Page 5 of Bound in Violet Ink
Facing ahead to watch Osman, I ignore the woman. Thechangewill ravage the lands, and this prisoner; feeling pity for all is a waste of focus. Just because I don’t target the innocent doesn’t mean I’m their monolith, either.
“Then train me, or something.” She offers in my peripheral, leaning closer, the table slightly moving. “You have women among your group as soldiers. I can learn.”
Continued silence from me.
If she truly wants to offer herself, she’ll know Freya recruits the females.
Small, desperate sounds escape the woman as if one of them will morph into words that might sway me. She clearly must knowofme, because she sighs and leaves with a scoot of her chair, her shadow moving as she passes a torch. If I avert my attention and ignore who is speaking to me, it means leave me the fuck alone.
That womanmaybe useful, but what she clearly hasn’t grasped is that I do not trustofferingsof loyalty. That is earned by bleeding for it, and even then, I know the hearts of mortals are fickle. Her efforts also unfortunately come at a poor time for her, as I cannot pull my attention away from listening for the wheels of the book cart. They’re advancing on the appropriate aisle.
I watch as Osman nears me, his once sun-kissed skin is exceptionally pale—a sign we’ve been here for far too long. He avoids eye contact.
The surge of curiosity that floods me pisses me off.
This is idiotic.
Indulging in any of this is disastrous.
Osman knows to stay away except for when he brings a letter fromher. A slave to whatever hypnotizes me, to the promise of what itcouldbe… to thinking about how they have the audacity to leave her high and away from the world.
My blood heats at the idea of them giving her toanyman, which they will be forced to do if they want to strengthen their already weak unions.
It’sthatthought that brings me to my feet, staring at each book that Osman carries, wondering whereherletter is. The letter that belongs to me; thescentof it that is mine to claim. Osman slides another book onto the shelf, but upside down. A hundred thoughts flow through as I stare at the binding, possessed with the need to possessher. To claim her before the others do, to liberate her and offer whatever she needs to truly taste freedom, like she is a special plant I’m careful to cultivate.
As there will be no freedom fromme.
It simply will not work that way, and I know it. Any action on my end to take her from that castle will push me to stalk her shadows.
Osman’s short hair has reached the half-inch length it usually does before he shaves it off; a ritual I perform every few days for myself. His voice is bleak and without emotion as he mutters, “I’ll return at dawn.”
Without another interaction, the man wheels his books to another shelf.
Turning my head to stare at the upside-down, worn spine withherletter inside, my mind is pulled in so many directions. We have a purpose here, a goal to liberate half of those within,enlistingthem. And here I am, ignoring duty. Obsessing.
No, she is another kind of duty. But she cannot free herself of me if I shorten any distance toward her. Is that even fair?
I run my finger along the spine, my skin calloused against the smooth leather. Grit lines around and underneath my nailbed, the black ink of tattoos on my forearm blending in with the grime.
Removing the book, I grip it tightly. To send a letter back, I place one in this very book, and Osman will reclaim it.
With my gaze ahead and surveying, I slowly hold the pages to my nose, first greeted by the scent of parchment and leather. Her scent is incredibly trace, butthere.
I’m suddenly infuriated that she is indulging.
What is she doing? Is she always this reckless? I’m not a kind, or gentle, man. I will ravage her, my instincts impossible to tame. Her softness is a divine reprieve, an escape I have yearned for but no woman has assuaged. A prize I’ve earned for the sacrifices I’ve made for my people.
Is the princess who wastes away in a tower aware of who she is? Of what fate will demand from us?
I breathe slowly with the intent to home in onher.My blood warms with a primal obligation. Her scent is like blood in the air, and I’m a starving beast.
I won’t be able to back away now.
Within the confinesof my cell, I lay the book on the only table—almost a little too rushed—and flip through the pages until they stop…
I stare at the letter with a violet wax seal of a V, my chest rising and falling to a rapid rhythm, aware of the complexitiesthat are slowly untying. My instincts purr to release the discipline that’s honed me, desiring to indulge in what’smine.
My dirtied hand smears dark stains on the cream parchment of her envelope, making me wonder if all she’s ever known has been a clean, uncomplicated world. Victoria’s tower has held her back from the violence that molded me. My court would permanently alter her life and all she knows. Corrupt her ignorance. The souls that follow me have no decorum.
