Page 58 of Heartless Prince

The main section of the room had polished parquet flooring, most of which was covered by a gigantic patterned Persian rug, and a large portion of the space was taken up by a huge four-poster canopy bed. To the left of it was a hanging mirror beside a marble-topped marquetry chest. On the right was an antique French love seat. The walls were pale mint green with molded paneling, and a large crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.

It was old-fashioned but beautiful all the same.

Steam was rising from the bathtub along with a heavenly scent. Elias pointed to it. “I drew you a bath. Get in,” he commanded.

I faltered. My back and chest were still lined with angry red welts from last night, and I knew getting into a hot tub of water would make them sting like hell. “Eli… I mean, Master, I’m not sure I can,” I said, motioning to one of the welts. “It’ll hurt.”

“It won’t. I promise. Do you trust me?” he said, extending one hand to me.

I swallowed hard. Did I really have a choice?

I took his hand and let him guide me into the tub, sinking slowly into the bubbling water. Amazingly, he was right. The bath was filled with some sort of salts which immediately relaxed my muscles and had a strange cooling effect on my whip-marks, even though the water was hot.

Elias sat on the edge of the tub and watched me relax in the bath.

“Mmm…” I couldn’t help letting out a satisfied moan.

His lips turned up in a ghost of a smile. “See? It’s a special sort of bath salt from France. When I was a kid, my nannies would put it in my baths if I ever scraped my knee or anything like that.”

“How many nannies did you have?” I asked tentatively, curious as to what it was like to grow up uber-wealthy. The closest thing I ever had to a nanny was the little TV my mother would set me in front of when she wanted some time to herself.

“Four.”

“Your parents must’ve appreciated the extra help,” I said, trying to sound as pleasant and agreeable as possible. I had no idea what might set him off and make him angry at me all over again.

His lips tightened. “My mother died when I was a baby, and my father was working most of the time. So yeah, I guess it was appreciated. By me at least.”

I saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, and for a moment, I felt terrible for him, despite everything he’d done to me. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “I had no idea about your mother.”

For a brief second, my brain screamed ‘Stockholm!’ at me again. I knew one of the signs of the condition was when a captive began to feel sympathy for his or her captor, and I was definitely feeling that toward Elias right now.

I pushed the suspicion aside. No, it wasn’t a mental condition. I really did feel bad for him. He might be an asshole, and I might hate him for what he’d done, but I could still separate my feelings from the sadness of his motherless upbringing. No matter who he was, it was tragic that she had died so young, leaving him to be raised by a bevy of nannies instead.

He abruptly stood up. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t even remember her,” he said, stepping over to the end of the tub where I was leaning my head.

He reached down into the water and slowly stroked his hands over my shoulders and back, and the feeling of his palms on my skin was the most delicious, gratifying sensation I’d ever felt. Even better than when he rubbed the cream on me last night. His hands were strong and talented, and he knew just how much pressure to apply to make my treacherous body respond.

“Do you really believe I killed Ben?” I suddenly blurted out. I didn’t actually mean to let the question slip out, but it’d been burning a hole in my tongue, so I guess it had to come out one way or another. I was glad Elias was above and behind me so I couldn’t see his face when I asked. I felt him stiffen, though.

He reflected the question back at me in a low voice. “Do you really believe you didn’t?”

“Yes,” I murmured. “I know I was at fault in some way, but I didn’t push him.”

There was a long pause, dense and volatile, heavy with tension. I squirmed in the tub, regretting ever opening my big mouth. “Let’s not talk about this now,” Elias finally muttered in a brittle tone. “I want us to have a good day.”

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as my pulse slowed. I had to admit I was surprised at his reaction. I thought he would revert back to his usual self, angry and seething, filled with fiery rage toward me. I thought he would drag me back into that red room and tie me up and beat me. Instead, he was still being nice and lenient, just like he promised earlier.

My mind drifted back to the article Greer sent me about beta slave programming. Apparently one of the mind control techniques the MK-Ultra psychologists developed was some form of irrelevant leniency. It entailed letting the slave have certain privileges at totally random times for no apparent reason. This confused them, which led to them becoming even more compliant and subservient.

Was that what Elias was doing to me today?

If so, it was damn well working. I was confused as hell, and I felt as if I were balancing on a razor’s edge. One more slip and the leniency might vanish, replaced with the cold steel of anger. I had to try and be good to avoid that.

Elias got up a moment later, dried his hands, and crossed over to the marble-topped chest on the other side of the room. There was a silver cloche tray sitting on it. He picked it up and carried it over. A delicious buttery scent wafted under my nose as he pulled the dome lid off the tray.

“Is that….?” I looked up at him, letting my question linger in the air.

He nodded. “Hot lobster roll from the Buttery at your residential college at Roden. They’re your favorite, aren’t they?”

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