Chapter 13

Quickly realizing that I've said the wrong thing, I clear my throat, heat rising to my neck and face yet again.

"It's just that I didn't think that I'd be offered that level of civility as your prisoner." I anxiously twist at the bottom strands of my long hair. His eyes dip to follow the nervous gesture. Picking up on my apprehensiveness, his dark eyes narrow.

His long black lashes cast feathering shadows along his impossibly sharp cheekbones, eyebrows coming together consideringly, "Ah, I see."

My stomach clenches in a twist of worry. I really hope he doesn't. But from what I've observed of him so far over my days here as his prisoner, he's more observant than the average person. Much more discerning than I'm comfortable with considering the number of secrets I'm trying to keep straight.

I rack my brain for an easy segue into another, less precarious topic of conversation. The shadowy lump on the floor in my peripheral offers itself as the perfect reprieve for me and I gesture down drawing his attention to it.

"Oh! I almost forgot. One of the books you lent me slid off the bed in the storm. It somehow managed to land just out of reach. I tried, but the chains-"

Before I finish speaking, he's already crouching to retrieve the book that had gotten the better of me for a good portion of-what must have been-the afternoon.

"You're making good use of them, then." He notes out loud.

"Why does it sound like that surprises you?"

"It doesn't."

As he stands back up to hand the book to me, I raise an eyebrow at the obvious lie and his eyes flash yellow again. A dimple forms on his cheek. My eyes are drawn to it and I'm overcome with the urge to trace my fingers along it. *What is *wrong* *with me*?

With rapt attention, I watch the unexplainable changes in his eyes, unable to feel embarrassed by the fascination I can feel written all over my face.

The dimple disappears, smoothing back into the smooth planes of his face, "Forgive me, Princess, it's just that among all the rumors circulating about you through the Courts, an inclination towards books never cut, I'm afraid."

"What rumors?" I ask, startled. Rumors about Lucia? I was never out of my rooms enough to hear whispered gossip, but for some reason, I'd always assumed Lucia was without reproach among our people

He looks to be considering whether to answer or not when he's interrupted by the sound of my stomach letting out a deafening growl. I'm just as shocked as he is by the sound, my hands dropping to my torso to muffle the noise. With the King in here, he'd managed to occupy all of my attention to the point where I'd all but forgotten about my empty stomach. I can't remember the last time I ate and I'm starving.

I glance sheepishly back into the King's face, only to see that his eyes have turned a black so dark it puts the night to shame, "You're hungry."

There's no point denying it, so I nod.

"No one brought food," The tense lines on his face and shoulders hint at the fact that he's angry, furious even, but for the life of me I can't understand why. His large hands curl into fists at his sides.

"It's fine, really," I say.

He growls out a curse under his breath, stalking the door of my room in two powerful strides. All I can do is gape after him as he leaves the room without an explanation like a dark monstrous storm. Not even a minute later, before I even have the chance to process what that was about, he's back, tray in hand.

He gingerly places a tray on my lap and all I can do is stare down at it in shock for a breathless moment. The tray is overflowing with food. Plates of bread, cheeses, fruits, roasted chicken. There's even an inordinately large slice of chocolate cake.

"What-"

"Eat." His voice is a low, growling command that makes my stomach clench.

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I pull myself up against the headboard so I don't spill food all over myself and unwrap the roll of silverware accompanying the tray. Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food before me, I'm not sure where to begin. Another low bone-grating growl emanates from the direction of the male standing over me and I hurriedly stab at a piece of pink melon.

Sweet juice seeps over my tongue and I sigh softly at the taste. I don't think I'm imagining the way the tight set of his shoulders loosens as I continue taking another bite, chewing quickly. Only after I've taken a handful of bites does he retreat to the armchair he'd positioned near my bed earlier while re-ordering my room.

Being the focal point of his dark attention should make me uncomfortable, yet it doesn't for some unexplainable reason. The way his black eyes rake over me as I carefully pick through the food is.watchful. Attentive. And I don't know why that makes the center of my chest warm, and a thread of reassurance sparks through me.

It doesn't take me long to give up on the other foods and finally move on to the chocolate cake. It looks decadent-with layers of frosting and a drizzle of sauce trickled over the top. If my lady's maid, Petra, was here, she'd undoubtedly tell me how *unladylike* it is to eat desserts before finishing with the "real" food. But Petra isn't here though...

I pile my fork high with a cut of the corner that looks like it has the most frosting, unable to stop the small smile I feel on my mouth as I slip the fork past my lips. Holy motherthis cake is divine. The perfect balance of sweet and bitter and I moan softly as I lick the fork clean before going in for another bite.

The King makes a sound from his place near the bed. In full rapture with my cake, I'd somehow managed to completely forget that he was still there. I briefly shift my attention back in his direction, to find his eyes narrowed in on me, a surprising shade of crimson mixed in among the black.

I clear my throat, shooting him a sheepish smile, "Gods, I missed chocolate," I feel the need to explain, before I scoop another bite into my mouth, eyes falling shut as I savor the rich taste, "It's my favorite."

He hums low under his breath, voices a touch rougher than before, "Yes, I remember you mentioning that."

He's watching me so intently that I pause in mid-bite, offering the fork to him automatically, "Sorry, did you want some?"

He considers me for a long moment, head tipping a little as he shifts his weight to lean on the armrest, "Of the cake? No." His voice comes out strangled.

Not quite sure what to make of that statement, all I can do is blink at him, lips parting in shock as a heated flutter takes flight deep in my stomach.

The moment is interrupted by the clinking of the locks in the door. Both of our heads swivel as our attention turns toward the doorway. The knob turns and three figures emerge from the hall. All three stop dead in their tracks at the sight of their King lounging indolently in the chair beside my bed.