Tharen licked his lips and brought her hand to his mouth. She eyed him with anticipatory fear, still attempting to tug her arm away.
"Enough!" the King bellowed.
Tharen released her arm with a smirk as he held up his palms before him. "Can you blame me, Vale?" he practically sang the taunt.
Luella huffed and sat back in her chair, wiping her cream-topped finger on a linen napkin before her, then smoothing her hands overthe invisible wrinkles on her gown. She was ruffled and trembling, but did not want him to know.
"This is why all of us cannot be in the same room for long," Bastian sighed. With his hand still on her waist, he tugged her into his side, and she jolted—the small zap that rang out between them was like little sparks.
Lightning crackled outside.
She tried to distract herself as she fiddled with her gown. All while the inside of her was roiling with fear and the desire to get out of her chair and crawl into the mage’s lap, lean into Bastian’s side, and hook her leg over his thigh, wrap her arms around his neck, and hug him tightly.
Bergamot clouded her judgment, and she pressed her palms to his firm, cool chest, moving herself away from his side and back into the small bit of safety in her chair.
She straightened out her sleeves, smoothing her palms over the arms, which were fluttery and wide, billowing out as they fell to her wrists. The very end of the thick material of the blue gown had dipped into the jam on top of the toast Bastian had given her, marring the pristine blue with a dot of dark red. Like blood. She rubbed it away with the pad of her thumb, only making the stain look worse, turning it into a streaky, scarlet smudge.
Luella looked up then, catching Graves’s eyes where he had not stopped staring at her. It was just the five of them in the dining room, and he did not wear his cowl or his hood. He swirled a glass of dark juice in his hand, bringing it up to his lips as he drank deeply, still without breaking eye contact. She shuddered and looked away.
It was taking everything in her not to melt into all of them. The call between them was a roaring song in her soul, but one thread was louder than the others—one that stretched below the castle into the darkness of the dungeons where she knew a certain soft-hearted demon lay.
Through the windows at the sides of the walls, she watched as a crackle of lightning zagged down in the distance, echoed by the thunderous roar of the heavens and rain falling in thick sheets against the lands of Serpentis. The room was illuminated by the bright white of the flash of electricity, so differentfrom the warm glow of the amber flames flickering along the sconces fixed to the walls and the chambersticks decorating the center of the table.
All four of the males shared a charged and heated look, while Luella was left confused and angered.
"Here, pet," Bastian softly said from her side. She looked at him, broken from her stupor. She had been like that lately. Easily distracted and easily riled. He took the ruined piece of toast from before her, exchanging it with his own platter, which held an untouched pastry and a few figs. When she made no move to lift her utensil, he lifted it for her, pressing the silver handle of a knife into her palm and wrapping her fingers around it. He only let go when he was sure she would not drop it. "Eat. You must be hungry," he muttered. "You did not eat dinner last night."
"I didn’t?" she asked. Where had she been last night? Everything was blurring together in a haze of sad desperation and despondent anger.
Bastian swallowed thickly. "Yes. You retired early, remember?"
At his reminder, she did recall the evening prior; though, it took a few moments, a line etched between her brow as she thought deeply.
She nodded dully.
Their chatter ceased as they all watched her, waiting.
Her jaw clenched. Thunder boomed. They had not left her alone for the week it had been since her awakening. She just wanted some peace and quiet. But just like her stolen freedom, her ability for a lonesome respite had also been taken.
"Luella, eat." King Vale’s jeweled fingers glinted under the warmth of the flickering candlelight as he stretched out his hand toward her, laying it palm down on the table. His fingers flexed as if he desired to reach out and skim a touch along her elbow, where it rested rudely on the table’s surface.
She looked at his hand, then flicked her eyes back up to his. His green eyes were a piercing weight on her soul.
Blinked. And she swore she could see a tangible thread running between their chests, beautifully woven gold, delicate and fragile and on the cusp of unraveling.
But she blinked again, and it was gone.
Luella shook her head, and the King snapped.
He reached up and took her chin in his fingers, forcing her face to his. "Look at me," he demanded. His voice held untamed dominance and power.
She obeyed him—as she often found herself doing, too quickly for her mind to catch up to how her body answered his demands.
It was as though he still had invisible chains around her wrists, keeping her tied to him and bound to his every whim. A piece of her sang at answering his demands, while a larger piece hissed and screamed.
The particular shade of green in his eyes looked so familiar… Her features grew strained with the pain of remembrance, attempting to recall things forcibly held out of her reach.
"You cannot keep going on like this." The King’s voice was imbued with strength, but his fingers shook where they held her chin.