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“Oh, it’s you,” she panted, still breathing hard from exertion. Why did she sound so relieved? Was his anger at her not clear?
“What do you think you are doing?” he snapped. She glanced around, as though seeking a threat…when one stood right in front of her. He gnashed his teeth. “Well?”
“Just thought I’d go for a little stroll after being cooped up so long. Stretch the legs a bit.”
“For awalk,” he grated. “While armed with this?” He reached behind her and snatched the blade.
She at least had the decency to flush, but then her chin went up and her shoulders slammed back. “It’s mine. It belongs to me.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, you and I. Right now, nothing belongs to you. As long as you’re a guest in this castle, you will obey my rules.”
“Funny, I’m finding it hard to tell whether I’m guest or a prisoner.”
“Split it down the middle.”
She hesitated for a moment. “What are these rules of yours?”
He counted on his fingers. “One, you doona carry weapons of any kind. Ever. Two, You doona go anywhere without my explicit approval. You will remain in your room unless otherwise permitted.”
Again, she glanced around nervously.
“Expecting someone?”
Her gaze swung around to meet his. “Just getting one last look at freedom, because what it sounds like you’re saying is that I’m about to be locked up for the foreseeable future.”
In a black tone, he replied, “Test me and it will no’ be in our comfortable guest quarters. It will be in our dungeon.”
She frowned, seeming genuinely hurt, but how could she be? What could she expect when she was a stranger to this land? To him? As a human, Queen Juniper had earned the confidence of the king easily enough, but she had been congenial. Jessie was a terror, sent to him from some angered god.
“Come,” he said, grabbing her by the elbow to lead her back toward the castle.
She stumbled alongside him. “Wait…wait…please.”
He halted and glared back at her but did not loosen his hold.
“I shouldn’t have wandered around on my own, I know, and I’m sorry, but can we stay out here a little longer? This garden is so charming. It’s meant to be admired, isn’t it? And I really am feeling cooped up after being trapped on that ship so long. Not seeing the sun…well,asun, for weeks.” Her gaze swept the garden with naked longing. “I’ll suffocate if I have to leave all this so soon.”
“Doona be dramatic. I have more important things to tend to other than watching you frolic around.”
She let out a long sigh and nodded. “Okay.” As she gazed around one last time, deep sorrow twisted her features. Her chin gave the slightest quiver and her hazel eyes swam.
For some reason, those unshed tears bothered him. More than they should.
When he’d spotted her on the patio through an upper level window, he recalled how content she had looked with her head tilted back as if in reverence to Legura’s sun. He’d been both furious by her insolence and floored by how the sun made her silky skin practically glow with an otherworldly light.
Yet now his fury was fading. Her words brought on an unwanted memory from long ago. With glaring clarity, he recalled being trapped in the witches’ gloomy underground prison as a young boy: the gnawing hunger, the decay the air caused by the festering wounds on his back from repeated whippings. He’d have given anything for a reprieve from the darkness, if only for a moment.
But Jessie’s situation was not comparable in the least. She was not being kept isolated in a dingy dungeon, beaten, fed scraps, and given just enough water to stave off death. “Your balcony should offer enough daylight and fresh air to mollify you,” he reasoned. Again, he attempted to tug her along, but she became uncooperative, dragging her feet. He growled back at her. “You’re going to want to ingratiate yourself to me,” he warned her.
Tone fragile, she replied, “Perhaps I could tag along with you. I won’t make trouble. I promise. I just…I don’t want to be alone right now. On that ship, there was no one. For weeks. I honestly thought I’d go mad before I ran out of food and starved to death.”
He blinked down at her, feeling himself soften once more.
“No Spotify or Netflix. No Skype or Zoom. I couldn’t even make my own Wilson.”
Netflix? Zoom? Wilson?
She continued her supplication. “Even prisoners get an hour of rec a day, don’t they? At least, they do where I’m from.”
