Page 310 of Kingdoms of Night

His nostrils flare, unimpressed.

I sit up slowly, careful not to startle a creature with teeth as long as my fingers. The dog at my back takes it as a cue to straighten up and stretch languorously. The third white hound remains at my feet.

My captor wasn't kidding when he said I was one of his pets now.

The lighting in the vast room is dim, but as my eyes adjust I spot the chimney—cold—the large canopy bed carved from white stone—empty—and several bookshelves line the wall.

My bladder's making itself known again, so I rise on unsteady feet and start to explore in the dark.

I've never seen a private room as large as this one, not even Margaux's, and certainly not mine. My father's might rival it. I wouldn't know; I've never seen the king's quarters. Spotting a door, I try the handle and find a wardrobe filled with rich fabric in dark shades, blacks and greens and purples. Not a spot of light to be seen. I close the door and keep going. The next opens to a corridor and I notice, to my surprise, that it is daylight outside of this dark room. Carved arches give me a view of thick green woods in the distance. We seem to be high on a mountain of sorts, and the cool air freezes my nose in mere instants.

I shut the door to keep the warmth in, all the while marveling at the fact that it is unlocked. Isn't my captor afraid I'll make a run for it?

Not in this cold, you won't.

And not while completely clueless about where I am.

I finally find a bathroom, and wonder of wonders, it is equipped with plumbing. I relieve myself and wash, but I don't dare fill the tub, the thought of shedding my clothing terrifying. They're the only shell I have. I do wash the fabric under my arms, though, and regret it when I walk back into the room. I'm incredibly cold now.

I return to my spot on the fur rug and gingerly lie down, wishing I had the courage to grab the cover on the bed. Margaux would. Hell, she'd crawl underneath and sleep in comfort, no matter the consequences. I'm too much of a coward to consider it.

One of the dogs—the one who stared at me so intently, I think—trots to me and lays its head on my flank. I'm so glad for the warmth I shift and run my hand through his rough fur, just as the door flies open, letting in a gust of icy wind and colder laughter.

The hound is quick to abandon my side to rush to the newcomer's feet. I want to stay curled up with my eyes firmly shut. Instead, I look.

I'm struck anew by the stranger's appearance. If it hadn't been for our last encounter, I might have believed him to be a dream, nothing more than a figment of my imagination. The men I know look nothing like him. He’s the prince of a fairy tale, an impossible combination of manliness and delicate beauty.

A man and a woman, both equally tall and lithe, carry each of his arms, dragging him inside. He's merry and visibly drunk, and I know to be wary. When my father drank that much…I've come to expect a sharp tongue and a worse backhand, if I speak out of turn. I don't know what might trigger this man's wrath.

It isn't until my captor's friends have lowered him to his bed that one of his companions—the woman—notices me. Her pale eyes widen before a groan crosses her pretty purple lips.

Her looks are just as foreign to me as the man's; her silky hair shines bright violet and while her eyes are all white, her pupils slit like a snake's.

"Oh, Dryan. Tell me you didn't." As she speaks, I see her forked tongue flick in her mouth.

Dryan. I have a name to put to the ethereal face. "Would if I could," my captor says, smirking as he looks at me. "But I did."

"The human tithe belongs to the high king," the other man scolds.

"What will the old man do, deny me?" Dryan laughs blithely. "If the high king wants to keep the crown upon his head, he needs my continued generosity. I'll take what I please."

I'm awhat, now. A property to be claimed by one person or another. I'd wager even the hounds are treated with more respect.

The man sighs but the woman chuckles, easily agreeing. "Do attempt toask. The king has to at least pretend he's in charge."

Dryan snorts, eyes still on me. I should look away. Fear or curiosity, take your pick, but I can't bring myself to.

"Look at how pitiful she is, the princess on my floor. I can practically taste her pain." He licks his lip. "Riveting."

"Well, humans are woefully fragile," the woman says, condescendingly. "They need more warmth and food than us, you know. Try not to break her before you get bored, hm?"

"Are you cold, pet?" Dryan smiles.

I'm stunned into silence and stillness, both by the fact that he's addressing me directly, and by that devastating smile. I think cats might look at their prey just like that before the fatal pounce.

"We can't have that, can we?" Though he stumbled drunkenly moments ago, he rises with a blinding grace and crosses the distance between us faster than I would have thought possible, the hounds at his feet.

He bends his great frame to kneel at my level, face mere inches from mine.

---