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Chapter thirty-one

A strid could play the part of tamed concubine. She soaked in the thermal spring, contemplating her next move. She’d penned her letter to Sorin and was due another letter after being bent over the altar. Astrid smoothed her fingers over the muscular arm caging her ribs.

“Has my mother’s release been negotiated?”

Dimitri remained silent, but drummed his fingers on her side.

He’s thinking up a lie, Astrid thought viciously.

She longed for Sterling’s dungeons and how easily it was to extract the truth from her victims. Her jailor was immune to her magic, but not her .

Astrid turned in his arms and positioned her naked self to sit across his lap.

She laid her head on his shoulder and waited for his lie.

“No,” he said after a time.

Astrid blinked. She’d been dismissed and excluded from any political strategies or battles in Clorea, but Ledivion was better and worse in equal measure.

“Can I see her?” Astrid asked.

His callused hand glided over the small of her back. “No.”

Astrid suppressed the fury coiling inside her. There was no pause, no thoughtful reflection. He simply denied her request—dismissed her, as her father and cousins had.

She swallowed her rancor and curled into him. “Seeing her would help set my mind at ease. I would sleep better, knowing she’s not being mistreated.”

If her mother was claimed a war prize, Astrid would dice her captor into meaty chunks and keep him as a puzzle for her guests to arrange.

Dimitri’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “I am sure her release is being negotiated. You will not be imparting any messages for her to take back to your cousins.”

“I made a bargain with you to write letters to my cousins. I don’t need my mother to carry words I can write. I want to see her,” Astrid said before a thought occurred to her.

Guilt festered through her resolve.

Is a winged male hurting my mother right now?

Astrid’s stomach knotted. “Was Clorea’s Queen claimed as a right of conquest?”

“One must make a kill to claim the right of conquest. I was the only being to make kills in your palace, neva. Your mother is a prisoner, but otherwise, she is unharmed.”

Dimitri’s strong arms circled her waist. He held her in silence and Astrid was content to soak in the steaming pool.

She postponed the frigid cold until pangs of hunger drove her from her heated sanctuary.

Her captor was kind enough to let her dry herself with her makeshift dress and even helped her into the shirt and jacket he’d worn.

The heavy linen kept the bite of winter off the skin it covered, but did nothing for her exposed legs.

Dimitri flew Astrid back to the palace and landed in the green space outside his bedroom.

She rushed to the roaring fire as he casually strolled to his closet.

She peered at him as he painstakingly considered a number of sleeves before selecting his shirt.

Her gaze drifted to the muscles along his back, the way they flexed and shifted as he dressed.

Mothers save me. What am I doing?

She turned her head, glancing around, desperate to find anything else interesting as she rubbed her hands together. She exhaled and tilted her hand, examining the pale scar.

She could cut it off and heal it, along with his brand when she escaped. Thank the serpents he married her on a whim. The knowledge of their marital bond would die with him and his priest.

Movement caught her eye, and the very priest she planned to massacre stepped into the hall before turning his back to her and continuing on his way.

“Priest,” Astrid called as she stalked into the hall.

The male glanced back at her. When he saw the intent in Astrid’s eyes, he frantically gathered his gray robes and sprinted down the hall.

Astrid darted after him.

“Neva!” Dimitri roared behind her.

Astrid ignored him. She needed to catch this fucking priest before his winged ass found a window he could squeeze through.

Booted footsteps pounded behind Astrid and she ran harder. Dimitri could have her after she ripped the priest’s soul from his body.

She gained on the robed male, her nails scraping his rough wings. The dark-haired priest unleashed a shrill scream, and her next swing made contact. When the smooth edge of his wing grazed her fingertips, her magic seized him, gathering his soul.

In the next instant, a muscular arm circled her waist, and Astrid was hoisted off her feet, away from her prey.

She bared her teeth, still reaching for him as he crashed to the ground. His soul no longer obeyed her, but she’d taken his legs before Dimitri interrupted her.

“My—my lord,” the lean male stammered as he worked to redistribute his soul to his useless limbs.

“You cannot kill the priests.”

His voice was bemused, and Astrid found herself hoping he wouldn’t jam his cock in her ass for her outburst. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head and gently set her down. The priest rose on trembling legs and bowed at Dimitri.

To him. When she was his real threat.

Astrid’s temper spiked and she no longer cared what his life would cost her. She shoved Dimitri’s hand and lunged at the priest, breaking free of her captor’s hold.

She caught strands of black hair and Dimitri tugged her waist at the same moment the priest flinched out of reach.

Astrid screamed her frustration, flailing in Dimitri’s arms. He chuckled and the priest paled until she thought he might faint.

Her back met Dimitri’s unyielding body, and she calmed. Her heartbeat slowed, joining his quiet rhythm. Fighting him was pointless, but it did ease some of her hostility.

“You cannot kill the priests,” he repeated, smoothing his hand down her side as though she were the one in need of reassurance.

Astrid glared at the pallid, robed male and said, “Oh, he’ll live—”

Her words were choked when Dimitri tossed her over his shoulder. His palm warmed her bottom and Astrid remembered she wasn’t wearing panties.

“Avert your eyes, Dobromil. I’d hate to kill you for gazing upon my unclothed wife,” he rasped, lower and on the precipice of violence.

Astrid heard cloth rustling, followed by a rushed, “My lord.”

Dimitri turned and Astrid used his wings as leverage to lift herself. “I own you, priest. You may live as my servant. You will gather my laundry each morning—”

“He is not helping you dress,” Dimitri interrupted.

Astrid struck his wing and continued her tirade. “You will make my bed, and you will find me fruits.”

“Yes, Princess,” the priest said with a bow. Then, he scurried away.

Dimitri nipped Astrid’s thigh hard enough to sting and she jerked.

“You shouldn’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he said smoothly.

Astrid exhaled and lowered herself along the muscular expanse of his back. She examined his pressed slacks. The polish on his black shoes. He was always so neat and tidy. Astrid rolled her eyes, half tempted to slide her hand beneath his embroidered court jacket and untuck his shirt.

“Your priest is gone. You can put me down now,” she sighed as she cataloged the hall.

No guards. No servants. No one had approached when she made the deafening attempt on the priest’s life.

Astrid smiled and lifted herself by his wing again. She twisted her waist to lean over his opposite shoulder. He turned toward her as they entered his bedroom and arched a brow.

“If you want to wear me like a scarf I can wrap my legs around your neck,” she offered.

His features softened and he tossed her onto his bed. The fool male thought the Anima Carnifex could be led by a leash.

Perfect. Prey at ease dies quickly.

“Dress,” he ordered halfheartedly. His golden eyes raked over her body before meeting hers again. “Or don’t.” His laugh surprisingly brought a smile to her lips, and he turned toward the hall. “I will return with a meal.”

Astrid rolled onto her side with a huff. “Bring me fruits, and sweet wine,” she grumbled after him.

She stood and wandered to the door, watching him, playing the part of a smitten female. Her lashes lowered and her pale scar glared at her accusingly.

The tamed wife, she thought as she counted the halls Dimitri crossed in the torchlight glinting off his dark hair as he passed.