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Sorrow spreads across his face. "He did. But it's a long story, and not one Raya would want me to tell. Maybe she'll tell you. One day."
The chances of that happening are slim, and we both know it. I'm leaving in a few days' time or dying before then.
"Goodnight, my Elva," he tells me, shutting down any further conversation on the topic.
"Goodnight."
I watch him as he stalks back to his own bedroom, disappearing behind the door and leaving me with even more questions than I had before our adventure today.
What happened to Kairon's parents?
How did he end up in the orphanage?
How did Raya?
What did the old king do to Raya?
It makes sense that Raya was willing to kill him and help Kairon take the throne.
Questions swirl in my head until I finally drift to sleep hours later, wondering if Raya would be willing to share it with me. If I'm worthy of that kind of trust when I'm still keeping a huge secret of my own from them.
The following day at breakfast is somehow even more tense. The high from yesterday and the fear of how things are happening between us, and the now undeniable attraction are making for a volatile mix. One that could explode into disaster at any moment.
He has shown endless support for my vision for our nations, making my ideas stronger and more infallible. He has given me complete freedom in the library, even lending me a few guards to reach books that I cannot get on my own. He has forced me into overwhelming pleasure and shared a vulnerability with me. It's almost too much to bear.
Even with all the kindness he's shown me, I can't help the voice screaming at me that he's only doing this because it benefits him. If my guard is down, he has no need to harm me to get what he wants. If I give myself to him, it's not only me he owns but my entire country.
But even still, my body begs me to surrender. One sordid orgasm in the library didn't sate me in the least. In fact, it's been the opposite. The small taste I've had of his desire only inflames me more, craving to feel all of him, with nothing between us. And those are dangerous thoughts, treacherous ones. Even traitorous to my home, my people.
From his own seat, he sips his coffee, watching me closely. "You seem distracted this morning."
"Oh." I smooth my wild curls from my face, forcing a false calm. "There's just been... a lot to take in since I've arrived."
"I see." He smirks. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." The word escapes me, not allowing me to hide the desperation within it.
He hmms, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Are you still afraid of me, Miss Elva?" His voice deepens with the question, the tone sounding sleepy and blissfully depraved, like it's being panted between the sheets on a lazy morning and not across the breakfast table.
"Yes," I answer honestly, lost in the mixture of fear, anticipation, and heady arousal I can no longer deny.
"What are you really afraid of?" He tilts his head to the side. "I can't harm you. I've shown you pieces of me that no one else has seen. So what do you have to fear from me?"
He's making my head spin with his lazy, drawling voice. With confidence I don't feel, I respond, "I'm sure if the feeling strikes you, you'll still kill me. I've seen the spell books you have in the library. Open to the page with a shapeshifting spell and an invisibility one. How hard could it be to replace me and send the false one home to infiltrate Rhyma?"
He looks at me strangely, looking almost wounded by the accusation, before coming back and answering with a calm smile, "Those spells both only last up to two days, my Elva. And both require an extensive list of ingredients. Ensuring you are safe and pleased is far less work and certainly more fun."
My cheeks warm as I remember the ways in which he's pleased me thus far and how else he might in the future if I allow it. Shaking the depraved thoughts away, I remember back to the page, a few of the items so obscure I'd never heard of them before. Then, a few other well-known ones, like unicorn horn shavings, rotroot, and Syren scales.
"Then why were the books out?" I ask.
With a shrug, he answers, "Raya loves alchemy. She had— has an affinity for it. She created a few of her own potions, in fact. I've always thought that was her Zalig ability, but there's not really a way to prove whether it's true or not."
"Really?" Excitement fills me, and he grins.
"You'll have to ask her about it," he tells me. "Though, I'll warn you, once she gets started, she'll never stop talking about them. She once turned one of my childhood stuffies into a puddle of goo and tells the story every chance she gets."
"Why would that be the story she chooses to tell?" I laugh.
