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I press the tunic down over my front and tease its tight fitting sleeves.
The high collar cuts sharply over my neck and down, to reveal only the hollow of my clavicle as I stare at myself in the smoky mirror. What will Giroth think? I wonder, unable to banish the hard line of my mouth. Will he even care?
My hands pass over the hollow of my sore stomach, and my thoughts drift to our feverish pairing again. I’m not sure why it summons such sudden misery in me. But it sticks with me as I explore the rest of his home, largely uninterrupted.
His dark elf slaves certainly know how to make themselves scarce.
Still, I expect to find them around every corner. There are some rooms closed off to me and yet others that are completely empty as if he simply doesn’t have enough stuff to furnish them. Everywhere I go, however, I’m reminded of him.
Finally, I find the front door.
It is heavy and reinforced, but it couldn’t be mistaken. Even though I know better, I wiggle the ornate handle to find it sealed fast. There is no lock or keyhole, but the bite of chaos magic holds it, prickling a warning in my fingertips until I let go.
As I try to rub the sensation back into my fingers, something about the door changes. I step back even as it swings open on its hinges, and Giroth stands in the doorway, his face a mask of displeasure. His gaze lands on me with only muted surprise even as relief courses through me.
“You’re back. Finally.”
He doesn’t answer me, and that cold lump in my gut gets heavier.
Without a word of greeting, he walks away, taking the tall stairs to the bedroom where we bore ourselves in the warmth of intimacy. Now, he is frigid.
I follow. “What’s wrong, Giroth?”
No answer.
Did I expect one?
Yes, I think, reaching for him and stroking his powerful arm. I barely brush his skin before he pulls back as if my touch burns him.
The sudden motion makes me waver. “Giroth?”
He goes about gathering up my scant belongings, wrapping them in a canvas and tying it securely with nimble claws. Still, his lips are drawn in a thin frown, and he refuses to look in my direction.
I dare to approach again, craving the security of his embrace even as he’s walled off from me. My heart threatens to drag me to the ebony floorboards, and I wonder again if our union meant nothing to him. “Please, talk to me.”
Something tics in his expression. “Out of my way.”
He storms past me.
“This isn’t–" I begin, my mind reeling with the possibilities. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”
At that, his shoulders tense. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
His sharp words turn my tongue into lead, and my head goes strangely woozy. “This isn’t you, Giroth,” I say airily. “What happened?”
With that, he pivots on his heel to stare me down with white hot fury. “Enough! You’re to be sent back with the other women and that is final. I will hear no more protests from you, or I’ll throw you off the island, myself.”
My blood goes cold in my veins at his fury, but there’s something underneath it. Grief? It doesn’t suit his hard demeanor, but it thrives on the razor’s edge of his voice. Suddenly, I understand everything. He has been ordered to give me back, and he cannot defy his king. Just as I feared he couldn’t.
I think he expects me to cower from his outburst.
To fall to my hands and knees and beg him to let me stay. But I will not give him the satisfaction of my groveling. Nor will I spurn his king if it means that Giroth is punished. He has no choice in the matter. I have to know that.
“Okay,” I say easily, taking the parcel from him. “When do we leave?”
He blinks twice. “You will not fight me on this?”
“What’s the point?” I shrug, offering a forgiving smile. “It is done.”
