The words he spoke while I stood on the auction platform keep replaying in my mind, and somehow, they soothe my frayed emotions, helping my tears finally dry up.
Be calm, human female. I am Lord Merak Blackthorne, and I won't hurt you. I will protect you. Always.
CHAPTER 6
MERAK
I stand outsidethe bathing room door, aching to comfort Gwen. I wish I could hold her right now. I wish I could kiss her forehead, wipe her tears away, and promise her that I will fix whatever is troubling her.
Then it occurs to me that I might be the reason for her tears, and my mood darkens. Is she crying because she’s my captive… my slave?
I curse under my breath.
I won’t release her.
She’s my mate… my future.
Surely she will start to sense the bond soon. I resolve that until that happens, I must be patient with her. I must strive to treat her with tenderness, even though it’s an emotion that’s new to me. One that sometimes leaves me feeling like a stranger to myself.
Eventually, the sound of Gwen’s sobbing fades. I stand on the other side of the door, listening intently. She’s no longer crying. Thank the gods. Relief spreads through me. Hearing her cry butnot being able to comfort her… well, it left me feeling helpless, but also as though my insides were being ripped out.
I’m a male of action, and I’m unused to helplessness. I’m also not accustomed to concerning myself with the emotions of others. What an odd thing it is to suddenly care about another individual after years of being on my own.
Yes, I suppose I have a certain camaraderie with Commander Ashvale and perhaps even King Theron, but if they were in emotional distress, I don’t believe it would bother me in the same way Gwen’s sorrow affects me.
A soft knock sounds, and I stride to the door and open it. A trembling servant stands in the hallway, holding a tray that contains several covered plates. The servant, a young woman who appears fully human, stares straight ahead, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Your meal, sir,” she says, barely a whisper.
“Thank you, miss.”
Rather than allow her to enter the room and set the food on the table, I take the tray from her hands, then pass her a piece of silver. She gapes at the coin before shoving it in her apron pocket.
“Thank you, kind sir.” She dips into a low curtsy before spinning on her heel and scurrying away.
Kind sir? I almost laugh at what she just called me.
If she knew how many of her people I’ve killed in battle, I doubt she would think there is anything kind about me. She would probably lock herself in the servants’ quarters and refuse to come out until after I’ve departed the inn.
As I consider the last battle I participated in, the attack on Braemar, I feel the rush of wind as though it’s kissing my wings, even though my wings aren’t out at the moment. The sound of fae battle horns echoes in my mind, eliciting a rush of memories steeped in violence.
Though I’m looking forward to my five nights spent with Gwen at this inn, part of me is eager to return to the Winter Court army and resume my duties as an aerial scout and a soldier. Until meeting my mate, it is the only thing that has ever given me purpose, and a sense of belonging, even though I largely keep to myself while traveling with the army.
I place the tray on the kitchen table. Just as I start to return to the bathing room, Gwen emerges into the hallway wearing the plush purple robe.
My pulse quickens.
Her damp hair curls around her shoulders, and her smooth skin holds a fresh, radiant glow. The plush robe is so large on her that it drags on the floor as she approaches. Gods, she truly is beautiful. I nearly forget how to breathe as I stare at her.
Though her eyes are puffy, her expression is much calmer than I was expecting. I’m glad for it, glad she’s no longer in the throes of a despair so severe, it caused her to desire time alone as she sobbed.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask, keeping my voice low, not wanting to startle her or do anything to cause her fear or distress to return. I search her face.
She nods slowly, and her cheeks pinken further.
“Yes, I’m feeling much better,” she murmurs.
Through the bond, I sense her embarrassment. She’s ashamed that I heard her crying, ashamed that she couldn’t hold the tears back.
