Page 22 of The Time Of Kings

In the end, my turbulent thoughts were interrupted by the feel of Draven approaching, before he cupped my face and turned me away from the window. Then he let his hand stroke my cheek before his tender touch became one born from want. I received proof of this when he took hold of my chin and forced me to look up at him.

“Is it the reason you came to this place, to escape your troubles?” he asked, making me close my eyes against the temptation to lie to him in that moment.

“I think you will find I was brought here against my will, my Lord,” I told him, making him frown back down at me.

“You know my meaning well enough, for I do not speak of the castle.”

I released a sigh and told him with as much honesty I was able to grant him, “My reasons for coming here are my own.”

“You do not yet trust me,” he deduced quickly, making me scoff.

“Is that really a question? Coming from the man who even now keeps me as his prisoner behind a locked door?” I pointed out, making him sigh this time.

“And if I did not, what then? For I think we already tested what would happen should I give you such freedom to leave,” was his reply, telling me clear enough that his intentions were exactly what I feared they would be. I would now remain his prisoner.

Jesus, how did I always manage to get myself in these impossible situations?!

“Then I see we are at an impasse, for I do not trust you enough with tales of my past, just as you do not trust me with my intentions to leave,” I told him, hoping this was enough to gethim to back down for now. But there would be no such luck for me.

“And if you had the choice, what would you do?” he asked in return, and I couldn’t exactly say run for the hills as fast as my mortal legs would carry me. But I guess, in the end, I didn’t need to, as my face must have said it all.

“And right there, in your beautiful eyes, I have my answer,” he remarked, making me bite my lip.

“So that’s it? Just like that, I become your captive?” I questioned, frowning myself and, for some insane reason, it was a question that made him smirk down at me.

“I think you are forgetting, little thief, that I am still Lord of these lands…”

“Not likely to forget,”I muttered, making him raise a brow at me, as if to remind me that he had not yet finished. And clearly, he wasn’t accustomed to being interrupted. Meaning it was hard to miss the hard look he gave me before continuing.

“…And with that comes the responsibility to punish those that commit crimes.”

My mouth dropped before I argued in what even I could hear was a high-pitched tone,

“But I didn’t do any…!” I was quickly silenced when his face got closer and he told me,

“You broke into another’s home, treated it like your own, and when my men came to retrieve you so as you may be questioned, you tried to evade capture by having whoever you travelled with lead my men away.”

He became very fascinated with the way my mouth dropped before I was once more arguing my case.

“And what about the goons who dragged me here in their place!?”

“Goons?”

I groaned in exasperation. I really didn’t have time to keep up with the whole time traveling wordy, ‘pray tell me’ pretence shit.

“Vagabonds, ruffians, vagrants, louts… I don’t know, whatever you want to call the arseholes that took me!”

He choked back a laugh.

“Upon my word, you do have a colourful vocabulary.”

“Ha! Yes, well, I had an even more colourful one for them when they were manhandling me and tossing me over a damn horse!” I complained, and upon hearing this, well let’s just say that he lost his humour and his shit pretty quickly.

“Yes, well those ‘goons’ in which you call them, will be dealt with soon enough, for I didn’t give anyone leave to touch you in such a manner.”

I shook my head at this.

“And this coming from someone who is also convinced I am a criminal? Tell me, Lord Draven, do you handle all your prisoners with such care?” I asked, looking to the bed and reminding him of what we not long ago were doing there. To which he gripped me by the waist and tugged me closer. This before threading his fingers through my hair by my ear and gripping the strands in a possessive fist.

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