousers and push them down, then kick my boots aside.
