Tears blur my eyes again, and Nemeth’s hand touches my knee. “Piss off, I’m not crying,” I say as I sniffle through my tears. He chuckles and gives my knee a squeeze, knowing me too well at this point. “I just miss her. That’s all. I want to see her babies and I want to go back to court and I hate this gods-damned tower.” I carefully fold Erynne’s letter again, knowing that I’m going to read it over and over while I’m trapped here in the tower. “It’s just surprisingly good to hear how much someone on the outside misses me. I love my sister, but…”

“But she’s always been the dutiful one and you were not?” Nemeth guesses.

I nod. “Lionel almost sent her here when I refused to go.” Surely that can’t be a betrayal of state secrets to mention that? After all, I am here. Clearly it didn’t work. “My sister was heavy with his child and he was still going to lock her away in this tower to prove a point to me. He’s a loathsome man and I despise that he’s king of such a good nation.” With a little sigh, I run my fingers over the letter again. “Oh, and it’s not as if that’s a secret. The entire world knows that King Lionel does not get along with his wife’s squat, sickly sister.”

“Squat? Sickly?” Nemeth snorts. “You are neither of those things. You are a goddess and I have no doubt that if he would have sent your sister to the tower, he would have taken you to wife instead, all to keep his clutches on the throne. You know his family’s claim to it is weak. Of course he wants a Vestalin wife at his side. It doesn’t matter which one, I suspect.”

Nemeth’s words make me pause. He…isn’t wrong. Lionel’s family line—the Rivertree family—is a younger branch, and they are only on the throne because two generations ago, a general overthrew the puppet king and slaughtered the existing king’s family, only sparing the Vestalin line due to the Golden Moon Goddess and her curse. Ever since then, Rivertrees have been marrying Vestalins. My mother was married to a Rivertree cousin, and Lionel’s father was married to one of my great aunts. I’m not sure how incestuous it makes our family line…I’m just glad I didn’t have to marry Lionel myself.

Poor Erynne. She’s just as trapped as I am, she’s just not in a tower. Instead, she’s being forced to make babies with that odious man. I give Nemeth a tight smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m here, then, and not Erynne.”

“I am glad of it,” he says, a hint of fangs flashing in his smile. “Call me selfish.”

Maybe it is selfish to say such a thing, but I don’t mind hearing it. Not from him. And I know what he means. I wouldn’t wish this tower upon anyone, but if I must be here, I’m glad to be here with him. I smile. “You’re lucky it’s not Erynne anyhow,” I comment. “She snores dreadfully.”

Nemeth laughs. “I wouldn’t share my bed with your sister, Candra.”

“Wouldn’t you? She’s quite lovely. And they probably would have given her the same amount of firewood they gave me, which is to say, none at all. She would have crawled into your bed and begged quite prettily for some warmth.”

“And I would have kicked her out,” Nemeth says easily. “Because a Fellian’s heart is not won by pretty words and a smile.”

“Oh no?” That sounds like dragon shite to me.

“We like a challenge. Like a spoiled princess who tells us to piss off.”

Now that makes me laugh. I giggle at his words and have the strangest urge to fling myself over the mountain of trunks and kiss him silly. Erynne’s letter has made me sad, but he’s managed to cheer me up despite things. Surely that deserves a kiss or two.

To my surprise, he holds up one of the soaps included in the trunks. “You said you wanted to try out some of the things you’d been sent. Would you like to bathe, princess?”

“It depends. Are you going to watch?”

His wings give an agitated flutter. “It depends. Would you let me?”

“I would,” I say, hopping to my feet. “I’ll even let you wash my back. If you’re good, I’ll let you wash my front.”

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he practically purrs.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

My heart is racing as we head down to the kitchens. I don’t know if Nemeth is trying to distract me or attempting to pick up where we left off this morning, but I’ll gladly take it. I’m already wet with anticipation, my pussy slick enough that I can feel my folds brushing against each other as I move. He carries the lamp for light, sets it down on one of the tables, and pulls out the tub. “I’ll start a fire and heat the water for you.”

“It’s not necessary.” It’s a lot of work to heat the water—distracting work—and I’d rather have him focused on me. “If I get too cold, you can always warm me up.”

His reflective eyes flare with arousal. “If you like.”

Oh, I like.

I watch in silence as he fills the tub with bucket after bucket of water. When it’s hip deep, I slip off my robe and chemise and step forward, naked. My skin prickles, but it’s more from awareness of his gaze than the cold. Ever since I entered this tower, my baths have been cold, since it seems like a waste of fuel to make a fire just to heat water. I’m rather used to it.

Nemeth holds a hand out to me, and I place mine in his as I step into the tub. I can feel his gaze roaming over my pale limbs. I do wonder if he finds them unnaturally pale or unpleasant looking compared to his own, or the fact that I’m all rounded softness where he’s hard planes and angles. I haven’t seen many Fellians in my life, but the ones that I have looked like him. Is that why he wants to go slow? To “savor” things? So he can get used to my appearance?

I stand in the calf-deep water and consider him, still holding onto his hand. “Does my appearance repulse you? Be honest.”

“Repulse me?” He shakes his head. “You are built differently, but I do not find you repulsive.”

I glance down at my legs, and my knees that bend forward instead of backward. My lower half is definitely quite different than his. His kilts are short, frequently offering glimpses of the wrap that protects his cock, and his powerful hind legs flex under the skimpy shield of leather. One of his thighs is as big as my torso, and he’s made large all over—even with legs that bend backward, he’s still taller than Lionel, taller than any of the men at the Liosian court. I can only imagine how massive he’d be if he was built with the same legs as us. Tall as the tips of his wings that loft above his head, maybe?

Picturing that, I shiver with fascination.

“Cold?” His other hand slides over my shoulder, enormous and warm, and I bite my lip to smother the moan that threatens to rise. I’m so hungry for touch that I want to fling myself onto him and forget all about the bath. Savor, Candra, I remind myself. Savor!

With a little sigh, I lower myself into the water. “Not cold. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” I slither deeper into the water. It rises now that I’m in it, no longer calf-deep but brushing against my breasts. I lean back against the wall of the tub and rest my arms on the edges, which leaves my body free for his perusal.

Nemeth is silent. “So it was a bad shiver.”

“No such thing as a bad shiver,” I reply, my tone light. “Certainly not when it comes to you. Wash me?” And I raise one foot into the air.

Those wings of his give a telling shake and he crouches low next to the tub. He picks up the bar of soap that he’d set aside and studies it, then looks at me.

I wink at him, even as I lower my foot onto the lip of the tub, keeping it out of the water as I wait to see how he’ll react.

“Do you toy with all the males that come into contact with you, I wonder?” Nemeth muses as he dips the soap into the water. The cake looks ridiculously small in his huge hand.