Page 38 of Of Wolves and Wives

As the days pass, I start to accept that I’ll never leave this room. Either the hunger will take me, or birthing this child alone will. Until the day that I wake in the early hours of the morning. At first, I’m confused as to what had pulled me from my sleep. Then I realize the sound of a key in the lock fills the room.

I stare at the door as it opens, and Ms. Thompson bustles in. My mouth nearly falls open as tears pinch at my eyes. I’d nearly thought I’d imagined what other people looked like. But seeing her disapproving glance is like a warm hug. Even the sight Beatrice, sour-faced as always, following Ms. Thompson with a tray of food brings happiness to me.

Slipping from bed, I note the way that Ms. Thompson’s eyes widen. I realize that I’ve probably changed more than she expected. I’m not sure if her look is simply because I’ve survived or because my body looks as though it’s been thriving, despite the opposite. It doesn’t really matter, though. I’m too elated at seeing her face to care about her opinion.

“Am I to be freed?” I ask.

Ms. Thompson makes a snort as she gestures for Beatrice to place the tray of food on the table. The smell of food wafts to me, and I nearly gag. Turning away from the food, I find myself following Ms. Thompson across the room. I’m suddenly desperate to hear another person speak.

“Is Helena healed?”

Despite my question, Ms. Thompson makes no response. Instead, she busies herself with preparing a bath for me. Frowning, I can’t help the flow of questions that pour from me. Are my guards alive? I’m desperate to know that they are. But she says nothing. I even ask after Lyra, but still, Ms. Thompson remains quiet.

Until finally, she says, “Into the bath, girl.”

Slowly, I undress and slip into the hot water. Beatrice grins just a little too widely as she approaches. Her touch is rough as she drags soap across me. I flinch, but that only seems to encourage her to be as rough as possible.

“Enough,” Ms. Thompson finally says. “Dress her and braid her hair.”

Beatrice all but drags me from the tub, not caring as I wince and hiss in pain. I’m suddenly less thrilled to have the two of them here. Even as she tugs at my hair, I can’t help wondering why I’ve suddenly been remembered. Unless it means that Helena has finally healed and has returned to ensure that I’m taken care of.

Once she’s braided my hair, Beatrice pulls a fresh dress over me. It’s flowy and soft, a relief to my sore body. I still hesitate as I glance down at myself. I’m not used to seeing my stomach bulging the way it does not. Running a hand over it, I glance up to find Ms. Thompson watching me.

“Come,” she says. “Breakfast is growing cold.”

I move toward the table. That’s when I realize that the table has been set for two. My heart thuds against my chest as I move to take a seat. Does this mean that one of my guards will be joining me? If so, which one? It doesn’t really matter, though I’d like to lay my eyes on each of them to ensure that they’re still alive and well. I’ll have to contain myself, I realize, and not immediately jump whichever guard is seated across from me.

As thoughts of this float through my head, the door opens. In steps the Grey Prince, shattering every hope, I had to see one of my mates.

23

Rose

Agrin pulls at his lips as he saunters into the room. Wariness washes over me as I take in his appearance. He’s well dressed in high black boots, polished to perfection, and tight black pans. Tucked into his pants is a loose black shirt, open to reveal his chest. His silver hair has been intricately braided and pulled back.

He looks every bit the prince he’s meant to be.

Gorgeous but utterly cruel.

Ms. Thompson hand clamps on my shoulder, pushing me into the chair. Even as I shake my head, frowning at the prince. He might look handsome, but he does nothing for me. I have no interest in sharing a meal, or anything, with him. I’d rather he just cut to the chase, and either end me or tell me why he’s here.

The Grey Prince takes the seat across from me. He flashes me a smile before helping himself to the food on the table. His plate is loaded with eggs, sausages, and pastries. Despite my hunger, I don’t reach for anything. My stomach is sour, thanks to the sight of him. He glances up, his smile finally fading as he takes in my empty plate.

“Eat something,” he says, waving a fork at the stack of toast between us.

“I’m not hungry.”

I expect him to argue with me. But he just shrugs and returns to his food. Disgust fills me as I watch him stuffing his face. He doesn’t seem interested in me, which is a small relief. I just can’t figure out why he’s here. My stomach begins to churn as I watch him chewing.

“Why are you here?” I finally ask, the silence growing too thick in the room.

His eyes flick to mine, telling me that he heard me. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, his chewing slows. I realize that he’s taking his time. Savoring my impatience as he eats. I clutch my skirts under the table as anger has my hands shaking. I’m sure he enjoys my hatred at this point. The minutes tick past as he eats nearly everything on the table. Finally, he sits back.

“I have news,” he tells me. “Fantastic news, actually.”

I know that I probably don’t want to hear his news. Yet, I can’t help the curiosity that fills my mind as I wait. He continues to eat, though, instead of actually telling me the news. I do my best to wait patiently, ignoring the way his smile grows crueler with each bite or the way his eyes never leave my face. My skin crawls as I wait. He swallows, his eyes dipping to my cleavage and then the rest of my new curves.

“I’ll tell you the news,” he finally says. “But, only if it pleases me.”

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