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Wins & Losses

SALLIE ROSE

As our long-ago ancestors used to say: time for a status update!

Wins for the day: I got further on the garden than expected, thanks to help from the Mountain Goats.

Losses: I totally didn’t make it back to my bed of fleeces before suns’ set.

And, apparently, I confessed all the conflicting feelings running around in my chest last night.

To the guy who’s scheduled to murder me.

Tomorrow.

Could my mind be any more of a mess?

Did I really tell him I didn’t want to die a virgin? Moooiiiisssst !

But this just in—a brand-new win!

By the time the Killer King comes through the totally villain-coded, jeweled black door of his chamber, wearing nothing but a loin cloth, I’ve managed not only to take care of my bladder, but also to come up with the perfect excuse for why I said what I said.

Okay, it’s a pretty flimsy excuse.

No doubt he’ll see right through it.

But whatever.

“I’m a liar! A big ol’ stinky liar!” I blurt out as soon as he enters the room. “I lie about who I am, what I want, how I feel. I even lie in my sleep!”

Behind him, the chamber doors do that eerie swing-closed-by-themselves thing as I confess, “I lie so much, sometimes I say things I don’t mean without really thinking about it.

Like that I love the palace cook’s squashbread—which I don’t.

Or that luntunias are my favorite flower, which they’re not.

So, what I told you last night wasn’t true. ”

With a nod, I let him know, “I’m totally okay with dying a virgin. And I’m having no trouble at all not wanting to kiss you.”

Speech given, I let out a big breath and wait for his response.

His (perhaps literally) stony expression doesn’t change.

And that’s when I notice his eyes are glowing a lot less brightly than they were when we were talking over First Meal—what I’ve learned the Stone Fae call dinner.

“You have a choice,” he says, as if he didn’t hear my perfectly plausible excuse. “You may have your nightly bath now… or after.”

“After what?” I glance from the metal tub to him.

“I will have your choice,” he replies. Again, like he can’t hear a word I’m saying.

I go with the tub.

Apparently, I’m not as much of an avoider as I think.

“I just want to get this over with,” I grumble as I strip off the dress Rinthiah gave me.

His cool expression remains, eyes still dimmed.

And though I couldn’t care less what he thinks of my body, I do notice the absence of the chin dip and the zero-in-on-my-breasts moment this time.

Whatever. I don’t need or want that kind of attention from him anyway.

“You will face me.” He walks over to his red nightmare of a throne and takes a seat. “Ensure you can see me when you position yourself in the bath.”

Okay. So he wants to watch me climb into the ice-cold water and freeze my bottom—and probably at least two toes—off, while he lounges on his evil throne.

Talk about sadistic.

But I’ve got this.

I scurry over to the tub and take a deep breath, reminding myself of the importance of keeping my fingers above the water. My green thumb won’t be of any use to me tomorrow if it falls off because I froze in this tub for double the time.

But to my great shock , when I swing my leg over the tub’s lip, I find it warm.

Hot, even. A welcome balm for my tired muscles and hands.

With a luxurious sigh, I sit and sink down into the water as far as I can without drowning.

And though I position myself facing his throne, I can’t see the rigid king sitting upon it after I close my eyes and let myself relax for the first time since I woke up.

I might’ve fallen asleep there, lulled by the muscle-melting heat, if not for the unexpected movements—and the feel of cloth and soap moving over my skin.

I open my eyes to find shadow hands cleaning me in efficient, clinical strokes.

“Your magic is so much more everyday useful than mine,” I murmur, letting out a little chuckle.

He doesn’t chuckle. Doesn’t respond. Just watches with that same strangely dimmed stare as the shadows wash me.

“So…” I guess now is as good a time as any to ask. “I’m assuming this means my punishment comes after the bath?”

“You assume right.”

Just those three words. And nothing more.

There weren’t a whole lot of conversational topics to move to from there. So I sit back and let the shadows do their thing.

With my eyes open this time, though.

The Stone Fae King is giving me a new version of the creeps—the strongest yet. And that’s saying a lot considering he explained how he was going to slit my throat with his special ruthless-moon-god blade the first time we met.

This bath is so much better than last night’s, yet somehow colder than when I lodged myself against his hardened length.

Is he aroused now?

I hate that the thought even enters my head.

And that it’s quickly followed by another question I shouldn’t be asking myself: Does he feel anything for me at all?

“It is time to exit the water,” he announces.

One moment the shadow hands are washing me in the bath, and the next they’re hovering just above the edge with a waiting taarhorn towel.

“I have so many questions about your shadow magic.” I rise, almost too curious to feel self-conscious about standing naked in front of a fully clothed male. Again.

Still, as the shadow hands dry me with cold efficiency, I can’t help but ask, “Are you controlling the shadows with your mind? Or are they, like... an extension of you?”

“They are under my control,” he replies from his throne. “The same as your breadbasket lesser kingdom. My subjects. And you .”

“So that’s what this is all about,” I mutter. “Look, the castle servants and Mountain Goats didn’t mean any harm. They’d just never seen flowers before, and they were excited to help out. You shouldn’t hold that against them.”

“I do not hold anything against them,” he assures me.

I let out a relieved breath. “Good, because?—”

“As you said, everything that came to pass this eve is your fault.”

Moist. Why could I never remember the rule about waiting until the other person was done talking to let myself feel relief?

The Stone Fae King continues, “And as I promised…”

Suddenly, his shadows stop drying and vine around my wrists. They bind them together tighter than cuffs—and lift.

High. Too high. So high that my toes lose contact with the bath floor. I float just below the ceiling, limbs stretched, heart pounding.

Before I can cry out, the shadows pull me forward like something ferried across an invisible clothesline.

“What in the—” I start to say…

Only to yelp, sharply, when I jerk to a sudden stop.

I’m left hanging, suspended just above the floor, face-to-face with the Stone Fae King seated upon his throne.

“As I promised,” he says, picking up where he left off. “This eve, you will be punished. Without mercy.”