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His expression was hopelessly sad. “I’ll never be free of this place.”
“What happens if you do try to leave?”
“I get as far as the drawbridge, or the lake—I’ve tried jumping off the walls more times than I can count. But then …” He snapped his fingers. “I’m back inside the castle. As if nothing happened.”
A shadow passed over his features. “The last time I tried it, ages ago, I reappeared in the throne room and the Erlking was sitting there, like he’d been waiting for me. And he just started laughing. Like he knew how hard I was trying to get away, and that I never would, and seeing me struggle was the most fun he’d had since … I don’t know. Since he caught the wyvern probably.” He met Serilda’s gaze again. “That was when I decided that if I was going to be trapped here, I would at least spend my time making life as miserable for him as possible. I can’treallydo anything to him. There’s no point in trying to fight him or kill him. But I can really, truly annoy him. That probably sounds childish, but … sometimes it feels like all I have.”
“And here I am,” she whispered, “asking you to spin gold. Forhim.”
Reaching forward, he took one of her braids between his fingers, running his thumb along the strands. “It’s worth it. You’ve been the most brilliant distraction I could have asked for.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, then did what her body had been yearning to do since he’d first appeared. She tied her arms around his neck and pressed her temple to his. Gild’s arms were quick to surround her, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been testing the strength of her will, to see how long she could go without falling into his arms.
She shut her eyes, squeezing them until little flashes of golden light appeared on the darkness of her eyelids.
She would find a way out of this mess, and she had a feeling that she would have to do it sooner rather than later. After all, she’d already promised Gild her firstborn child in exchange for his help. What would she offer next time, and the time after that?
And yet, to her dismay, the thought of running away and escaping the Erlking’s grasp brought her no comfort. It only made her heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise.
What if this was the last time that she ever saw Gild?
Her pulse sped up as she slipped her fingers into his hair and turned her head, pressing a kiss just below his ear.
He inhaled sharply, his arms tensing around her.
The reaction encouraged her. She hardly knew what she was doing as she caught the tender flesh of his earlobe between her teeth.
Gild groaned, startled, even as he leaned into her, his fingers clutching at the back of her dress.
Then he was pushing her away.
Serilda gasped. Her cheeks were flushed, her heartbeat racing.
Gild’s eyes were molten as he stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I don’t know what I was—”
His fingers found the back of her head, tangling in her hair, as he pulled her back to him. His mouth found hers. Ravenous.
Serilda met him in kind. Her body was burning up in the confines of her dress. She felt light-headed, barely able to keep up with the sensations on her skin as Gild’s hands left trails of frazzled warmth on her neck, her back, along the sides of her rib cage, the curve beneath her breasts.
She pulled away only when she needed to breathe. Trembling, she fitted her hands against Gild’s chest. He may not have had a heartbeat, but he was solid beneath her touch. Under the thin linen there was strength and tenderness. Her thumb caressed the dip of his collarbone and she leaned forward, suddenly desperate to kiss that spot of bare flesh underneath his open collar.
“Serilda …”
Her name was a throaty plea, a yearning, a question.
She met his eyes and realized that she wasn’t the only one who had started shaking. Gild’s hands were on her hips, gathering the fabric of her skirt into fistfuls.
“I’ve never …,” he started, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, from her brow to her chin to her swollen mouth.
“Me either,” she whispered back, nervous all over again. “But I’d like to.”
He exhaled and tipped his head forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Me too,” he breathed, with a bit of a chuckle. “With you.”
His hands slid up the back of her dress, and she could feel little tremors in his fingers as they found the laces and began to untie them.
Slowly.
