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Saion stalked toward the chamber to the left of the throne room, and it was a bit of a struggle to pull my gaze from the thrones. He opened the door. “After you.”
A whole host of spices and aromas filled the chamber as I continued in, my gaze touching on everything all at once. The walls were bare except for some candle sconces. No Primal magic there. Their flames cast a soft glow off the smooth ebony walls. A table sat in the center of the circular room, as large as the one in the banquet room in Wayfair. A dozen or so candles of varying heights glowed from the middle of the table, but I saw a silvery gleam cast across the covered dishes and glasses.
I looked up, my breath catching. The dome-shaped ceiling was made of glass, and it was the stars above that shone on the table. My lips parted.
“Beautiful.”
Gasping, I whirled around. Ash stood only a few feet from me. He wore all black, the tunic devoid of any embellishments. His hair was down, softening the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hardness of his jaw.
Startled by his sudden appearance, I bumped into one of the winged-back chairs. “It is,” I whispered. There was no way I could deny the eerie beauty of the cavernous chamber. “This room is very beautiful.”
A tight-lipped smile appeared as his gaze, so much like the starlight, swept over me. “I hadn’t even noticed the room.”
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. I glanced down at myself in surprise. I wore no gown, instead opting for the long-sleeved blouse and vest, much like Dav had been wearing. I glanced up at him, a rush of conflicting emotions rolling through me as his stare lingered on the laces of the vest, the cut of the blouse, and then strayed over the tight fit of the breeches. I was annoyed for a multitude of reasons, starting with being trapped in my chambers, and ending with his blatant perusal. But there was a different emotion—something smokier and warm—as we stood there in silence, seeming to just soak each other in. Ash had drifted closer, the heated intensity in his gaze sending a shivery wave of awareness and anticipation—
I jumped at the sound of the door clicking shut. Only then did I realize that Saion had left us. I snapped out of whatever spell I had fallen into. “Did you have your lackey lock the door, or was that unnecessary since you are here?”
“I do hope you don’t call Saion that to his face,” Ash replied smoothly. “I’ll get little peace if you do.”
“Have I given you the impression that I would care if things were peaceful for you or not?” I snapped. The moment those words left my mouth, I cursed myself. I shouldn’t show my irritation. I should let it go. Be malleable. Understanding. Whatever. Any of those things would help me.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Are you surprised? You kept me in my chambers as if I were your prisoner.”
“Keeping you in your chambers was a necessary evil.”
I took a deep breath. It did no good. “There is nothing necessary about becoming your captive.”
His eyes turned to steel. “You are not my captive.”
“That’s not what it felt like.”
“If you think being kept in your chambers for a day or two is equal to being a prisoner, then you have no idea what being held against your will feels like,” he replied coolly.
“And you do?”
His skin thinned, features honing to an edge. “I am well acquainted with what that feels like.”
My mouth clamped shut. I hadn’t expected that.
Ash’s expression smoothed as he broke eye contact with me. “The food is growing cold.” He strode forward, pulling out the chair to the right. “Have a seat,” he said. “Please.”
I peeled away from the chair and took the seat he offered, replaying what he’d said over and over. Had he been held captive? Even though he was young compared to others, he was still powerful. Who could’ve done that?
Ash moved to my side and reached over my shoulder, beginning to lift the lids while I refused to allow myself to acknowledge how nice he smelled. An array of food was revealed under each lid. Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Bread. Fruits. “Water? Tea? Lemonade?” he offered, extending his hand toward a cluster of pitchers. “Whiskey?”
“Lemonade,” I answered absently. I watched him pour the juice into a glass and then set about placing a little bit of everything on a plate—bacon, the sausage, the eggs, the fruit, and two rolls. Then he placed that plate in front of me.
The Primal of Death was serving me. Apparently, he believed I needed to eat for five. A nearly hysterical giggle climbed up my throat, but I squelched it as he poured himself what appeared to be whiskey and took the seat at the head of the table to my immediate left. The positioning surprised me. My mother and stepfather had sat at opposite ends of the table. The seat to the right of a King or, in some cases, the Queen, was usually reserved for an Advisor or other position of authority.
