He tilts his head, studying me. “I am here to serve.”
Seconds tick by, and I hold my ground, staring right back at the fucker, refusing to back down.
“You’re too big to be a handmaiden,” I finally tell him. For some reason, the thought makes me want to laugh.
“As you wish,” he finally demurs, holding out the jar.
My hand closes around it, and it’s warm to the touch. I should probably ask him what to do with it, but I’m not feeling like admitting I don’t have a clue.
So we have another stare off.
“You just put it on yourself. All over.”
“I know,” I say tartly. “Obviously. I want some privacy, though, and you’re just staring at me. You and the lady in the baths, both total pervs.” I mutter the last part under my breath as he turns around.
“Lady in the baths? There was no one in the baths.” There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then he turns back to me, eyes raking over my face.
“Hey, HEY,” I snap my fingers at him, “privacy, remember?”
I mentally congratulate myself for doing a really good job pretending like I’m in control of this situation. I uncork the little bottle and drop my clothes, pouring the shimmering liquid all over my body. It’s warm and glittery, and it leaves a gold sheen across my skin.
It’s kind of pretty, but I don’t love that it’s all I’m wearing.
Not awesome.
“That would explain the mark on your face,” my peeping-Tom Roth says, his back to me.
“If you’re talking about my freckles, I’m gonna lose it.” I grit my teeth.
“No, the mark of the goddess.”
“What?” I touch my face, feeling slightly frantic. The memory of the touch across my face, the distinct impression of a caress, rocks back through me.
“You’ll see soon enough,” he says.
I stare after him, still rubbing the gold oil all over myself, just to give my hands something to do.
The Roth walks away, only to hold up a long garment, his back still to me.
“This is your ceremonial dress,” he says. “Am I allowed to bring it to you?” There’s a slight edge to the words, as if he thinks I’m being silly.
Ugh. Maybe I am being ridiculous.
“Fine, yes.” I sound every bit as irritable and out of sorts as I am.
The Roth turns back around, his eyes surprisingly, politely averted. I slap my hands over my important bits anyway, glaring at him. As he draws closer, my gaze falls to the gorgeous gown in his hands. It’s not black.
I’ve only worn black since Nydo bought me an entire new wardrobe.
This is deep red-gold, burnished threads glittering in the firelight. It’s sheer, like most of the Roth clothes are, but it’s so, so pretty.
“Arms up,” the Roth handmaiden-man instructs in a bored voice.
I chance a narrow-eyed glance up at him, trying to determine if he’s sneaking a peek or what. But no, he honestly looks bored and annoyed.
“When in Roth, man servant,” I say, raising my arms, preparing to be dressed like a doll. At least I didn’t let him rub me down with gold oil. That would be going a bit too far.
“I am not a man. I am Roth.” He steps closer, guiding my hands through the arms of the gown, when he suddenly freezes.
“Get away from her,” a familiar voice snarls.
The gown crumples over my face, blocking my view. I grunt, annoyed at the fact I’m basically now trapped in the pretty dress.
God. Is this going to be my life now? Trapped in pretty dresses and oiled up so I can just look good on Nydo’s arm?
I grit my teeth.
It won’t be. This won’t be my life.
No matter what the, er, voice said moments ago, that I’m worthy… I am not staying here. I’m going home. I don’t want to be queen. I want to be left out of Nydo’s grand plans and scheming and manipulations, no matter how good he makes me feel.
No matter how close we’ve grown.
“I am trying to assist her in dressing for the ceremony, my king.”
“Touch her again and I will incinerate you. Slowly,” Nydo grates.
“That’s a little much,” I say, breathless and still struggling to figure out how the damn thing goes on. “Besides, I need help getting,” I wriggle, “this,” the fabric tugs at my wet hair, “thing on.”
Nydo’s fingers skate over my hands, still outstretched, and then I exhale in relief as the fabric settles around my shoulders, skimming across my hips and down my legs.
“May I help her put it on properly?”
The poor Roth hand-not-maiden quirks an eyebrow at a spot on the floor where he stares.
“If you want to lose your fingers,” Nydo growls. “I would make an example of anyone who touches her.”
“Nydo, stop. He hasn’t touched me like that at all. Can you chill out?”
“You are covered in ceremonial oil,” Nydo says, gaze stuttering over my body, and my heart flutters slightly to hear how possessive he is. “Did he… rub it into you?”
I shouldn’t like the way he looks ready to murder the Roth hand-not-maiden. Murder is a total relationship red flag. But… I do like it. Everything in me is tight and happy at his anger, at his concern for my wellbeing.
Maybe red is my favorite color.
“I did not touch her, my king,” the Roth says, falling to his knees. “She refused to let me.”
“So you would have, if she had allowed it,” Nydo says, his eyes flashing orange.
“He didn’t touch me,” I repeat. “Chill out.”
Both Roth males stare at me. I sigh, tugging the fabric into place. “It means calm down. Sheesh. We’ve been over this. Stop getting angry. No one touched me, except for the, er, no one touched me.”
Nydo rounds on me, his hands flying to my shoulders, looking down on me.
“Except who?” His gaze finds my cheek, and my mouth goes dry.
The orange flame of his eyes glows brighter, heat emanating from him. Understanding flashes through me. No wonder they wear next to nothing. They keep this place as hot as a freaking volcano, and Nydo puts off heat like my own personal, living radiator.
My own. My brain trips over the phrase, and I blink, like my eyelids are reset buttons.
Nydo’s still staring at me, his mouth open, no sound coming out.
“She wears the sign of the old gods,” the hand-not-maiden says.
“I do?” I say, gingerly touching my cheekbone. “What does that mean? She said…” I let my words drift off, not sure I want to repeat what she said.
I find you worthy.
Talk about pressure.
Uneasy, I shift my weight, tugging at the dress.
“It means you wear the gods’ approval.” The Roth finally gets off his knees, sighing as he rubs his lower back. “Complete the ceremony with her and no one will doubt the truth of your words, that the human females are worthy mates.”
Excitement glitters in Nydo’s gaze.
“I knew it.” He takes my hand, eyes slitting as he brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “We will emerge victorious against the Overlord. Wait and see.” He’s wearing gold-red pants that match my gown, and they set off his gorgeous eyes and stunning body.
Nydo is so mouth-wateringly delicious that my entire body sings with the need to touch him, and it’s so damn distracting that it almost, almost makes me forget my unease.
Because to be found worthy? To be marked by the hand of some alien god, and to officially mate Nydo in some mysterious ceremony… It doesn’t feel like I’m pretending anymore.
He stares at me hungrily, and when I wet my lips, his gaze dips to my mouth.
“You are the most stunning creature I have ever seen in my lifetime,” he tells me, and my heart beats a little faster.