Page 69 of Enslaved

“Welcome, Clara Darlington.”

Ivor stands by the fire. I’d not even noticed him. With a wrench, I turn and meet the triumphant smile spread across his face. He extends a hand to me. I want to resist. But what if he gives a command, forces me to comply? With a little dip of my chin, I rest my fingertips against his. He takes hold, squeezing just hard enough to make me wince. “At last,” he says, drawing me two steps nearer. “You cannot know how long I have wished to claim this fair prize.”

With that, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it. In that moment of contact, I can almost feel the wave of glamour washing over me, leaving me dizzy, almost giddy at the sight of his beauty and the smell of his musk. But somehow, through the fluttering of my heart and the warm pulse of my blood, I know it’s only glamour. I want to shrink back, to yank my hand from his grasp. Instead, when he straightens and meets my eyes, I smile blandly. To my relief he relinquishes his hold on me. I put both hands behind my back and take the smallest step away.

“I must return to the ball now,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “Estrilde is expecting me. I’ve instructed my servant”—with a nod to the dwarf still standing in the doorway—“to direct you to your room. You will be comfortable, I’m sure. And when my duties are seen to, I will find you, and we will discuss plans for your future.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I murmur.

Across the room, the Prince clears his throat. I don’t look at him. I can’t bear to. But Ivor casts him a terrible glare and growls, “Very well, Prince. Take what you must according to our agreement. Then I would urge you to return to your little troll rock with all speed.”

“Not to worry, my lord,” the Prince replies cooly. “I have things to do, people to see. Bargains to fulfill.”

Ivor casts me one last look, pure victory glowing in his eyes, before striding from the room. The dwarf closes the door behind him, leaving me and the Prince alone in the flickering firelight.

For a long moment, we neither move nor speak. I stand with my eyes downcast. He remains leaning against the window frame, idly gazing into the night and the garden and the festivities below. Finally he pushes off, puts his hands behind his back, and saunters toward me. I watch his approach warily, watch him draw near to the fire and rest one hand on the mantel. Leaning over, he studies the flames. He might well be contemplating the merits of casting himself into them.

After a terrible eternity of silence, I open my lips. “I’m . . . sorry.”

He turns slowly, one bright eye catching mine. Then, eyebrow raised, he pulls away from the mantel and is once more in restless motion, circling me like prey. Still he does not speak.

“Why are you here?” I demand at last, anger fortifying my spirit. “Why aren’t you on your way?”

“Oh, believe me,” he growls, “I will be gone in short order. Leaving you in the lion’s den just as requested.”

“Lord Ivor is an honorable man.”

“Ha!”

“He’s always been kind to me.” I bite my lip before continuing, “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Kind? Ivor? Whateverkindnessyou think you see in him is nothing more than a ruse to get what he wants from you.”

“Oh, and you’re any different?”

He stops dead in front of me. His head is bent, his shoulders back, his eyes dark and hooded. For a moment, his jaw works, as though chewing on the words he will speak. Then, through gritted teeth: “I’ve never pretended to be kind.”

It’s my turn to laugh, a single bitter burst. “That’s true enough. You’ve hated me from the day we met.”

“Can’t say I’m feeling a great deal oflikingfor you now.”

“Excellent. Then you’ll be well rid of me. One more burden you can shrug off. Like your kingdom and your crown.”

“I’ve never cared about the kingdom or the crown.”

“No?” I turn to face him fully, chin up, fists clenched. “Nor me either, I suppose. Go on, Prince. So long as we’re being honest with one another, you may as well say what you mean.”

His features freeze. The hot energy of his spirit seems to be coated in ice. Slowly he shakes his head. “I’ve long since ceased to expect honesty from you.”

My nostrils quiver. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“No. You prefer to lie to yourself.”

I try to hold his gaze. But can’t. The anger burning in my heart is too great. If I look at him one second longer, I will explode.

So I turn away, stare into the fire. Breathe, just breathe. And don’t let the tears escape.

The Prince draws near. Too near. His hands are still behind his back, but somehow, I remember too vividly the way they’d felt against my skin. I close my eyes. But I cannot shut off my awareness of him or the way my skin trembles when he whispers, “Oh no. No, Darling, you don’t get to hurl such bitter words at me if you can’t take a little missile slinging in return. Perhaps neither of us has been fully honest. But I don’t look at my face in the mirror and see only a mask I’ve convinced myself is the truth.”

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