Page 30 of Blood Ties

He nodded once.

I walked into the passage with the torch raised. It ran straight for several metres, then opened into a sitting room. Stellan remained visible from the doorway, and the room contained no hidden corners large enough for someone to wait in.

A fire burned behind a black iron grate. Two chairs stood beside it with a low table between them. The walls were pale stone instead of the throne room’s black, and a thick red rug covered the floor.

The furniture didn’t move.

I counted that as a success.

Three doors opened from the sitting room. The first led to a bedroom with a bed wide enough for four people and curtains thick enough to stop a bullet. A wardrobe occupied one wall. The second room held a deep stone bath, a shower and shelves stacked with clean towels. The third contained a narrow kitchen.

A covered plate waited on the table beside bread, cheese and a pot of tea. Steam still rose from the spout.

The court had trapped me, threatened me with a crown and left afternoon tea waiting.

I trusted the locks more than the hospitality.

I checked each door and found a working lock on the bedroom. The kitchen held knives, heavy pans and enough food for several meals. A tap ran clear water into a stone sink. There were no windows or other exits.

I returned to the sitting-room entrance. “How do I know the food is safe?”

“The court can’t complete a Claiming with a dead heir. It might irritate you, frighten you or tempt you towards the Crown, but it won’t poison your dinner. You can eat anything it puts in the kitchen. The water is safe, the locks belong to the heir, and no one outside can open the bedroom door while the Claiming holds.”

“Comforting.”

“I’ve had a long time to work on my bedside manner.”

“You haven’t had a bed.”

He glanced towards the enormous one behind me. “Harrowmere appears keen to correct that.”

Heat moved low in my stomach. Stellan’s eyes darkened as he felt the response, but he didn’t add another comment.

That restraint was more effective than a joke would have been.

I closed the sitting-room door and tested the lock from both sides. The key turned easily, and a solid bolt slid into place from inside. If Stellan’s reach changed, I could shut myself in the suite.

The bathing room supplied a small wooden box when I asked for bandages. I set my phone, the old key and Edith’s case on a shelf where nothing could touch them without crossing the room.

Warm water washed the dried blood from my palm. The cut was shallow but angry after Adrian’s grip and the throne seal. I cleaned it, wrapped it tightly and scrubbed every trace of blood from my skin.

Stellan’s hunger eased once the scent disappeared.

His relief reached me anyway.

I changed into a clean cream jumper and black trousers from the wardrobe. Both fitted perfectly. My boots waited beside the bath after I’d been certain I’d left them in the bedroom.

“Don’t fucking start.”

The fire crackled in response.

I carried a jug of water, two cups, a blanket and the plate of food back towards the throne room. The sitting-room door stayed open behind me, giving me a clear route to the lock.

Stellan had managed to sit against the dais. His free arm rested over one raised knee. The pose would have looked relaxed if the rest of him wasn’t covered in chains and blood.

His attention went straight to my bandaged hand.

“It’s clean and covered,” I said. “The cut isn’t deep.”