My eyes narrow on him. “And can you?”
“I could not,” he admits evenly. “But that does not mean it is impossible.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, tension coiling between us.
“Shall we test it?” he murmurs.
The icy glare I level at him deepens, but my resistance seems only to amuse him. “I would rather you didn’t.”
“But then we would know, wouldn’t we?”
I do not step back. Instead, I study him. His height. His build. The breadth of his shoulders. The placement of muscle along his arms and torso. I search for weaknesses in this mortal guise—something exploitable.
Seconds later, his cultured, velvety voice slips into my mind.
Come closer. Walk to me.
His lips do not move. The command coils through my thoughts, pressing gently, insistent. Yet my body does not respond. It does not compel me. It does not entice me to follow his commands.
It’s my turn to smirk.
“No.”
Instead of frowning as if his little test failed miserably, an amused sound leaves him. “So you can hear me, but your free will is still your own.”
“And thank the blessed heavens for that.”
He cocks his head to one side. “What a strange little creature you are.”
“I could say the same, but creature is not the word I would use.”
“No? Do tell.”
“Abomination. False prophet. Blight on humanity. Soul?—”
His smile is wicked. “Serpent. Yes, I know. I’ve become quite fond of that one.”
He bends down, and, using one of the daggers he pulls from his vest, he slices at the bindings around my ankles and knees. When he stands upright, his large hand grabs my elbow.
“Come. That is about as much of this conversation as I care to have out in the open. The rest we will continue in the privacy my home affords. And it must be said that if you attempt to run, I will catch you. This time, the restraints you wear will be chains. Do not take this freedom for granted.”
When I remain silent, he narrows his eyes slightly. “Disobey me in this, and there will be dire consequences.”
“Duly noted.”
He studies me for a moment, measuring the truth of my response. Then he turns, grips my elbow, and pulls me forward, forcing me to walk at his side.
As we travel, men approach and fawn over him, asking after his horse. I roll my eyes skyward. He notices. His gaze flicks toward me, and a spark of amusement lights in his eyes.
“What?”
“It’s annoying.”
“What is, exactly?”
“The way they fawn over you like you're some kind of God, when in reality, you’re pulling the wool over their eyes.”
He doesn’t defend himself or them. Just acknowledges this with a few nods and says, “There’s a reason for it. One you’ll learn in due time.”
