Chapter 12

The sight of his fiery displeasure has me swallowing uncomfortably. I shift around, adjusting myself into a more appropriate position on the mattress where I'm currently being swallowed among the piles of bedding.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, the question coming out more hesitant than I meant for it to.

"No," he clips, the full focus of his gaze still narrowed in on me, "Everything is not *alright*. How long have you been sitting here in the dark?"

I can't help but notice the fact that his eyes are orange-an orange as bright and unforgiving as the fire flickering behind him. My stomach flutters-*flutters*-at the unexpected sight like a flock of butterflies has taken flight, trying to escape.

Shit.

It's like now that I've noticed how attractive he is, I can't *un*-notice it. And knowing how irrational that is doesn't make it any less true. This man had kidnapped me and was using me as a hostage to get what he wanted from my father and there is absolutely *no* room for attraction in this scenario.

"The fire hasn't been out that long," I shrug, going for nonchalance, but if his expression is an indication, I'm failing in my efforts, "It's fine."

"Don't lie to me, Princess," his voice is a low growl that vibrates from my toes, all the way up my spine. "Has no one been by here since the storm?"

There's something about the too-calm way he asks the question that has me hedging around the answer, "I'm sure there was a lot to do around here, things keeping everyone busy-" I cut off when his eyes narrowed, "but, no. No one's been in here since Xavier and Arden left."

He doesn't say anything to that for a long moment, but he finally acknowledges my answer with a sharp nod. He then turns his broad form away from me settling his attention on the toppled furniture throughout the small room. I follow his gaze, taking in the disarray the storm caused. It looks much worse in the bright light of the fire than it had when I could only make out the rough outline of things.

He steps up to the closest piece of toppled furniture and my stomach twists in equal measures of shock and bewilderment as he crouches down to lift the chair and set it gently back on its feet. He continues around the room, rearranging the pieces back where they belong as easily as if they weigh nothing. Though by their bulk, it's easy to see that they'd crush me-or any normal person for that matter-like a bug if I had been standing too close to it during its fall.

"You should consider bolting them." The words are out of my mouth before I take the chance to think about what I'm saying.

The sound of my voice draws his eyes to me again instantly, "Bolting what?" He asks in that low voice of his that's becoming increasingly familiar.

My cheeks warm and I move my focus down to the bedding and brush off dust and gravel I hadn't noticed before, "The furniture, I mean. If those storms are happening more often, it might be worth finding a way to bolt the heavier pieces to the walls. It may help prevent a few people from injuryor save the furniture from being damaged at least."

I don't look up from where I'm adjusting the bedding around me, but I can feel his eyes on me-the intense way he studies me for a long moment.

"It's a good thought." He finally says I look up in time to catch him turning back to the task of re-hanging the tapestry back in its place on the wall. The careful, deliberate way he moves about the room setting things right really shouldn't shock me as much as it does. Never in a million years could I picture my father in a similar position working his way through a room and tidying. It's no secret to those around the Seelie Palace that my father would rather die than be subjected to any menial task he considers to be "below him". I've never even seen him pull out his chair or open his door before, let alone pick up anything from off the floor.

If my father had been in Damion Lothbrook's shoes, he would have called for a servant to right the furniture for him. Yet, the methodical way that this male moves about the room is evidence of the fact that while he may be the ruling monarch of this mountain range, he's certainly no stranger to hard work.

I can't quite make this man out. This man who kidnapped me, but also went to terrifying lengths to ensure that I didn't die while in his care. Who chains me to his walls, but also moved me to a more comfortable room and hasn't taken me back to the dungeons yet. The man who's keeping me prisoner but had books delivered to me so I have ways to spend my time. Who rushed in here during the earthstorm to be sure I was safe and even shielded me with his own body-

"You look like you're thinking about something extremely hard over there."

I purse my lips, bringing my full focus back on him-shocked to find him now standing at the foot of my bed. When had he moved so close? "I'm not reallyI guess I was just thinking about how I should probably thank you-"

"You want to *what*?" He sounds like he's choking on gravel. I can't tell if he's flabbergasted or horrified, "Why in the name of this godforsaken world would you thank me?"

Despite my better judgment, something about his tone makes my lips curve up at the edges, forcing a smile out of me, "You didn't have to come and save me earlier. Or take the time to come check on me now and light the fire for me. Oh! And I haven't had the chance to thank you for the books-"

I don't think I'm imagining the bewildered way that his eyes narrow in on my mouth when it tips up into a grin. Or the way his dark eyebrows come together like he's never seen a smile before. His stunned expression only makes my smile grow wider.

"Now, it looks like you're the one who's thinking extremely hard about something," I tell him, laughter bubbling out of me without my permission.

He schools his features, but his black eyes turn a deep wine shade of red before shifting to a grayish-silver color that shines like a blade. I watch the colors play through his eyes in rapt fascination. He shifts on his feet, studying me like I'm a puzzle that needs solving, "I'm just considering what sort of life you must lead in that palace of yours if you feel the need to thank me for basic decency." He admits in his deep silky voice.

The smile dies on my lips with his words and I tug my eyes away from him, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. He's righta princess *should* be used to having people wait on her hand and foot. They should expect people to go out of their way to make sure that their every whim is seen. The time I'm able to spend with my sister outside of my rooms I've seen the adoring way everyone in the palace follows her with their eyes. The way that they jump at her every request.

People don't do that for me though. My father wants me to have as few staff interacting with me as possible-the fewer people who spend time with me, the fewer people who realize that I'm a liability to him. That my lack of magic and overall health would inevitably fall back as a blemish on his otherwise spotless reputation.

The few staff who do usually wait on me back at home tend to keep their distance from me. And if their usually panicked glances are any indication, they seem to be under the impression that if they spent too much time around me they would inevitably catch the same illness I was born with.

But Commander Lothbrook doesn't know that. He's somehow still unaware that I'm not the "true" heir to the Seelie throne like he believes me to be.

And I'm blowing my cover.