Page 19 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

Thinking about the mountains gets me to thinking about the mysterious Fellian. He’s been avoiding me since that day in my bath. It’s painfully obvious. I hear him moving about when I lie down to sleep, and I’ve started counting the pieces of wood he has stacked on his side of the kitchen. He’s using some, because it’s been slowly disappearing. It’s the only sign that he’s still in the tower, because he’s quite good at hiding from me.

Lying in bed, I toy with my knife and consider how I can flush him out. “Is the Fellian nearby?” I ask the knife.

A shiver.Yes.

“In his quarters?”

Yes.

“Awake?”

Yes.

Hmm. I stroke the sheath, considering. “Does he think about me?”

Yes.

A wicked smile curves my lips. “Do I annoy him?”

A hesitation, and then an affirmative shiver.

Interesting. I ponder what that hesitation means. “Does he think about me in my bath?”

No hesitation that time.Yes.

“Does he think about my breasts?”

Yes.

I smirk into the darkness, feeling a bit childish at the line that my questions are taking, but who else am I going to entertain if not myself? “Does he touch himself to the thought of me?”

Yes.

Oh. How very delicious and fascinating. “More than once?”

Yes.

Interesting. I think about the big ugly brute. He’s definitely not attractive when compared to someone like Balon, who has the smooth, elegant good looks of a courtier. I would never touch the Fellian, but knowing that he’s fascinated with me gives me an edge of power. To think that he touches himself to the thought of me regularly.

I cannot say the same. I haven’t touched myself since I entered this tower. Doing so would just make me hungry for the touch of a lover and those needs will not be fulfilled anytime soon, so it’s best to ignore them entirely. But maybe my companion is ashamed of his needs. “Is the Fellian avoiding me?”

Yes.

So he doesn’t want to find a human attractive, then. That sours the gleeful joy I feel, just a touch. He’s a man. Any man confronted with a pair of nice, juicy tits in a bath would jerk his cock to the sight. I’m not special. Ah well. “Does he hate me, then?”

Yes.

I frown at that. “Has he thought about killing me?”

Yes.

A prickle of warning brushes over my skin. “Is he going to?”

No answer. That’s a no, then.

Unless he changes his mind, of course. Unless I annoy him so much that he sees no way out except to get rid of me.

As if the knife is following my thoughts, it shivers in affirmation.

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