He dropped into a crouch, bringing him to eye level.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice soft. I blinked, trying to orient myself. He’d left me in the forest to die, and now this asshole was asking how I was?

“How do you think I’m doing? Why am I here?”

He had the grace to look abashed, his gaze dropping to the ground and the tips of his delicately pointed ears turning red.

“You passed out from the cold. Near onset of hypothermia, I think.” Despite the moment of contrition, his voice was aloof as he rose and returned to the stove. Smells of warm, hearty food filled the room, and my stomach grumbled in response. He heard it and looked at me, something inscrutable in his expression.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he said. “You can get changed.”

“Dinner? How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

He turned away, resuming his task. It was then I noticed a large bag sitting next to the bed stuffed full of clothing. I sat up, noting the pair of winter boots next to it. My boots. Throwing off the covers, I dug into the bag and cried out with joy. These were my clothes. Warm tunics and thick calfskin leggings. Wool dresses and flannel nightgowns. My heaviest cloak and fur overcoat.

I caught Wicked staring at me as I touched each object like it was a gift from the skies. “Where did these come from?” I asked, pulling out a pair of black fleece-lined leggings and my warmest tunic. A pile of wool socks at the bottom almost had me shouting in triumph.

“I went to the castle to get them for you. Your mother packed them.”

My eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You went to the castle?” He nodded, laying out plates and cups on the table.

“Why?”

A casual shrug was his response. “You needed more clothing. I realized that the other night.” I frowned at him, wondering what he was up to now.

“How’s my mother?” I asked. “Did you see my father? My sister?”

A shadow passed over his expression. “Your mother and sister were well enough. Your father wasn’t happy to see me.”

I snorted at that. “Yes, well, you did steal his eldest daughter, and he doesn’t even know the half of what you plan to do with me. He probably figured you just wanted to have your way with me.”

Wicked’s eyes flashed. “I stopped a servant outside and told them to send your mother out. She asked about you, and I told her you were fine.”

I laughed again, the sound doused in acid. “Yes, I’m great. Just a little monster bait, that’s all. It’s the idyllic marriage I always hoped for.”

He said nothing as he returned to the kitchen, chopping tomatoes and sliding them into a bowl.

“What happened? Why am I currently not digesting in the Reaper’s stomach?”

Wicked said nothing for so long I thought he wouldn’t answer before he finally replied, “It didn’t come.”

“Oh,” I said, an amorphous hope taking shape in my chest. “I guess it’s not interested in me, then. You should probably just let me go. No hard feelings, okay?” I planted my feet on the ground and prepared to stand.

Wicked turned around, a platter covered in food suspended in his hands. He threw me a dark look before he placed it on the table. “We’ll try again.”

I sucked in a breath. “Right. Of course.” It couldn’t be that easy. I’d still have to find a way to kill him. He’d been foolish enough to bring me proper clothing and boots, which offered an advantage I hadn’t had yesterday. Maybe if I remained patient, I could lull him into complacency. Learn to play the good little prisoner until the right moment for escape presented itself.

The fire roared on the far side of the room, but the temperature was dropping with the onset of evening, and I shivered in my dress. The skirt had been shredded, and it was effectively ruined.

“I want to get changed,” I said, holding up the clothing I’d selected.

“Then change,” he said, staring at me, folding his thick arms as he leaned against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Not with you watching me,” I hissed. He huffed out a laugh, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Shy, Princess?”

“No,” I bit back. “But I’m not giving you a show. Maybe you do still want to use me for other lurid reasons.”

His expression darkened. “I would never do that,” he snarled.

“No, you’d just leave me out in the forest alone in the cold to die! But I guess you’re not so bad because you’d draw the line at raping a woman! Do you want a knighthood for that?”

He pressed his mouth together, his lips turning white and fury flashing in his evergreen eyes. Oh my, I’d pissed him off. Gods, that felt better than it really should.

“Fine, if you’re so damn noble, turn around and stay that way until I say so. Close your eyes too.” He didn’t argue, facing the countertop and bracing his hands against it, his head dropping between his shoulders.

When I was satisfied he’d remain in that position, I changed as quickly as I could, keeping myself covered with the blanket and hoping he would keep his eyes where I wanted them.

An awkward silence settled over the room while I stripped out of my ruined dress and slid on my warm clothing. I practically moaned at the lush fabric when it pressed against my skin. After putting on two pairs of socks, I found my house slippers in the bag and stepped into them.

When I was fully covered, I said, “Okay, I’m done.”

He looked over his shoulder, scanning me from head to toe. His dark gaze was so intense, something unfamiliar tugged low in my stomach in response.

“Don’t expect a thank you for treating me with a modicum of decency,” I snapped, wanting to dispel the strange tension he’d just fired in my chest.

“I’m not.” His voice was low and rough and that, too, affected me in a way I didn’t care to examine.

I cleared my throat and ran my fingers through my dark waves, trying to smooth out the tangles. I dug into the bag again and was delighted to find my brush. Sitting at the table, I ran it through my hair while Wicked finished preparing our meal. He set down the rest of the food: a fresh salad of greens and tomatoes, a platter with poached fish, and a bowl of roasted potatoes swimming in gravy.

“Where do you get all this from?” I asked.

“From the village,” he said, surprising me with the answer. Surely, I’d have heard about someone like him wandering the marketplace before. He wouldn’t blend in anywhere.

“Do you go there often?” I scooped up a mound of potatoes and dumped them on my plate, along with a big piece of fish. I was starving.

He shrugged and sat in his seat, and I resisted the urge to throttle him for this string of evasive answers. “Right,” I said. “Fine.”

He looked up at me, a bright spark in his expression before he filled his plate and started eating. We “enjoyed” another silent meal, the air weighted with a charge I didn’t understand. When we were nearly done, I asked, “So what’s the plan? Am I going into the woods again tonight? Surely you want to get my murder over with?”

Wicked’s eyes darkened as he peered up at me through a fringe of thick black lashes. It was frustrating to notice how beautiful he was. Objectively speaking, of course. He was nothing like Ellis or the other men who’d tried to vie for my hand the day of the Hunt. Though many had been handsome and pleasing, Wicked seemed to exist outside such simple and benign words. There was something wild and savage in the hard lines of his face and the dips and curves of his lean body. His eyes gleamed with something raw and ancient, like a beast that had been forgotten at the edge of the world.

It was hard not to notice, even if he was a complete and utter jackass.

“No,” he said. “Not tonight. Tonight you rest. I’ll have to scout for another location. It’ll take me a few days.”

The tension in my shoulders eased a bit at that. A few days. That gave me some time to figure out a plan to get out of here.