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In fact, I also dangled a crown, if she'd remained but a few hours longer. And she could have. The fact that she chose to walk out instead speaks volumes of both her character, and her distaste for me.
Which makes my plan all the more wicked.
"I am a man of my word. You'll have your gold, and as for honor…" My teeth flash as I pause. "You now stand above all but your king, as my first concubine."
Her jaw drops and wordless horror widens all her features. I wish I could immortalize her expression, and take out the picture to look at it every time I wish to be entertained.
Perhaps I'll have her painted just like that, and hang the art right here in the throne room.
"Welcome to my harem."
The court goes wild, losing whatever sense of decorum they might have left in the middle of the night on Lughnasadh. Many congratulate Helyn, some clap at me, and I hear toasts to wish her prosperity and fertility.
I only stare at her, relishing in her fear, panic, and hatred. Though she’s at a distance, the taste of it feeds my soul more than any feast, orgy, or massacre ever could.
That's more like it.
If only I'd thought of this retribution sooner, I wouldn't have bothered with the maze. This is so much better.
I crook my finger to order her to my side.
I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. She wonders how to get out of it. She can't, unless I release her. She wonders whether I'll force myself on her. I won't. I desire her dismay and submission, not her flesh.
She glances to her mother and stepfather, hoping for a lifeline neither of them extend. Neleda beams, delighted, and good old Sal pats her shoulder.
I didn't lie: the position I raised her to is an honor in the white court. An honor she abhors and resents, though I haven't even started tugging at her leash yet.
She joins me on the dais again, her cheeks red with fury and shame.
"I hate you," she whisper in a low breath.
I lean to her ear, making a show of pushing a long, sleek tress behind her shoulder. "Likewise, sweetling. And you're about to feel just how much."
She's but a breath away, so I don't miss the dilation of her pupils, or the small gasp of air from between her parted lips. Her gaze dips down to my mouth, and I know then what she's dreading. I almost give it to her. I almost kiss her to confirm her worst fears. But half of the game is her apprehension.
I return to my throne and recline on the uncomfortable seat.
"Well, are you waiting for a written invitation?"
She drags her feet to my side, mouth pinched. "Where am I supposed to sit?"
I weigh the deliciously demeaning possibilities, and elect to make her pick her poison. "There's my lap or the floor at my feet, dearie. It's your call."
I could ingest the delicious taste of her fury from a distance, but now she’s close, the waves of energy all but assault me, stronger than anything I’ve ever fed on, intoxicating and highly addictive.
As I knew she would, she chooses the floor, and spends the rest of tonight’s feast where she belongs.
At my mercy.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
THE FINE PRINT
This can't be happening. It can't. Zale Devar did not decree and announce to his entire realm that I am his designated slut. He didn't. I’m going to close my eyes and wake up in my bed. None of this is real.
"There must be something you can do about it," I hiss, back in the duke's suite.
I’m pacing the parlor back and forth, panic fighting anger for supremacy inside me.
