Gods, how do I answer her question?
I’m hesitant to announce that we are mates. I fear that if I state it outright, she will instantly reject me. And then what will I become? A monster who is holding her captive. A male who refuses to let her go, no matter how desperately she wishes for freedom. I don’t want that. I want her to grow to trust me first, perhaps even to care for me, in a natural way, before she discovers that we are mates.
Lord of Nothing. The title whispers through my mind, a taunting hiss. Am I wrong to keep her? If she learns about the nickname and the reason for it, will she fear that I am cursed? Many of Vaelnor’s former inhabitants certainly do. They see me as a harbinger of doom. My birth heralded ruin and death, the complete destruction of the province my family had governed for thousands of years.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, I must know what is going to happen next.”
“First, I am taking you to a fae settlement called Ellonnar. We will secure lodging, and I will see you fed, bathed, and properly clothed. I will allow you a few days to rest and recover. Eventually, we will rejoin the Winter Court army. However, you will not be forced into slavery in our war camp.” I cup her cheek. “You aremine, Gwen, and you will remain under my protection.”
She emits a tiny gasp and tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold on her face and tuck my wings more firmly around her. I don’t allow her to look away. I can’t soften the fact that I paid for her.
Technically, I own her.
I paid twenty pieces of silver for her.
That overrides her status as a tribute-cursed slave to the Winter Court.
And I can’t deny that there’s a dark part of me that likes knowing I own her. Even if we weren’t mates, no one could take her away from me.
“So, you truly are my new master,” she says, and a few more tears roll down her face.
Cursing myself, I quickly wipe away her tears. Perhaps I spoke wrong. Perhaps she doesn’t think belonging to one fae male is better than belonging to the entire Winter Court army. Or perhaps she simply wants to go home.
I can’t deny that I’m her master. Yes, I do own her. So, I don’t refute her statement. Instead, I decide to reassure her of my intentions without revealing what we are to one another.
“I promised to keep you safe, my dearest. And I promised never to hurt you. I will throw myself into a mangga swarm before I break such promises to you.” I lean forward and press a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. Then I place my lips at her ear. “I intend to keep you as mine, Gwen. Forever.”
CHAPTER 3
GWEN
I intendto keep you as mine, Gwen. Forever.
Lord Blackthorne’s words echo in my head. Shock ripples through me, followed by a swift wave of fear. He was sent to track me down by order of King Theron himself, but it wasn’t the rescue I was praying for. The black-winged fae male has no plans to free me.
My pulse quickens.
Everything about him should scare me, and it does, but I still feel the pressure of his lips on my forehead from the kiss. Gods help me, but part of me liked the tenderness of that soft, lingering kiss.
Though Lord Blackthorne is my new master, he is the only one who’s shown me any regard since Tribute Day. He flew me away from that awful mountain village, healed my wounds with fae magic, and gave me food and water.
If the wounds had festered, I might’ve died soon. He very well might’ve just saved my life. I’m grateful for the kindnesshe’s shown me, but it doesn’t negate the fact that he plans to keep me for himself.
A shiver rushes through me, and for a reason I can’t fathom, it prompts a heated pang between my thighs. I resist the urge to squirm on the blanket as he continues holding my face in his huge, cold hands.
What does he plan to do with me?
I think of the kiss again. It was a sweet gesture, one that spoke of tenderness. But also… ownership.
Is he lonely? Is that why he keeps looking at me as though I mean something to him?
Will he use me as a plaything?
Will he force himself on me?
If I were handed over to the Winter Court army like the other tribute-cursed slaves, I’m almost certain I would suffer in that way. The fae are not known for treating their prisoners or slaves with any kindness. They are known for their cruelty, especially the Winter and Autumn Court fae, since they possess more Unseelie blood than their counterparts from the Spring and Summer courts.
As I contemplate Lord Blackthorne’s treatment of me thus far, along with his repeated promises not to hurt me, my confusion only deepens. How can he promise not to hurt me, yet declare that I belong to him in a voice brimming with dark authority?
