Page 16 of Exiled Heir
“Nia, this is Prince Bartlett’s consort. He didn’t tell me his name because Tyson showed up and was allgrrrr, aargh.” Rhys rolled their hand at me. “Now would be the time to tell me your name.”
“Miles,” I said. The food was drawing me closer, my stomach rumbling so loud I could feel it in my throat. I meandered over and began picking at what was available on the table. “I don’t know why they got you out of bed. If somebody could point me in the direction of some sweatpants, I’m pretty sure I can find my way back to Cade myself.”
“I’m sure I can find some.” The cook didn’t meet my eyes, rushing out of the room as she said the words.
I looked down awkwardly, holding the towel tighter to make sure nothing was showing.
“Don’t worry about her,” Rhys assured me. They released Nia, who returned to her comfortable chair, lounging with her legs thrown over the arm.
The long table that the cook had put my food on looked like it could have an entire buffet set out.
As I looked around, I remembered what Leon had called the room. The resting room. With that context, the purpose became clear. Massage tables were tucked in the corners, and all of the chairs and couches were plush and soft.
After shifting, it was always difficult to come back to yourself. It was hard to go from being a creature of instinct and brutality to a human again. When I was a kid, we had always ended up in a puppy pile afterward, our human skin feeling too sensitive, too real. It looked like this room was supposed to serve the same purpose. Everything was comfortable, everything was soft. An industrial air purifier hummed in the corner so that, other than the food on the table, there wasn’t any scent that would drive someone’s wolf back to the surface.
My eyes glanced over at Nia again. I could smell that she was a werewolf, but she wasn’t presenting any dominance or challenging behavior. At the same time, she wasn’t showing submission either. Instead, she was on her phone, although her eyes kept flicking back to Rhys as they began pulling things from a large bag.
“Eat now. Because once I get started, I don’t want any interruptions.” Rhys pointed at the food on the table, making a waving motion with their hands.
My stomach rolled over, desperate with hunger.
The cook had left behind a plate of griddle cakes, heavy and crunchy with grains. I poured an entire pitcher of golden syrup on top of them, barely cutting them in half before stuffing them in my mouth. Bacon shared a plate with yellow, fluffy eggs flavored with salt and pepper.
The last time I had eaten was drive-through fast food the day before. I struggled to even remember what it was. A cheeseburger that tasted like cardboard, maybe?
There was a plate of fruit and hash browns. I didn’t even bother with the ketchup in a small cup to the side, grabbing forkfuls of the hash browns and shoveling them directly into my mouth. They crunched under my teeth, greasy and perfect.
“Hungry, isn’t he? Is our little prince not feeding you right?” Rhys’s question was saucy, but I saw them glance at Nia before returning their gaze to me, a warm smile pulling up the corners of their lips.
“It’s been a long day,” I said around a bite of watermelon. The juice was almost as sweet as the syrup on the pancakes. It was a light, refreshing flavor that cleansed my palate, the liquid soothing my throat.
Looking around, I found a pitcher of orange juice and poured myself a glass, chugging the tart liquid in long swallows. When I finished, I wiped my mouth on the back of my wrist and poured myself another glass. That one I drank more slowly, the texture of pulp sliding over my tongue.
After I finished the glass, I set it down next to the empty platters. Four weeks on the run hadn’t left me a lot of time for full meals. Food was what I could get when I could get it.
“Are you done? Or should I call for another plate? The kitchen usually has something good on the stove.” Rhys had taken a seat on one of the couches, while I had been eating like I was trying to win the breakfast-eating competition at the state fair.
“No. I’m good.” I took a seat on the couch across from Rhys, the soft pillows putting just enough pressure on my skin. “I’m still not sure what you’re here for.”
“Well,” Rhys drawled the word. “Usually, no one calls me to work on consorts, unless it’s for a formal event or…”
They glanced at Nia, who grunted, shaking her head once.
“Anyway. As soon as I sawyou, I knew why they called me. You aren’t bonded to Prince Bartlett yet, so you don’t share any of the benefits of being his consort.” Rhys made a clicking sound against their teeth. “I’m pretty sure Leon called me so I can pretty you up. After all, we can’t have you walking around, representing the prince, looking like that.”
I looked down at myself, unsure of what they were seeing.
“Nia!” Rhys clapped their hands. “Mirror!”
Huffing a sigh, Nia stood, opening a tall cabinet door and pulling out a full-size mirror. She set it up perpendicular to the couches.
Rhys got up, gesturing for me to stand as well. “You can just give her your towel. Might as well see what we’re working with.”
Easily, I took off my towel, handing it to Nia. Wolves got used to nakedness. There was nothing quite like taking off your clothes before a shift or coming out of a shift, returning to your naked body.
“Yum,yum. One thing wecansay about Prince Bartlett is that he hasdelectabletaste. But I see theworkthat has to be done.” Rhys came forward, their hand extended. Before they touched my chest, they glanced up at my eyes. “I’ll need to touch you for this to work.”
Shrugging, I nodded my consent. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually asked me for permission, since usually touch was brutal, fast, and during a fight.