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Trying to divert my mind to the idea of dinner with King Windre, I opened the door. In the hallway, I turned to find Jerydin waiting for me. Had I known the man was going to stand outside my door until I was ready for dinner, maybe I wouldn’t have taken the time to jiggle the jewelry.
“Oh,” I stopped awkwardly, wondering how good his hearing was. “Are you here to show me my way to dinner?”
Jerydin raised his eyebrows and turned on the tips of his toes, walking off down the hallway. I watched his scaled wings sway behind him for a moment before jogging after him.
“Are you just a guard then? A man like you, with wings like that, should have surely found himself in a better position than that,” I called after him, trying to keep pace and stay at his side. It would keep me from staring at his legendary wings anyway.
“I am more than a guard, but less than a king, if that tells you anything,” Jerydin said roughly. “Though if my dear, but annoying, best friend ever returns, you’ll find I’m not the only one in this court with wings to be ogled.”
How utterly unlikely. Maybe by the time this so-called friend returned, I would be done staring at Jerydin’s wings and would be less likely to appear like a buffoon around him.
“I’m not meaning to make you feel watched,” I grumbled the half-hearted apology.
Jerydin paused and looked at me with his huge saucer eyes. “Watch away. Sometimes I find that watching people reveals more about them than what they actually say.” His words were a quiet warning before he blinked and continued to lead me into a dining room.
Food was already heaped on platters and scattered over the table King Windre sat at the head of. His sharp teeth dug into a leg of whatever animal had been cooked. He still smiled through the mouthful he chewed and pointed at the high-backed dining chair near him. His hand glistened under the Fae firelight chandeliers, multiple rings adorning nearly every finger.
Jerydin walked to the other end of the table, pulled out a seat for himself, and sat down in it. His eyes remained trained on me as I approached the seat the king had offered. I hadn’t been able to see when I walked in, but as I neared the table's edge I caught a glimpse of Red. Bound in chains, and gagged to hold back her fiery tongue, she sat in the corner. Her shirt hung off her from where I had torn it. The peaks of her breasts were clear where her shirt had fallen down. Both shoulders were slouched, but she leaned away from the wall to keep her bare, still bleeding back from touching.
Just looking at her like that felt wrong. I turned my eyes away from the image, my cheeks warming. Instead, I focused on pulling out the chair and examining the food options. What was the protocol for eating with a king? In Tierasia we didn’t eat with Queen Atarah, not unless she meant to use your body later in the night. And even then, you really only ate sweet dessert and fruit. I’m assuming King Windre didn’t want to use my body as his late-night sweet treat after dinner.
“Go ahead and eat your fill. You must be hungry from your travels.” King Windre took another bite of meat.
Happily, I lifted my plate and began scooping and setting things onto it, until the porcelain was no longer visible underneath. The smell drifted to my nose, creating a flash flood of saliva inside my mouth. If I was starving, Red must be too. I picked up my fork and began shoveling food. If there was meant to be a conversation between me and King Windre, I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
I looked up and caught Red’s unforgiving glare. I pointed at her with my fork, a roasted vegetable hanging off the end. “What will she eat?”
King Windre glanced behind him like he forgot she was even there. “Oh, she won't.”
“Nothing?” I asked.
“No, I don’t feed them till they are on the brink of starvation. Helps to bend their wills and keep them weak. We have to do a total mental reshaping, and that’s hard to do if it takes time to break their willpower.”
He didn’t know how stubborn Red was. She was likely to refuse her meal when it finally came, and die out of spite. But the question was more for Red than it was for me. Gave her the chance to hear what was being done with her to prepare for it as best she could.
“Sounds like a fun game,” I mumbled through my full mouth.
For the remainder of the meal, I wondered what else would be done with her. What sort of conditions was I going to have to endure? That thought felt selfish, too. Red would have it far worse than me, but that felt like my own punishment. Something in my gut had been twisted. And it didn’t seem like it was a good thing.
There was a flash of hurried movement through the halls. Nymphs scurried after friends, whispering behind their hands. I hadn’t reached my room yet to pack for my small adventure. What would I bring? None of anything I had really belonged to me. It felt more like I was borrowing them.
One of the males, who had volunteered to walk the grounds, acting as a guard, sprinted around the corner and stopped at my side. I paused wondering if what I always feared would happen was happening. Every day there was a small spark of fear that King Ganglin would return to take back his home.
“What’s happening?” I grabbed his arm and gave him my full attention.
“Graceson is back,” he panted. “We’ve been looking all over for you. He is waiting in the office.”
“Say no more.” Everyone around me became a blur as I raced toward my office. The door was closed, but I quickly leapt inside and slammed it shut behind me.
Graceson’s green eyes flashed as he looked up from under his loose red hair. One hand pushed the hair from his face and he gave me a small tick of a smile. “You’re looking rather well, Ryker. Glad to see it.” He set down the paperweight he had been rolling over in his hands against the desk.
As he stood, I couldn’t help but notice his wings. Healed. Scarred and more terrifying looking than ever, but they looked like they were in working condition, which was all I really wanted. He had been tormented because they had thought him to be something to me. Something more than a friend.
“Your wings…they look…” I stuttered.
“Ah, yes. The healer in the Acture Court is very gifted, and she did me up rather nicely. Even gave me a thorough body massage. Happy ending and all. So I mean, I can’t complain,” he laughed with a smug shrug.
I shook my head. Typical Graceson, which told me that he was probably doing even better than I had expected. Again, good news, but surely there was more he had to say than that.
