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The other one being torture.
I grimace. “I’ve never fed on anyone.”
“You also don’t use magic. But even so, I doubt that’s accurate. Why, I just watched you feed on the delight of half of my court moments ago.”
He can’t mean that.
“All their eyes on you, all their hearts, yours for the taking.” His smile is cruel. “Your mother was also one to steal little tastes like these, though she employed vastly different methods.”
“I didn’t…”
He doesn’t let me finish voicing the denial. “I wager you feel so good every time you sing for an audience, don’t you?”
I…can’t say no. The only thing he didn’t nail, bull’s-eye, is that I don’t typically sing. But nothing makes me feel more refreshed, full of energy, happy than performing live in front of an audience. The bigger the better. I never understood people with stage fright.
Holy shit. I’m feeding on people.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little blue head about it, queenling. You’re not stealing anything people will miss.”
Well, no, but it still feels a little gross to me.
“Wait, why is my hair back to blue?” I cringe, noticing the wet locks, not changed back.
“You’ve masked yourself for decades, little changeling,” Ryther says. “You’re bound to don your disguise again, instinctively. But here, your nature will likely attempt to resurface when you let your guard down.”
My disguise.
To me, it’s my actual appearance, but he sees it as a fake one. And maybe it is, but I’ll never feel that way. There’s only one face I recognize in the mirror.
“So, I could return to my old life and blend in,” I whisper.
I expect him to remind me of everything we discussed. The fae who now know what I’m supposed to be, the fact that me and my big mouth actually told them where I lived. It’s not my fault; Valdred asked, and I didn’t know we had an audience at the time.
Not that telling Valdred was the smartest thing to begin with.
But Ryther remains silent, except for a deep sign of contentment. I finally hear the water move a little; he must have gone in, too.
I risk a peek. He’s leaning against the back of the crystal tub, arms extended, head thrown back, his eyes thankfully closed.
I can think a lot clearer where I don’t have to look into those disturbing orbs.
He doesn’t say anything at all.
“Couldn’t I?” I press.
Ryther’s eyes remain shut. “I don’t believe in wasting my saliva, queenling.”
I glare at him, thoroughly irritated. Sure, I know what he’s going to say. But what if I want to hear it from him?
“You heard it already.”
“Stop. Reading. My. Mind.”
The asshole smirks again, quite liberal with his expressions now that we’re on his turf. “Make me.”
I don’t think. I kick his shin. At least I think it’s his shin, it could be a little higher. All I know is my foot makes contact with some part of him, and I’m glad.
Never mind that the water likely made the impact all but harmless. I still feel considerably better.
