Page 108 of The Hunted

Why would this be any different?

“My lord, you have a visitor.”

Eryx slowed the dance just enough to answer to whoever was talking—he didn’t care to look. He didn’t take his eyes of a grinning Arelle, though. “I’m not taking guests.”

“Prince, he’s already here. It’s your advisor. Mattue. Sent by the king, he says. Your appearance is required and not a request, my lord.”

Perfect.

• • •

“Mattue.”

The advisor glanced up from the map he was surveying in the library with the large doors that faced the sea. He smiled at the prince as though there wasn’t a thing wrong with his presence at the estate, and then had the nerve to say, “Oh, don’t look so sour, Eryx.”

“We haven’t been separated long enough to excuse your ignorance.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know how to address me, Mattue.”

The advisor gave a little shrug under his cloak before sweeping his hand over the edge of the map. Instantly, the paper curled and then violently rolled itself up into the middle of the table. He would have corrected the man for that, too, because those maps were precious.

He didn’t think the fucker would care, though.

So, he stayed quiet.

“I always loved this room when I stayed here,” Mattue noted, peering around like he hadn’t already seen it a million times before. “Barring the doors leading out to the sea, of course. I wanted to rebuild that piece and get rid of the steps. No need for them myself, but someone denied the request.”

Eryx was not here for a conversation.

He wouldn’t indulge one, either.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

Mattue rolled his eyes back in Eryx’s direction, clearly annoyed. “Where is your couth?”

“Where is yours? You don’t announce your oncoming arrival?”

“I have made attempts to get a word through to you, but you either ignore them or have the guards turn them away. Apparently, you’re so very busy—with whatever you’re doing here, of course—that you can’t even write back a proper letter with a seal, Eryx.”

His jaw worked to relieve some of the tension starting to form there when he replied, “It’s storm season, Mattue. No one wants to be out in those winds on a fucking horse delivering letters.”

“But they’ll do it for a prince. What are they supposed to tell you—no?”

Why did the man have to be right?

“What do you want?”

Mattue leaned down to pick something up from one of the chairs pushed into the long table. Standing straight, the man brought up with him the piece of white silk that he’d used the day before from Arelle’s dress to gag her when he fucked her while she was bent over the table exactly where Mattue currently stood.

“Is it the storm season keeping you locked away and busy, Prince, or something else? Say … someone, perhaps?”

Eryx simply stared at the man. “Do you have something to say to me? And next time, don’t use my father as a reason for you to interrupt my day. He won’t send word to me until at least after the season passes, and we both know it.”

A chuckle echoed from the other man. “Fair enough. And yes, I do have something to say. You’re well aware, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Do you think they wouldn’t get word to me that you’re becoming a little too enamored with your new slave?”

“Arelle,” he corrected instantly.