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"You're right!" I shout. "It is enough. Ever since I arrived, you've taken my choices from me. And I've had enough. So either kill me now, or I will make you wish you had."
He smiles sinisterly, tauntingly, as he stands. "Oh, my sweet Elva." As he rounds the desk in our shared living space, I find myself backing up against my will. "Threatening me is not going to get you the reaction you're hoping for."
As I take another step back, he stalks forward, and I can feel myself being cornered, literally and metaphorically. His scent and emotions surround me, making me dizzy as his desire, his longing, and his fear radiate out from his chest, along with his own anger and his guilt, whether he's willing to admit it or not.
"Do you think that your ire bothers me? Or that it angers me? Do you truly believe that I find your fury to be anything other than intoxicating?" His words are a confession, but his tone is one of the cruelest taunts. "I crave your rage. I could drown in it, drown in you, and die happily."
So distracted by his wicked tongue, I suddenly find myself trapped between him and the wall behind me, stuck in his gaze as he stares down at me. Unable to speak, I remain silent lest I reveal how affected I am.
His eyes dart to my mouth for only the most infinitesimal moment, but I feel that split second in every inch of my body. There's no denying how taken I am by him any longer. The sigh that escapes me gives me away even as tears continue to stream down my cheeks.
"So come on, my sweet. Let me drown in you. Let me feel your fury as you fall apart around me again. You can scream how you hate me while your body bends and breaks for me," he taunts, lips only inches from mine.
"No." The word escapes me before I give it permission, livid that he's trying to use seduction to distract me from this despicable thing he's done.
"No?"
"No," I repeat vehemently, shoving him away, though it pains me immensely to do so. "I won't give myself to someone who takes my choices from me."
He searches my face, looking and feeling as broken as I am. It's the most plainly I've ever seen his emotions written across his face, and I almost want to take back what I've said. But I can't. Wouldn't even if I could.
"I understand." He takes a step back, and I finally feel like I can breathe. "You should get some more rest. I'll fetch Raya to bring you breakfast."
I nod, nervous that if I allow myself to speak, I'll start apologizing. But I have nothing to be sorry for. So why does it hurt so badly to watch him stitch his mask of indifference back together?
As he exits the room, he leaves me with one last message. "Your safety is still guaranteed. As part of the agreement I wrote, your death would still mean war for my kingdom. I'll not let anyone harm you and get away with it, Elva, and I ensured your entire country knows it."
His words stick with me the rest of the morning. I ensured your entire country knows it. What does that mean? Why would my country's opinion matter if I'm never going back there?
As I stew, I realize that I did what I set out to do here. I led the peace talks. I managed to persuade the feared Horned King to sign a trade and peace agreement with Rhyma. I accomplished what no one before me has done.
And yet, I feel like shit. Even if my safety is promised, my happiness is not. What could I possibly do here to find fulfillment?
I could fulfill my promise to make him regret not killing me.
I glance at the stack of papers he left on the desk, the stack he's clearly been working on for days between all of our meetings.
I could even start right now.
He won't be coming back for a while, at least, after our little disagreement.
That arrogant ass, using his gorgeous mouth and overwhelming body to distract me from how fucking pissed I was. Am.
Just a quick peek.
Two hours and nothing to show for it. The only thing I've found that has anything to do with me is a handful of letters from my colleagues and myself, discussing when I would be arriving and what to expect. He even has the dead messengers' letters crumpled and straightened out again until they're legible.
Coffee rings litter the papers, proof of just how long Kairon has been looking over these same letters.
Finally, I find one that I don't recognize at all. It looks just the same as the rest that came from Rhyma, other than being cautiously signed without a name. It entails my travel itinerary, a brief description, and some mention of a drawn rendering.
The wording is strange, though. So many words are misspelled that it's impossible this person didn't notice. It's also impossible that our leaders would have accepted this being sent to any country, much less this one, with all its flaws.
The guards in the corner of the room have let me rifle through all these letters and notes and scribbles, not even stepping in to warn me against it. But this paper makes me wish they had, rather than letting me stumble upon what this strange letter might contain.
I sit on the desk, clearing everything else off of it, grabbing a nearby charcoal to underline the misspelled words and keep track of the excess, missing, and misplaced letters.
F W L H A E H N N T I H I E U G G I N R A L S D K I O E T S I A L
