Page 323 of Kingdoms of Night

Sheepishly, I return in the bed and climb under the covers, if only so that I'm not walking around in nothing at all—though to my shame, I have grown accustomed to it a little already. I'm uncertain I'm allowed back on the bed, but no one stops me.

I notice that the hounds are absent, along with their master. The room is empty of distractions; there aren't any book or games, and no musical instruments either. "What am I supposed to do all day?" I ask.

Iara chuckles. "Eat, clearly."

No one sees fit to give me a straight answer. I don't think they care: my sole purpose here is breeding Dryan's offspring.

I'll go completely mad if I'm confined to this place without anything to occupy myself with, other than being mounted like a broodmare when Dryan sees fit to do so.

The two short folk are back within instants. One carries a pot of tea and a dainty little crystal cup, pink tinted and trimmed with black. I barely even see it, my focus on the second tray. Freshly baked rolls, though they look odd: one's ink black with golden seeds, another sea blue. Something that looks and smells like purple bacon assault my nostrils. I could pass out. I might cry.

I leap out of the bed and launch myself at the meal, devouring everything with gusto. It's the best food I've ever eaten. The rolls are rich and buttery, and the bacon might be purple but it tastes like the promised land of the sun god.

"Thank…" I catch myself, settling on, "It's delicious." I smile at the servants, and they stare at me, somewhat horrified.

The dark-skinned one looks between Iara and me.

"No need to address them," Iara explains. "They're indentured trolls, made to serve the king because their kind attempted to rise against the crown."

I've already had enough of fae politics to last me a lifetime. "Yeah, well, I'm also a servant here, so I'll speak to who I please."

Who is this person who talks back to terrifying creatures? I don't recognize myself.

And I find I rather like it.

"You're not a servant. You're the king's lover."

That's an inaccurate assessment. I'm his mistress, at best. Love has nothing to do with our situation.

"This is kitchen staff fare," Castov tells me disdainfully. "They'll see that appropriate food is ready for you daily."

I shrug. "Don't change the menu on my account. As I said, it was really good." I move to serve myself my tea, but the green-skinned troll rushes to take the pot from me and pour.

I watch him, surprised to be so well treated.

I don't understand my place in this new ecosystem. I am naked and called a pet, and screwed before the eyes of servants. I'm also waited upon and my needs are seen to the moment I express them.

Am I a slave, or a member of this court? Perhaps a little bit of both.

I need to find out.

"May I have a quill, ink, and paper? I'd like to write a letter."

I look at the servants, though I am really asking Iara and Castov—or at least, testing my boundaries.

They say nothing, and the green-skinned troll nods. "Right away, my lady."

"And fabric, with thread and needles?" I push further yet. "I'd like to sew, to have something to do."

"Nothing sharp," Castov objects right away.

So, this is my first limit. They're to see I don't harm myself, but no one's stopping me from entertainment otherwise.

"Just a little needle," I plead. "I couldn't do much damage with that if I tried."

I could, but I am hoping Castov knows nothing of needlework.

"Fine." His jaw is tight. "But I'm watching you. You won't like to see what happens if you make me incur Dryan's wrath."

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