I miss him.

Nydo, for all his egocentric asshole behavior… still makes me feel safe. I must be the worst kind of stupid for wanting him right now.

I stare around the new chamber, so huge that the fluted columns disappear into darkness the further I follow them up, and up, and up.

More torches light up the columns, and it’s just so weird that the Roth aesthetic is so damn… medieval, considering their tech rivals the Suevans’, and it way outstrips Earth. But this is a temple, and maybe everything here is old and weird and created according to some esoteric, archaic tradition.

That wouldn’t be too far off from human culture, at least.

I shake my head, trying to focus, my heart beating too fast, my adrenaline pumping.

A Roth male I don’t recognize materializes out of the shadows, his eyes dark as he surveys me.

I clutch my clothes tighter, all too aware of my nudity… and the fact I’m dripping water everywhere.

“I am here to help you prepare for your mating ceremony, human,” he intones.

“Great,” I say, my voice completely lacking enthusiasm. At least I don’t sound scared shitless, which would be an accurate reflection of how I’m feeling.

“This way, human,” he says, and he all but disappears between the dark pillars. God, I’m tired of being called human in such a derogatory tone. I squint after him, putting one hand in front of myself to try and avoid running face-first into something.

Awesome. This just gets more and more fucked up.

“Mind lighting some more torches or something? Human, remember? I can’t see in the dark.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want to piss him off.

All by myself, don’t wanna be with a Roth stranger… I hum quietly, and it at least makes me feel a little less scared.

I’ve only taken four or five baby steps when light flares all around me, dazzlingly bright. My hand flies to my forehead as I attempt to shield my poor pupils against the sudden onslaught.

“Here,” the Roth calls out, and still I wait, on edge and starting to get completely freaked out by all this weirdness.

Okay, less starting and more just continuing to freak out.

My eyes slowly adjust, the warmth from the blazing fires lining the walls oppressive but welcome after walking around wet in the cold temple.

“I must prepare your body for the ceremony.” He holds up a jar of gold… cream? Something oily and shimmery, at least.

“You’re going to do what now?” I ask, glaring at him.

“Prepare your body for the ceremony.”

“You aren’t touching me,” I say tartly. “I can do whatever… preparation is needed myself.”

“It is not the way of the Ro—”

“I’m human, remember?” I ask acidly, not about to let some weird Roth slather gold oil all over me. “I can do this my way, at least.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “I am here to serve.”

Seconds tick by, and I hold my ground, staring right back at the fucker, refusing to back down.

“You’re too big to be a handmaiden,” I finally tell him. For some reason, the thought makes me want to laugh.

“As you wish,” he finally demurs, holding out the jar.

My hand closes around it, and it’s warm to the touch. I should probably ask him what to do with it, but I’m not feeling like admitting I don’t have a clue.

So we have another stare off.

“You just put it on yourself. All over.”

“I know,” I say tartly. “Obviously. I want some privacy, though, and you’re just staring at me. You and the lady in the baths, both total pervs.” I mutter the last part under my breath as he turns around.

“Lady in the baths? There was no one in the baths.” There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then he turns back to me, eyes raking over my face.

“Hey, HEY,” I snap my fingers at him, “privacy, remember?”

I mentally congratulate myself for doing a really good job pretending like I’m in control of this situation. I uncork the little bottle and drop my clothes, pouring the shimmering liquid all over my body. It’s warm and glittery, and it leaves a gold sheen across my skin.

It’s kind of pretty, but I don’t love that it’s all I’m wearing.

Not awesome.

“That would explain the mark on your face,” my peeping-Tom Roth says, his back to me.

“If you’re talking about my freckles, I’m gonna lose it.” I grit my teeth.

“No, the mark of the goddess.”

“What?” I touch my face, feeling slightly frantic. The memory of the touch across my face, the distinct impression of a caress, rocks back through me.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says.

I stare after him, still rubbing the gold oil all over myself, just to give my hands something to do.

The Roth walks away, only to hold up a long garment, his back still to me.

“This is your ceremonial dress,” he says. “Am I allowed to bring it to you?” There’s a slight edge to the words, as if he thinks I’m being silly.

Ugh. Maybe I am being ridiculous.

“Fine, yes.” I sound every bit as irritable and out of sorts as I am.

The Roth turns back around, his eyes surprisingly, politely averted. I slap my hands over my important bits anyway, glaring at him. As he draws closer, my gaze falls to the gorgeous gown in his hands. It’s not black.

I’ve only worn black since Nydo bought me an entire new wardrobe.

This is deep red-gold, burnished threads glittering in the firelight. It’s sheer, like most of the Roth clothes are, but it’s so, so pretty.

“Arms up,” the Roth handmaiden-man instructs in a bored voice.

I chance a narrow-eyed glance up at him, trying to determine if he’s sneaking a peek or what. But no, he honestly looks bored and annoyed.

“When in Roth, man servant,” I say, raising my arms, preparing to be dressed like a doll. At least I didn’t let him rub me down with gold oil. That would be going a bit too far.

“I am not a man. I am Roth.” He steps closer, guiding my hands through the arms of the gown, when he suddenly freezes.

“Get away from her,” a familiar voice snarls.

The gown crumples over my face, blocking my view. I grunt, annoyed at the fact I’m basically now trapped in the pretty dress.

God. Is this going to be my life now? Trapped in pretty dresses and oiled up so I can just look good on Nydo’s arm?

I grit my teeth.

It won’t be. This won’t be my life.

No matter what the, er, voice said moments ago, that I’m worthy… I am not staying here. I’m going home. I don’t want to be queen. I want to be left out of Nydo’s grand plans and scheming and manipulations, no matter how good he makes me feel.

No matter how close we’ve grown.

“I am trying to assist her in dressing for the ceremony, my king.”

“Touch her again and I will incinerate you. Slowly,” Nydo grates.

“That’s a little much,” I say, breathless and still struggling to figure out how the damn thing goes on. “Besides, I need help getting,” I wriggle, “this,” the fabric tugs at my wet hair, “thing on.”

Nydo’s fingers skate over my hands, still outstretched, and then I exhale in relief as the fabric settles around my shoulders, skimming across my hips and down my legs.

“May I help her put it on properly?”

The poor Roth hand-not-maiden quirks an eyebrow at a spot on the floor where he stares.

“If you want to lose your fingers,” Nydo growls. “I would make an example of anyone who touches her.”

“Nydo, stop. He hasn’t touched me like that at all. Can you chill out?”

“You are covered in ceremonial oil,” Nydo says, gaze stuttering over my body, and my heart flutters slightly to hear how possessive he is. “Did he… rub it into you?”

I shouldn’t like the way he looks ready to murder the Roth hand-not-maiden. Murder is a total relationship red flag. But… I do like it. Everything in me is tight and happy at his anger, at his concern for my wellbeing.