Bride of the Traitor (The Prophecy of Sisters #1) - Hayley Faiman Page 0,42
don’t?”
I watch as he presses his lips together, inhaling through his nose, then letting the breath out through his mouth slowly. “No, sweeting, you don’t. Come to bed,” he gently demands.
My body sways at the way his voice rumbles, bouncing off of the stone walls around us. Leaving my warm room, I follow behind him into his much cooler bedroom. I notice that his fireplace looks as if he’s just started it, the flame not nearly as high or orange as mine, nor as roaring.
“What do I get to ask? I thought I could ask anything when it was just the two of us in this bedroom?”
He stops at the side of the bed, his back straight. I itch to run my nails down his scarred skin. I ache to kiss each of his past wounds, to ask him what they’re from, to hear all of his stories.
It has to be so much better than the only story that I have for the only scar that I possess. I fell off of my bike when I was young and my knee caught a rock, causing a cut and eventually a faint silvered scar.
“Nothing,” he purrs.
“Nothing?”
Elias shakes his head once. “Nothing, Sybilla. You are a queen, but I am the King. You answer to me, you ask nothing of me. You may ask questions, but that does not ensure you will receive answers.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I wonder if this is the life that I was always meant to lead. I’ve never been this subservient before. Never bowed to any man in my life, never needed to.
Though, I admit, none of the men I’ve ever dated before have been this alpha male or fucking kings. So, there is that.
But this man—he’s insufferable.
He is cocky. He is beautiful. He is demanding. He is kind. He is nothing I ever wanted and everything that I’ve always craved.
“I will always ask you questions, Elias.”
He nods. “I have figured as much and I will answer them, if I am able, but typically I will not. Take off your chemise. Bare yourself for your husband, wife.”
Pressing my lips together, a shiver runs over my body at his low command. I don’t know why he does this to me, but he does, every time. I want nothing more than to please him when we’re together like this, then as soon as he’s gone, I feel anger and annoyance with the man.
Reaching for the ribbon at my throat, I tug on it, untying it and placing my arms at my sides as the fabric falls off of my shoulders then pools at my feet.
Elias’ steel-blue eyes darken to indigo immediately. He doesn’t move, the backs of his knees against the bed, his eyes focused on me and nowhere else.
“Come to me, Sybilla,” he roughly demands.
Licking my lips, I step out of the nightgown and close the short distance between us. I expect him to grab me, to wrap his arms around me and kiss me, but he does neither of those things. Instead, he reaches out, placing his palm between my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re the queen of Bunafi now. You may not know exactly what that means, but in time, you will learn to understand that you are the most powerful woman in this country. That does not mean that you hold an ounce of power over me, Sybilla,” he announces—the ass.
“I didn’t realize you knew my thoughts and that suddenly, in this new strange world, that I’ve apparently decided to wield the powers that I so obviously do not hold over you, Elias,” I snap.
He laughs softly, his breath fanning my face. I try to ignore the feeling, but my nipples pebble with my failure. His hand doesn’t move, even as his eyes flick down to my breasts before they lift back to meet my own.
“Watch yourself, wife,” he warns. “Your duties are simple. Present yourself as a poised queen when you are out of these chambers, at all times. Cornwall will help you with anything else that you need to do, otherwise, your life will be complete luxury.”
“What if I don’t want luxury?”
“You mean to be a peasant?” he asks, arching a brow. “Work from dawn to dusk for barely enough food to feed yourself? No fine clothes, no jewels, no warm comfortable bed?”
“You think I’m insulting you because I’m not sure if I want to sit around on my ass all day?” I ask.