Page 83 of Caged By Dance and Desire

Andrei lifted me into his arms, his expression grim. “If? You still have doubts? I will feed her.”

He swept me back into his bedroom and into his bed, and began to teach me what it meant to be a mortal with a blooming drop of Fae blood.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Iwalked into the large open concept kitchen, early sunlight beginning to warm the white stone counters.

My nose danced a jig to the scent of frying meat and vegetables smothered in cheese and spices as I opened one of the jade green cabinets to grab a glass jar of finely ground cinnamon.

A shirtless Constin fluttered his fingers in his customary voiceless good morning as I passed on my way to the man-sized ice box.

“Your towels keep getting smaller and smaller,” I observed, poking him in the side with my finger. Hard. “If you’re bothering with these fabric scraps for my sake, don’t. You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen, honey.”

He aimed a glare my way as I skipped out of his reach, opening the ice box.

“Do you still have a death wish after last night?” he growled, slightly hoarse. “I haven’t had coffee yet.”

I peered inside and reached for the glass jug of cold brew. “Funny, one of my sisters always said the exact same thing in response to her good morning poke. Well, except for the death wish part.”

“Then she didn't say the exact same thing. You have no fear, mortal. We need to work on that. Fear is an early warning system.”

I took the jug to the safe side of the kitchen along with heavy whipping cream and fixed myself a tall glass, adding in cinnamon and a squirt of the stevia I’d mentioned wistfully, in my loud voice, two days ago.

The stevia appeared in the kitchen within twenty-four hours.

There were perks to this arrangement.

Which reminded me. “If Lord Ashlyun has a jar of honey delivered, can you make sure you all keep your sticky fingers off until I get first taste? And no ‘taste-testing’ for ‘poison.’” I curled my fingers in air quotes, in case he was deaf and didn’t hear the irony in my voice.

Constin turned, spatula in hand, eyebrow inching up. “Why would Lord Ashlyun gift you his honey?”

“Not forthatreason.” It didn’t take a genius to read his expression. I shrugged. “I mentioned I liked it in his tea and he said he’d get me some.”

His stare turned faintly scandalized. “You are another High Lord’s consort. He knows better. Skirmishes have started over less. Are you sure you didn’t. . .”

“I’m sure, Constin. He was being courteous.” I lowered my gaze, some of my good mood evaporating under the chill of memoriesI was diligently suppressing. “Maybe—maybe it’s his way of apologizing.”

“Are you okay?” He set the spatula down.

“No, but I don’t want to talk about it. I want to move forward, not backward. I learned my lesson and I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“You’re just like Drei. That’s not a good thing. You have to let yourself process, Anah.”

“I will. After the showcase.”

Constin shook his head. “Come here.”

I eyed him. “I don’t trust you.”

“Come here.”

Sighing, I set my glass down and approached.

He folded me in his arms. “You don’t have to process by yourself. Most of us—” he paused. “Most of us have either been through this ourselves, or dealt with loved ones who. . .”

I settled my forehead on his chest, not wanting to see the look in his eyes. “Most of you have endured torture? Is this like a rite of passage?”

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