Never Yours ✔️

Ch. 41

"Serden, you can't keep me here forever."

He just chuckled, not taking his eyes off the book in his lap.

"It's been a week. My people need me."

"I've been taking care of them."

Arysa exhaled in exasperation and fell back on his bed. The chains clattered.

It sickened her how comfortable she had gotten here. She lay casually on his bed as though it were her own, subjected to his presence almost constantly. The only reprieve she got was during the days when he went about his and her work in the castle. But in the evenings, at night, early in the mornings, he was there, hovering over her, taunting her, laughing at her. She hated it. And she hated herself for not being about to do something about it.

"You have to let me out eventually." She pressed.

He huffed. "Once I figure out how to handle you, I will."

"Handle me?!" Arysa sat up. "I am not a child."

His yellow eyes fixed on her. "Then stop acting like one."

She scowled, grabbed one of his books off his bedside table and chucked it at his head. He ducked with a laugh.

"I'm trying to read, Arysa."

"And I'm trying to save my people. Hm, what do you think is more important?" She retorted.

"My book, obviously." Serden smirked.

She reached for another book, but he was on his feet and in front of her before she had the chance to throw it. His fingers clamped around her wrist.

"Don't be mean, Arysa." He mocked.

She yanked her hand back, but he didn't let go, using her momentum to pull her closer. He reached up and cupped the back of her neck. She tensed, her eyes finding his, trying to figure out what emotions swum through them. But there was no way to tell what he was going to do next.

He leaned forward and pecked a kiss to her forehead.

"It's late." He murmured. "Let's get to bed."

He let her go and she crawled backwards to her side of the bed. She resented sleeping with him, but she had no other choice. He wouldn't let her sleep in the armchair or on the floor and after that incident with the gown, she didn't want to test his temper. Suffering restless nights beside the man she hated was better than suffering beneath his wandering hands and forceful lips.

He crawled in beside her and turned to face her. He smiled.

She grit her teeth and turned her back to him. He sighed.

She stayed like that until she could hear his heavy breathing, and then she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She did this every night. It was practically a routine. And as scheduled, a few hours after he'd fallen asleep, his body twitched, and a whimper escaped his lips. She glanced over at him, at his fast-moving eyes underneath his eyelids and his tense jaw. His fingers twitched and a small cry escaped his lips. She rolled over to watch him, propping her head up on her arm.

She didn't know why, but his nightmares fascinated her. They made him seem so vulnerable, so human, so broken. They made him like her. He wasn't the undefeatable monster that had taken hold of her life and destroyed everything she held dear. He was just a boy, suffering, alone in the world, plagued by fear.

She turned back around and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She listened to his cries for a while more, until, with a sudden gasp, they stopped. She was almost about to glance at him when she felt his hands snake around her waist and pull her into his chest. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold.