Page 28 of Obsessively Yours (Fae Kings of Eden #2)

28

Violet sat at a lavish table in a private room of the inn where she, Roman, Ares, and Griff were staying for the night. She thanked the server as he placed a plate in front of her. Amos and Clover had dined in their room, and War had disappeared into the jungle to hunt for his own dinner.

“I’m starving,” she said to herself and picked up the roast sandwich to dip in the gravy.

Roman stiffened. “You never said you were hungry.”

Violet lifted a teasing brow. “I was preoccupied.”

“I’m trying to eat here,” Griff complained across the table. “I don’t want to hear about you two fucking in the carriage. It’s bad enough we had to hear it in real time.”

Violet gasped, and Roman’s hand shot across the table, wrapping around Griff’s neck. “You will forget every sound she made.”

Roman released Griff, and the man rubbed his throat with a few coughs. “I’m trying. Maybe next time wait until you have a room to yourselves, yeah?”

Violet wanted to crawl under the table. “Can we talk about something else?”

Ares nodded and swallowed a bite of chicken. “If we pick up the pace, we can reach Saltu in three more days.”

“Three days?” Violet asked. “It’s a week’s ride from the border to Saltu, and we’ve only been traveling a day.”

“That’s with a normal pace and frequent stops to rest,” Ares pointed out. “We can travel dawn to dusk with fewer stops and make it in half the time.” Chicken fanned out from the bone when he tore it off with his teeth. “We can knock another day off the ride if you ride a horse instead of the carriage. Griff can stay with the carriage and lead it home.”

The thought of being stuck in a carriage for fourteen hours a day with few stops sounded miserable, but so did traveling for another six days. Riding a horse all day sounded worse, and she wouldn’t want to leave Griff alone with the carriage. The horses were trained to pull without a driver, so it wouldn’t be too much work, but it’d be lonely. Griff was too social.

Violet bit into her sandwich as she weighed the pros and cons of each, but immediately gagged with the wretched taste of the devil’s spit hit her tongue. She spit out the sandwich, shoved back from the table, and leaned over to dry heave.

“Violet?” Roman’s alarmed voice broke into her internal panic, reminding her he did not know her hatred for the putrid condiment that had assaulted her senses.

She waved him off. “I’m fine.” She gagged again.

Someone—Griff—shoved a drink in her hand and patted her back. “There must have been mayonnaise on the sandwich,” he explained to Roman.

“What does that mean?” Roman asked as he crouched next to her.

“She hates it.” Griff’s voice wavered with barely suppressed laughter. “Our queen can’t even handle smelling it.”

Violet gulped down the water and glared at Griff. “It’s fucking disgusting. It should be outlawed.”

“You don’t like mayonnaise?” Roman asked. “I didn’t know.” The last words were spoken with a tinge of sadness.

A horrid thought struck Violet. Is my boyfriend a mayonnaise lover? They’d have to break up. She reached over and grabbed Roman’s ale, taking a long swig to burn the terrible taste from her tongue. “It’s not something that comes up in conversation.”

“One time she bit into a chicken sandwich and puked all over the table,” Griff continued. “My mother was mortified.”

Roman picked up her plate and quietly entered the kitchen.

Griff snorted. “He’s going to kill the cook.”

“What?” Violet snapped her head toward the kitchen door. “Why?”

Griff lifted a brow. “For making you act like you swallowed a slug.”

“I didn’t ask for no mayonnaise. They couldn’t have known.”

Roman returned with a new sandwich and set it on the table. “I asked the cook to make you another one.”

The cook stuck his head out of the door. “My apologizes. We should have reviewed the ingredients when you ordered.”

She waved him off. “No harm done.” The man disappeared back into the kitchen, and Violet squeezed Roman’s hand in thanks. The prince might be terrifying in his own right, but he also possessed a thoughtful sweetness he never showed to anyone else. “Thank you for the new sandwich.” A whiff of mayonnaise hit her, and she fought another gag. “I can still smell it.”

Roman motioned to his mouth. “That’s because you have some on the corner of your mouth.”

Violet’s stomach turned.

“You’ve done it now,” Griff mumbled right before Violet puked all over Roman’s boots.

* * *

Later that night, after Roman burned his clothes and shoes and scrubbed his body raw, Violet crawled into bed and patted the mattress beside her.

Roman folded his massive body under the blankets and rolled to his side to face Violet.

She ran her nails through his still wet hair. “I’m sorry about your boots.”

“I’ve never seen anyone have such a visceral reaction to food before,” Roman teased, his hand gliding down her back, leaving the slightest tingle in its wake.

Violet shrugged. “I’ve hated mayonnaise since I was a child. I can’t help that it makes me sick to my stomach.” She sighed and changed the subject. “Do we have to get up early?”

He tucked her head against his chest and kissed the top of her hair. “We do. You should get some sleep.”

Running her hand down his side, she tried to slip it under the band of his briefs. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

Roman moved quickly, jumping out of bed like his ass was on fire. “You have no idea how hard the ride home to Saltu will be. As much as it pains me to say this,” he adjusted the bulge in his sleep pants, “you need as much rest as possible while we’re on the road.”

She sat up. “Why did you get up? And I can sleep in the carriage.”

Roman grunted and adjusted himself again. “Because if you keep touching me, I’ll give in. I won’t risk your well-being.”

Violet ran a hand down her chest, a pretend pout playing on her lips. “My well-being is declining as we speak.” Her hand continued its descent to grab the hem of her nightgown.

He crossed the room in record speed and caught her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare, princess.”

Got him . “Or what, prince?”

Pulling her to her feet, he directed her to the small fainting couch in the corner. “Sit here, you little minx.”

Within seconds, he’d removed one of his shirts from his trunk and began ripping it into long strips.

“I know you like to sleep on your side with your hands tucked under your pillow,” he said conversationally as he continued to tear the shirt, “but tonight you’ll have your arms around me. Understood?”

The fainting couch might come in handy if he kept speaking to her that way. “How do you know how I like to sleep? I barely slept last night.” Instead, she’d dozed off a few times in the carriage.

“That’s not important,” he replied, shrugging her off.

She stood from the couch and closed the distance between them. “It is important.” The gifts. She’d forgotten how he’d snuck into her house from time to time to leave gifts over the years. “You remember from the times you snuck in at night to leave me gifts,” she guessed softly and smiled.

Something flashed across his face—guilt maybe—and he hesitated too long before saying, “Yes.”

Alarm bells rang in her head. He was hiding something. “Roman, how many times did you break into my house at night?”

“Break in?” He chuckled. “Two seconds ago you said I snuck in. Now it’s breaking and entering?”

“How many,” she repeated slowly.

The intensity in his gaze pinned her in place. “Seven times.”

Seven? More than seven gifts were left over the years. She stepped back. “Stop lying.”

He narrowed his eyes at her retreat. “A week.”

It took her a moment to put together his meaning, and when she did, she gasped. “You watched me sleep every night?” she shrieked. “For how long?” Her heart pounded. What had he seen? Racing through her memories, she tried to remember if she’d done anything embarrassing on nights she couldn’t sleep.

Roman prowled toward her. “For years.”

Her mouth opened and closed, and her back hit the door behind her. “What is wrong with you? Normal people don’t break into other’s homes and watch them sleep!”

He cocked his head to the side and considered her reaction. “It’s not breaking in if you left your window unlocked. Which is dangerous, by the way. You’re lucky I was there.”

“It is most definitely breaking in,” she argued. He’d lost his mind from one too many hits to the head during training. That had to be it.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Violet balked at his nonplussed tone. “Yes, it is!” She waved her hands around wildly. “It’s illegal!”

The bastard smirked. “I am the law, princess. If I want to follow you around every day for the rest of your life and watch you collect shells or sew Slayton new chest binders, I will, and not a person in this world could stop me.”

“You’re not the law yet,” she said, poking him. “Definitely not when you were breaking into my house for… for years!”

Violet paused, his words replaying in her head. “…watch you sew Slayton new chest binders…”

“How do you know I sew Slayton’s binders?” Violet doubted it had come up in casual conversation between the two men. “Have you been stalking me? That’s an invasion of privacy, Roman. Have you no morals?”

Roman’s grin turned feral, and he leaned down to graze his lips across her cheek. “You’re not only my queen, Violet. You’re my obsession. You have always been mine, and I have always been yours. Not even the gods succeeded at keeping you from me, what makes you think something as trivial as morals would?”

“You’re insane,” she whispered, ashamed at the thrill and arousal that pounded through her blood at his confession. Maybe she was insane too.

He straightened with a loving, serene look on his face and caressed her cheek. “Get in bed.”

She obediently crossed the room and climbed into bed, wondering what was wrong with her. Who got off on knowing someone had creepily stalked them for years? He’d watched her sleep every night, for fuck’s sake.

Lost in thought, she hadn’t registered Roman wrapping the strips of shirt he’d torn around her wrists until it was too late. She grunted in protest and tried to tug them from his hold, but he shook his head and tsked. “Be a good girl and hold still.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, still trying to free her wrists. Glaring at the offending fabric, she cursed the intricate knots her loving prince had secured.

Seemingly satisfied with his work, Roman brought her bound hands to his mouth and kissed them gently. “You’re the one who decided to play with fire, princess.” She tried to whack him in the mouth, but he laughed and dodged her weak attempt.

Laying down beside her, he looped her arms over his neck and situated them into a comfortable position. His earlier words made sense. He didn’t mean they’d cuddle all night, he meant he’d hold her hostage.

“We both need sleep, and we won’t get it if you keep trying to entice me by playing with your pussy.”

“You can’t tie me up,” she huffed and yanked on the ties again.

Roman settled against the pillow and winked. “Yes, I can.”