Page 61 of Fey Empire

“How are you feeling?” asks Selwyn.

I didn’t think I gave any indication I was awake. But I don’t mind that either.

“Tired,” I answer truthfully.

It is a good weariness. A hard day's work type of tired. Completing a marathon, kind of exhaustion. I am proud of it.

“Are you sore?” he asks.

Heat floods my cheeks. “Only a little.” That feels good too. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Was I too rough?” Selwyn’s words rumble in his chest, and I feel the vibrations as well as hear them.

“No,” I blurt. This conversation is growing uncomfortably intimate.

“You are far more delicate than a fey. I should have known this before our wedding night.” He pauses. “Last night, did I scare you?”

“No!” I assure him as I start to move. I need to scramble off of him so he can get up. He has better things to do than be my chair. Nevermind the fact that this conversation needs to end before I die of embarrassment.

He tightens his grip on me and holds me in place. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t you need to leave? You usually leave.” I’m babbling, I know I am but it is the best I can do right now.

Selwyn makes a soft, pained noise.

I’ve already fallen motionless, but that sad sound pins me fully in place.

“I regret being so selfish and weak,” he says slowly. He takes a deep breath. “I flee because I fine your dislike of me wounding.”

I gasp. “I don’t dislike you!”

He lets out a wry chuckle. “Do not lie, Little Lamb. It does not suit you.”

My mouth snaps shut. All protests wither on my tongue. He is adamant in his belief. He is not going to listen to me. Anything I say will simply sound like empty platitudes. Even though they are true.

I don’t dislike him. I don’t hate him. He is intimidating, that’s for sure. But I’m not daft. I know damn well I’mincredibly lucky. I could have been given to someone far worse. Someone cruel and violent. Someone without the patience to be kind in bed.

My cheeks flush again. I really do like our intimate times. Who knew I’d be so shameless?

Suddenly, the world is tipping and moving. I yelp and cling onto Selwyn. He steps out of bed with me in his arms. Then he strides forward, still carrying me.

“I can walk!” I squeak.

“But you won’t,” agrees Selwyn affably.

He carries me all the way to the bathroom and right down into the sunken bath. As the warm water covers me, I sigh in bliss.

Selwyn sits on the bench carved into the wall of the bath, still holding me close to him. Fine. If he wishes to hold me, I don’t mind being held.

We sit in contented silence for a few moments. The water laps gently against the tiles. Steam wisps around, and heat seeps into my bones.

After a while, his fingers go to my hair. They work for a moment before I realise he is undoing my braid.

“I thought that wasn’t allowed!” I nearly yell.

My heart is hammering. This is not him divorcing me, is it?

“I can undo it, as long as I redo it,” he says calmly.