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On day five she had called down again, strangely eager to hear his robust timbre. After a long while, his voice had rumbled through the intercom. “What do you need?”
That time she had actually shivered at the dulcet sound. Though his words were gruff, he didn’t sound irritated. “Can’t I have your direct line? I shouldn’t keep bothering the staff to get ahold of you.” On that day, she’d had to explain herself to new staff members, then had waited for what felt like an eternity to be put through to Orik.
“You should no’ keep botheringme,” he’d quipped, though there was a smile in his voice and more humor in his tone than indignation.
“Am I bothering you? Do you want me to stop?” She recalled biting her lip, hoping he’d say no.
“It’s no’ a problem.”
She had nearly sighed with relief.
“Iamresponsible for your wellbeing,” he went on. “I will hear your grievances. Just know that over the next few weeks I may no’ be able to cater to you whenever you call on me.”
She’d been horrified. Few weeks!? Trapped in here for that long? She had almost felt dizzy at the disclosure. “A few days has turned into a few weeks now?”
“Something has come up that requires my attention.”
“Like what?”
He always grew taciturn whenever she asked what was taking up all his time. “It does no’ concern you.”
“Fine. I’d contact you less if you’d keep your promises. I’m climbing the walls up here.”
“You are no’ without comforts,” he’d reasoned. “I ask for a little more patience. I’ll have some sweets sent up to your room.”
By that time, she’d already gorged on this world’s delectable confections. “No thanks. How about that direct line?”
“No’ possible. I’m on the move constantly. Whenever you insist on speaking with me, someone must find me wherever I am and then I must get to an intercom.”
“Well, that’s inconvenient.”
“Indeed.” The sarcasm in his voice hadn’t escaped her.
“Solution! What about a communicator? June used one to speak with King Tristan when we were sucking back, uh,teathe other day.” Translation: doing shots. She was beginning to think Queenie was a wicked-sick chick. Until June had sided with Orik on keeping her confined for the time being. “Why don’t you just set me up with one of those?”
“Are all humans so demanding?”
“I’ll tell you if you take me forwalkies.”
He’d chuckled at that, then sighed. “I wish I could, but it’s impossible right now.”
“Isn’t there someone else who can be my escort? Preferably a strapping young guard with bulging muscles like yours.” Orik’s heart-stopping bod had haunted her dreams since their kiss.
At her remark, silence had greeted her for a moment, leaving only static that sounded like something grinding on the other end of the line. “If you think I would trust you with anyone else but me, you must be deranged.”
“What damage could I possibly do? You have all my weapons.”
“I am no’ so sure. You have already proven to be a crafty little hellion. Have you carved spears out of the table legs yet?”
“No, but thanks for the idea.”
Sometime during week two of her incarceration, Orik had sent his apologies in the form of the kingdom’s finest wine, according to the accompanying note. When she’d asked why Orik hadn’t brought it up himself, the servant had let it slip that he’d been away from the kingdom for some time on official business, but would say no more. Was that what Orik meant when he said he was on the move constantly? Why not just tell her he was away? Probably because he didn’t want her getting any sneaky ideas. For instance, leaving the castle grounds unsupervised.
After her second glass of what was unquestionably ambrosia of the gods, she had tried calling for him several times, but apparently he was still out, and no one would—orcould—tell her when he might be back. The staff had apparently been instructed to contend with her as best they could, but all they wanted to do was feed her. She had access to all the food, clothes, and luxuries she could ever want, but she’d rather be hungry, dressed in rags, andfreerather than pampered and caged.
Her little room had grown more confining as each day passed…as eachminuteticked by. They said time had a mind of its own. Right now it delighted in torturing her. She’d found herself pacing from the bedroom to the kitchenette to the living room and back, feeling like one of those lonely zoo elephants that swayed back and forth as a means to comfort themselves.
With a huff of irritation, she’d requested the staff have him contact her when he returned. As the evening had pressed on, she’d begun to doubt he would, and she’d found the bottom of the wine bottle.
