Page 13 of Malevolent King

“I’m not your maid,” Sofia snapped.

“Okay, Your Highness, why don’t you sit, then?” Not giving her a choice, I lowered her to the single chair at the table, tying the rope to the table leg.

“I’m not a dog either,” she muttered.

I went to the cupboards over the tiny makeshift kitchen and opened them, checking inside.“I’m aware, believe me. I’m well aware of what you are,” I announced, leaning a hip against the counter.

“Which is?”

“A pain in my ass. Is nature calling?”

She stared bloody murder at me.

Chuckling at her reaction, I made my way to the fire. The grate was clean, and there was a stack of dry firewood, old newspapers, and even a box of matches beside it. The thought of a blazing warm fire after the impromptu river swim earlier sounded too delicious to ignore. I got to work setting the fire. Sofia watched me from the table.

“Are you hungry?”

“Do you care?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“I’m fine. There won’t be anything to eat here anyway.”

“Actually, there are unexpired tins of beans in the cupboard and some sardines.”

I thought my little captive would wrinkle her nose at the simple fare, but she merely shrugged.

“Fine.”

After getting the fire going, I took her closer, sitting her in the single comfortable chair in front of the blaze and tying her leash to the heavy wooden table beside it.

Then I headed to the kitchen. There was something comforting about the humble cabin, with the cheery fire burning and the plain meal I was preparing. I wasn’t a man used to luxury. I’d always been taught that it made you weak. But tonight, tired as fuck, with the woman I’d never been able to forget beside me, I felt content for the first time in a long time. It helped that I kept replaying the image of my father dying over and over in my head. I wished I’d filmed it somehow.

“Here,” I grunted, handing Sofia her plate.

Her hands were bound in her lap, and she had no trouble picking up the spoon and digging into the beans.They were cold and pretty unappetizing, but she ate without complaint.

I lowered myself to the floor next to the fire, angled so I could see her. I didn’t trust her with the spoon enough to turn my attention from her. Besides, I wanted to look at her. Painted in the light from the fire, she stole my breath away. There had never been a woman as beautiful as Sofia De Sanctis. She was the kind of woman men drew portraits of and went to war for.

“My nonna used to love sardines,” Sofia said suddenly, jolting me from my inspection.

“She did?”

Sofia nodded. “She grew up in a tiny town on the Amalfi coast. She was poor as dirt, but the community would share food, and the day the boats came in was often a feast. She was the happiest person I ever met.”

I couldn’t rip my eyes from the way Sofia ate the fish. She was delicate but hearty. I enjoyed the sight of it.

She looked at my plate, where there were only beans. “You don’t like them?”

“They’re popular fare in Russian prisons. Even the smell turns my stomach.”

She stilled. “You’ve been to prison?”

I nodded. “Like you’ve been to Macy’s, I’ll bet. Where did you think I was for the last five years? Or maybe you didn’t think of me at all.”

Confusion wrinkled her brow, and then it eased as understanding dawned. “I just thought you’d forgotten about me,” she said finally, ducking her face so I couldn’t see her expression.

“You’re not that lucky, prom queen. I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be the woman who gave me this.” I traced my finger down the thin scar that ran across my face, the one people shied away from looking directly at.

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