Page 7 of Bound in Violet Ink

Moonlight bathes over me as I stare at her letter in the solitude of my cell. Victoria’s scent is noticeable even from a distance.

Why does it smell so much like her? As if… Blood sears my veins, all the way to my cock—when the parchment grazes the skin of my nose, even my lips, it’s as if I can feel my pupils dilating.

Why did she do this?

It smells as if she just handed it to me rather than passed it through a chain of exchanging hands. I haven’t smelled a single female’s heat since being in here.

Everything ignites within my veins. Desire, lust, anger, infatuation, greed, possession, and fear . Did others smell this before reaching me? Is it stronger for me since she’s mine ? Do they keep her properly separated from any and all males? Tend to her to ease the lack of pair bonding?

“Little flower…”

I read the words very carefully, the concept of another touching her in such a state making me grind my jaw so tightly my teeth hurt.

Kane,

I am unsure how to respond about hearing this line of communication is purely selfish of you. Which only pushes me to consider the suspiciousness behind our exchange.

Nevertheless, it’s more interesting than anything else I have at this castle. And the men in my life? Currently, there are none. Although, I suppose that answer shall mean very little, soon. I have a feeling my hand will be forced into marriage, even if they have to put me under a drugged spell.

And what do I do in the castle? I have a very tight schedule. I train with combat four mornings in a row and take three mornings off, as all members of our rank are required to do. I eat. And then I paint. A proper lady should paint, should she not?

I don’t care much for the proper things. As indicated by wanting to write to you.

I wish to spend time in the woods. To be with animals.

I am very happy among the wildlife. And not while wearing a pretty dress and singing to birds.

I don’t mind the dirt. I enjoy the moon and the crystals that shine in its light, but I don’t think I am supposed to admit that.

The moon is for the Unseelie and the duskborn, whereas the sun is for the Seelie.

So this is akin to the moon writing the sun, isn’t it?

I’d like a pet, I think. Something with no motive other than food and friendship. Something that can’t break my heart.

What do you do in the Carrows, other than wait for me to write a letter?

Victoria

I breathe heavier. My little flower wrote to me with such conversation that so many possibilities seem to open all at once, and even threw a slight jab at me.

With the ghost of a very faint smile on my lips, I stare out the window into the darkness of night, reviewing any and all undertones, smirking at the last question as I replay it.

She has a sassy side.

It truly does seem as if Silas plans to marry her off, one way or another. Rage fills me in ways where, for the first time, I feel the confines of this prison.

I don’t burn this letter. If anything, I keep that scent under my pillow and risk it.

I need it.

Two days pass before I write Victoria another letter, a series of events occurring before then that put everything into motion.

There are many in here who are waiting to be bought like cattle.

What would they do for me if I freed them?

And just how many would be willing to cut off Silas’s head while I string up his corpse over his castle’s doors to let them know what happens when anyone even hints at coming near my mate?

It’s time to see how they will act.

I can’t help but wonder how much Victoria thinks of me in the absence of a letter, knowing that very soon she will be greeted by me , not the lady’s maid who hands this to her.

When I finish writing her that night and hand it off, Osman comes to me, his usual poise slightly broken as he pants, “There’s a riot.”