“You’re trembling,” he says, and I’m taken aback by the concern in his voice. “Why are you shaking so? Are you cold? Frightened?” He hisses what I think is a curse under his breath. A low growl then emits from his throat, faint but loud enough that I’m able to hear it.
I stiffen and lower my head, too afraid to move.
Too afraid to breathe.
He hisses another curse.
Then he’s silent for a long moment.
“Gwen,” he eventually murmurs. “Please look at me.”
Reluctantly, I lift my head and meet his gaze. I nearly gasp at the apologetic gleam in his dark eyes. Is it a trick? Or does he truly regret being harsh with me just now?
He moves his hands from my hair, very slowly, and cups my face again. He brushes his thumbs over my cheeks in soft circles.
Then I feel it. A wave of his emotions. I nearly gasp, but somehow, I manage to keep quiet.
First, I sense his regret, as well as his confusion, though I’m not certain what it is that’s confounding him. Is it me? Before I can contemplate it any further, I feel a surge of longing fromhim. Longing for me. But it isn’t just carnal longing, it’s so much more. The desire to possess my heart.
Oh, gods.
What is happening?
How can he feel so much for me so soon?
We only met a short while ago. Two hours at most.
I don’t think he’s aware that I can sense his thoughts, or if he is, he’s very good at keeping it a secret. But I can’t forget what he did in the mountain village. He spoke directly into my mind. As I stood on the auction platform, I heard his voice clearly in my head.
Perhaps I absorbed a touch of his magic when he healed my wrists. Perhaps that is why I can suddenly sense his emotions. I pray the effect will soon fade. I don’t want to feel his emotions. It’s too dangerous. Too intimate.
“You miss your family,” he says.
“Yes. More than anything.” My throat tightens, and for a reason I can’t fathom, I feel like telling him more. I feel like telling him what happened on Tribute Day. “When we arrived at the castle on Tribute Day,” I continue, “my stepfather immediately offered himself as a slave. But the newly appointed warden scoffed and refused his offer. Then the warden looked at me, snapped his fingers, and ordered the guards to take me instead. My mother screamed, and the guards dragged me away before I could hug her goodbye. I couldn’t hug my little brothers and sisters goodbye either, and gods, how it broke my heart to see the frightened looks on their faces. And throughout it all, the Winter King just sat there on his throne surrounded by frozen heads mounted on stakes, watching the proceedings, saying nothing. But I swear he seemed amused by all the scenes of families being ripped apart. Which is why I find it difficult to believe he asked you to track me down, even at the request of his mate. He seemed so coldhearted.”
“Make no mistake, my dearest. King Theron is as coldhearted as they say. I could tell you stories about his cruelty, particularly toward humans, that would give you nightmares.” He leans back slightly and searches my face. “But it would seem his human mate has softened him somewhat. I will admit I was surprised that he asked me to track you down. In fact, you aren’t the only missing human woman he wanted tracked down. His mate also asked him to learn the whereabouts of two of her friends who never showed up on Tribute Day—Isabel and Tomas Sinclair, a father and daughter. My comrade, Commander Ashvale, was sent to find those missing humans, and I recently received a missive with the news that he succeeded.”
Though I don’t know Helena well, I remember that she was always kind to me in school. She never once teased me for wearing threadbare clothes the way the other children did. More than once, I recall her sharing her lunch with me. I suppose we might’ve become good friends if I’d allowed myself to trust her, but I was always afraid that she might join the others in mocking me one day, so I held her at a distance. I held everyone at a distance, only feeling comfortable and like I could truly be myself when I was at home with my family.
My family…
Gods, I miss them so much.
But I probably won’t see them again.
“What do you expect from me?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer. “What are my duties as your slave?”
He appears startled by my question, then his expression darkens anew. It takes all my willpower not to try pulling away from him again. Somehow, I manage to keep holding his gaze as I await his response. I pray my duties as his slave won’t be too awful. Maybe he just wants someone to cook and clean for him.
But the more I think about it, it’s difficult to believe he wants me solely for cooking and cleaning when he keeps staring at mewith longing, running his fingers through my hair, and calling me beautiful.
“Please,” I whisper. “I must know.”
He draws in a deep breath, as though to calm himself. Clearly, my question has made him uncomfortable. Good. I hope he feels ashamed.
“I must admit, Gwen, that I have never owned a slave before.” He resumes gently stroking my mussed locks. “In the war camp, glamoured slaves serve me meals, wash my clothes, and keep my tent clean… but I do not own them. They are simply there to serve all the highborn males who are part of the Winter Court army.”
As he continues running his fingers through my hair, I almost lean into his touch. Almost. I can’t help it. He’s being so gentle, and I suppose I’m a bit starved for affection, so I find comfort in his touch. To my surprise, the coldness that clings to him doesn’t bother me. Instead, it sends little, pleasurable shivers through my body.
