Page 41 of The Shadowbound King

Andrin turned grim eyes to mine. “What I told you at our first meeting remains true. Your father stole everything from Autumn. You’re going to help me get it back. Whether you do so in pain or comfort is up to you, Mirella. I suggest you choose wisely.”

Bitterness welled. “Those are my choices? Serve you in agony or the absence of pain? Either way, you’re forcing me to serve you not because of anything I’ve done but simply because of who I am.”

His blue eyes gleamed like sapphires as he ran his gaze over the Edeloak. “We’re all captive to the past.” He came to me and took my arm. “And everyone serves. Even kings.”

Chapter

Ten

MIRELLA

The next few days fell into a pattern.

Every morning, Andrin emerged from his bedchamber and left without speaking to me. Shortly afterward, Ginhad showed up, freed me from the cage, and filled the next few hours with breakfast, court gossip, and gown selections.“Please, anything but green.”

His duties took him elsewhere for lunch, which meant returning to the cage.

“I’m so sorry, Mirella,”he said the first day.“If it were up to me?—”

“It’s not,”I said, taking his hands.“And you shouldn’t feel bad about it. I’m comfortable enough.”

It wasn’t a lie. Considering the alternatives, the cage wasn’t a terrible place to spend an afternoon. I selected a few books from Andrin’s shelves, fluffed the pillows, and read as the fire crackled and leaves tumbled past the window. If I braced a foot on the bars and shifted my weight, I could even set the contraption gently swinging.

At night, the court feasted in the Great Hall. Andrin ordered me to sit at his feet, but he didn’t force me to serve the nobles again, and he didn’t feed me by hand. With Rane absent,Andrin was a brooding presence on his throne, only breaking his silence when the blond-haired elf drew him into occasional conversation.

With each passing evening, the mood in the hall grew wilder…and more carnal. Men pulled women onto their laps and kissed in the open. A platinum-haired lord bent another lord over one of the tables and swatted his backside while their tablemates cheerfully counted the strokes. A woman straddled a chair, her skirts hiked scandalously high as she plucked grapes from a tray and fed them to a blushing maiden kneeling in a low-cut gown at her feet.

I observed all this from the base of Andrin’s throne, my face hot and my body buzzing. Laughter mingled with the minstrels’ lively music. The scent of wine and roasted meat drifted in the air. Flickering torchlight cast wild shadows on the walls.

Night after night, Andrin remained aloof, his blue gaze occasionally landing on a scene of revelry before moving to another part of the hall. He ate and drank, seemingly unaffected by the crowd’s growing bawdiness.

When the evenings wound down, he touched my shoulder, wordlessly ordering me to rise and follow him back to his quarters. Once there, he gave me a few minutes of privacy to see to my needs before locking me in the cage and disappearing into his bedchamber.

The afternoon of the fifth day, I expected the pattern to continue. But shortly after Ginhad left, Andrin strode from his bedchamber and settled behind a big desk tucked in the corner.

I froze, a book in my lap and one foot propped on the cage’s bars. Wood creaked as I swung back and forth in front of the window.

Andrin ignored me, his brow furrowed as he pulled a thick ledger toward him and opened it. His hair was knotted at his nape, revealing his firm jaw and pointed ears. He was dressed ascasually as I’d ever seen him, in simple trousers and a plain linen shirt open at the throat. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing the thick sigils that covered his forearms and stopped at his wrists.

And I was staring. Shifting on the pillows, I went back to reading.

Moments later, a clinking sound brought my head back up. Across the room, Andrin dipped a quill in an inkwell. Then he bent over the ledger and wrote, his quill scratching against the parchment. After a second, he paused, his brows pulling together. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he studied the ledger.

Maybe he was writing a letter. Or a diary entry about what an asshole he was. In that case, he was going to be at his desk for a while.

I worked my foot against the bars, making the cage sway again as I turned the page in my book.

Andrin’s chair scraped the stone. I watched through my lashes as he stood and went to the bookcase behind his desk. Hands on his hips, he studied the shelves. Then he went on tiptoe and selected a thick volume. He turned slowly, his head bent as he flipped through what appeared to be another ledger.

I focused on my book. Leaves drifted past the window, some disappearing mid-flight. The cage creaked rhythmically.

The chair scraped again, followed by the scratch of Andrin’s quill. He cursed softly, and the scratching paused, only to pick up again.

I reread the same paragraph, my burgundy-colored skirts rustling as I continued working my foot against the bars. A sigh built in my chest as I flipped back a page and started the chapter anew.

“Will youstopthat?” Andrin barked.

I jerked my head up to find him scowling at me. He’d tossed his quill down and planted his elbows on the ledger.

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