Page 52 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Chapter 16

We don’t go far. A few closed doors down, he stops before another doorway and passes through it. There’s a desk in the center of this room, with two leather chairs placed before it. A study? It’s simpler in appearance, but it reminds me of the grand one where Robert Sr. holds court—a place I’m only ever allowed to venture in his son’s presence.

In silence, Mischa approaches the solid oak desk and grabs something from its surface. A leather-bound book. He offers it to me, along with a silver pen. “Let’s see how well your husband trained you, Little One,” he taunts.

Slowly, I lower myself onto one of the chairs and I open the book to a blank page. Balancing it over my lap, I uncap the pen and place the nib down over the ivory parchment. Four names and four amounts—that’s what I give him, fished at random from the recesses of my mind. It’s nowhere near everything.

And he knows it. Still, he accepts the book when I hold it out to him and scans what I’ve written.

“This name,” he says, pointing to the third entry down. “What do you know about it?”

“Barklow,” I read aloud. I look down at my lap, turning my focus inward. “Tall man. Blond. Balding. He met with Robert at least once every few months.” About what? I don’t know.

Something tells me Mischa has a suspicion though. He nods to himself as if tucking that bit of knowledge away for later. “And what else?”

I stare at the floor, averting my gaze from his. “I…I can’t remember.”

“Oh?” He takes a step toward me, reaching out to run his fingers through my wet hair. Roughly. I flinch as they snag on a knotted tangle. “I wonder if I can refresh your memory?”

“You don’t have to threaten me,” I say, looking up to meet his gaze directly. “Even by giving you only four names, you know what that means…”

I’ve betrayed my husband. It’s a reality that hasn’t sunken in yet. I don’t feel the fear I should. At least not yet.

“I’m tired,” I insist, allowing my exhaustion to leak into my voice. “I haven’t eaten in…” Hell, only he knows the exact answer to that. “There’s no point in only committing half treason,” I add weakly.

“And who says you’ll last another day?” Mischa wonders. He lets the statement linger on the air between us, an unmistakable reminder of where we stand.

My life is extended only at his whim.

Not that I could ever forget.

“Starving me may be an enterprising way to conserve resources if you plan on killing me soon,” I admit. “But it won’t make me remember any faster.”

“And how do I know if you have anythingworthremembering?” he counters.

I lift my shoulder in a weak attempt at a shrug. “You wouldn’t be asking if you knew that I didn’t.”

It’s a dangerous game to mince words with him. I half-expect his anger to take hold once again. Instead, he surprises me by returning his attention to the book.

“You know more of your husband’s accounts?” he muses openly.

Aware of him watching, I fold my hands together and rest them on my lap. Lying would be useless, so I say nothing. Finally, his fingers seize a chunk of my hair and he uses it as a leash to force me to meet his gaze directly.

“So, you are hungry, Little One?” he asks in a lethal murmur.

My stomach answers for me, grumbling loudly. Amused, Mischa tilts his head to the side, allowing his tongue to shoot out along his lower lip. Fire spreads through my stomach as my heart thumps unsteadily at the motion.

“Then ask me for food.”

I don’t hesitate. “Please.”

“And you want to sleep?” He phrases the question in a way that reminds me of a hunter priming a trap.

“Y-yes.”

“And you think that what you can offer me isworththose resources, Little One? The mere promise that you might have more to give? Your trust is truly worth that much?”

Is it? I honestly don’t know. “Robert doesn’t gamble,” I tell him. “So…I don’t know much about favorable odds.”

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