breakfast.”
“But don’t open the door for anyone else,” Leila said. “The guard will remain on duty, and I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”
As she leaned in for a peck, Tobias pulled her close, kissing her deeply. Her body sank into his, and he wrapped her in his arms. “Stay.”
The kiss turned into several, each one richer, smoother, until she abruptly broke away. “I’ll be back soon.”
She hopped from the bed and headed for the door. Delphi joined her, flashing a phony frown Tobias’s way. “A valiant effort.”
“I hate you, Delphi.”
“No you don’t.”
And then they were gone, slamming and locking the door behind them.
Muffled voices sounded on the other side of the door. Leila spouted off instructions to the guard, and then the women’s footsteps faded into silence.
Tobias was locked in Leila’s chamber, naked and alone.
He flopped down onto the bed, landing in a pile of pillows. What to do with myself... He was still rock hard, and though a part of him considered taking care of that, he followed his better judgment, plucking his pants from the floor. Leila’s bedside table drawer was ajar, and he gave in to curiosity, pulling it open. A proud grin spread across his face; his charcoal drawings were tucked neatly away, creased at the edges as if they had been unrolled and viewed many times, and beside them were a pile of familiar heart-shaped keys.
His grin intact, he hoisted up his pants and eyed the room around him. The floor was a decorative mass of shining, speckled tiles, the creamy walls lined in gold molding. Shadows blanketed the chamber, and he ambled toward a stretch of black velvet curtains, ripping them open and wincing at the sting of daylight. Slowly, his sight adjusted.
No windows, no wall—just a stretch of marble pillars, a series of short steps, and a massive enclosed garden. One Tobias had been to before. With Leila.
She has her own garden? He eyed the sea of flowers, then glanced at the room behind him. This place is huge. The enormity was suddenly loud and apparent, and he counted the number of times his cottage could fit into the space.
Voices sent him spinning toward the door; Pippa must’ve been arriving with breakfast. He moseyed ahead, stopping once the sound became clearer.
Two voices. Both male. Both heated.
The guard argued with someone, though Tobias couldn’t discern their words. A crash sounded, followed by a struggle, fading into a long, eerie quiet.
A key jangled in the lock of Leila’s door. Tobias frantically searched for a place to hide, starting with the garden—no coverage—the wardrobe—no room—then darted under the bed, pressing his belly to the floor.
The door crept open, and footsteps floated through the space.
Tobias’s heart raced, threatening to drum against the floor, revealing his hiding place. The wardrobe creaked open, then shortly after feet shuffled down the steps into the garden. Silence…until the footsteps returned to the chamber, stopping in front of him.
Black sandals, tanned feet—that was all Tobias could make of him. He stalked by once, twice, then stood in front of the bed as if he was staring down at the sheets.
The feet walked out of sight.
Tobias exhaled as quietly as he could manage. The footsteps lingered, though he couldn’t place them, and eventually they stopped altogether. Perhaps the intruder had left, though Tobias didn’t move, listening. Waiting.
An arm jutted beneath the bed, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him out.
Tobias flailed, fighting against whoever had seized him. The man flopped him onto his back, greeting him with a smile.
“You’re not Leila!” Kaleo laughed.
He grabbed Tobias by the roots of his hair and pounded his face into the floor.
“She wasn’t there, but I brought you a consolation prize.”
“Shit. Where was he?”
“Under the bed.”
“God, they probably fucked and everything, the whore. This isn’t good.”
The voices stirred Tobias, but it was the ache that nagged him awake, pulsing behind his nose. He took in a shallow breath, though it was muffled by something—a gag.
The world around him unfolded: the cold, hard dirt beneath him, the rusted shackles around his wrists, and the two men arguing paces away.
Kaleo and the Sovereign.
The Sovereign paced the floor, his hands wound into fists. “This whole thing’s a mess. You haven’t a clue where she is?”
“Not a one,” Kaleo said. “But the Artist—”
“Was supposed to have been handled weeks ago. Tell me, what the hell are you here for anyway? Because I’m starting to think you’re little more than a common cunt bleeding me dry of my resources and