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A long, golden rope hung from the ceiling. Alisdair pulled on it sharply.
“Men do not have Mother Meya’s favor,” he said, surprising me again.
Anyone else would’ve called me impertinent, tried to slap me, or barked at me to shut up and waste someone else’s time with my questions. It was strange comparing everyone I was raised to trust against the man I was raised to hate. What does it mean when a good person treats you worse than a monster?
“We fight, struggle, and beg her for every drop of magic. Or, I should say, other men do. I brought Meya to heel a long time ago. Now, magic obeys my will. As all men do.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “As you will soon.”
Nothing. The answer is it means nothing when a monster pretends to be kind. He’s still a monster.
“I don’t know what disgusts me more,” I said, “your blasphemy, or your delusional fantasy that I will ever obey you.”
“Neither should disgust you. It is mere fact.” He stalked toward me, tipping my head back, back, back to hold my glare. “I am now the god you worship. From the moment you stepped into that cauldron, you forsook all others and pledged your life, your hopes, your wants, and your body to me.” Holding my gaze, he slowly brought my palm to his lips.
I could’ve stopped him. Could’ve pulled away. But my body wouldn’t respond to the command. He pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of my wrist, scampering goose bumps down my arm. The other hand suddenly grasped my hip, startling a gasp out of me.
The thin fabric of my dress did nothing to hold back the heat from his touch. Pulling me close, he drew soft, slow circles on my back while kissing a burning trail down my arm—all the while holding me captive in his mesmerizing gaze.
If I was ever asked of this, I’d say he performed terrible magics on me, rendering me unable to move. But I’d know it was a lie then as I knew it now.
I knew what magic felt like. I knew it like I knew the well of trapped power, desperately clawing the cage around my soul. This was not magic or trickery.
No, this was all Alisdair Shadowsoul.
He brushed a kiss on my chin, teasing a sigh from me. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “My wife, my queen. Kiss me.”
Rising on tiptoe, my eyes fluttered shut.
“Kiss me.”
I frowned, blinking open—and locked eye to eye with the hideous, horned beast.
“Ahh!” I flung back and on a box of scrolls, tipping them and me onto the floor.
Alisdair laughed uproariously. “Do you see, sweet Ana? To deny my power over you is pointless. No matter what, no matter how—you’ll always end up on your back.”
“Fuck you!” I kicked and floundered under the avalanche of scrolls.
“It is that time, yes.”
I heard the creak and wheeze of the door opening.
“I’ll give you an hour head start tonight,” he said as I finally kicked free and got to my feet.
I huffed, boring a hole in his arrogant head.
He didn’t notice in the slightest. One of the servants came in, cleared a small table, and set down a food tray. Alisdair made short work of the apple.
“One hour?” I glanced out the pane window. It looked no different outside than it did an hour ago, or the hour before that, or five hours before that. “Why so generous?” I spat.
“It’s only sporting, considering you’ll need time to eat.”
I quieted, looking from him to the tray, then the door. There was no chance of me running past him. I considered trying anyway.
Relaxing, I shrugged. “Thank you, but no. I’m not hungry.”
My rotten stomach growled, betraying me instantly. Fruits, spiced vegetables, roasted lamb—their heavenly scent enveloped me. I wasn’t a stranger to missing meals.
Emiana was. Her body wanted food.
