Chapter 4•2 The Gilded Cage
549 Words
That evening, Sheraya sat on the edge of the massive bed, her hands in her lap.
The door opened.
Varek entered. He did not speak. He walked to the fireplace and stood there, his back to her.
Sheraya waited.
"You will be presented to the council in three days," he said.
She said nothing.
"They will expect a bride. They will expect an heir."
Still, she said nothing.
Varek turned to face her. His silver-blue eyes were unreadable.
"You have nothing to say?"
Sheraya met his gaze. "What would you have me say? That I am honored? That I am grateful? You took me from my home. You brought me to your chambers. You tell me I am to be your bride. I have no say in any of it."
"You do not."
"Then what is there to say?"
Varek stared at her for a long moment.
"You are not afraid of me," he said.
"I am a healer. I have seen worse things than a lord who does not know his own mind."
His jaw tightened. "You speak boldly for someone with no power."
"I have no power. That is why I can speak freely. What will you do? Take something from me? You have already taken everything."
The silence between them was heavy.
Then Varek turned and walked toward the bath chamber. "We are not finished talking," he said. "But I need to wash."
The door closed behind him.
Sheraya heard water running.
---
When the door opened again, he stepped out wearing only loose sleep pants of dark linen, tied low at his waist. His hair was damp. Water still clung to his skin.
Sheraya should have looked away.
She did not.
He was tall. Muscular. His body was the body of a warrior—lean, powerful, built for battle. The firelight caught the lines of his chest, the planes of his stomach.
A phoenix tattoo spread across his left shoulder and down his chest, wings of flame rising from ashes.
When he turned to walk toward the wardrobe, she saw his back. A long scar ran from his left shoulder down to his right hip—silver and raised, a wound that should have killed him.
He pulled a dark robe from the wardrobe and shrugged into it, tying it at the waist.
Sheraya finally looked away.
---
Varek walked to the bed.
"Sleep," he said.
Sheraya did not move. "I will sleep on the floor."
"No."
"There is no other place."
"You will sleep in the bed."
Sheraya shook her head. "I will not."
Varek's eyes held hers. "You will."
She climbed onto the far edge of the bed, pressing herself against the side, her back to him. As far as she could possibly get.
The bed shifted as he lay down on the other side.
The fire crackled.
Sheraya closed her eyes.
---
Varek lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
She was on the edge. Far from him. So far she might as well be in another room.
He should not care.
He did not care.
But he could smell her. Soft. Floral. Warm.
His body was restless. His mind would not quiet.
He closed his eyes.
He would not reach for her.
He would not.
But sleep did not come.
- Writer
