Chapter 11: Chapter Nine

"Will you tell me more about this Joseph?" Erick asked, something dark and dangerous in his tone.

I wrestled with the urge to tell him all the ugly truth, but decided he didn't deserve it. "No."

Erick searched my face for the secrets I kept locked within me but finally nodded. "I understand."

My lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "Do you?"

His eyes held pain within them. "I am not worthy of your confidence."

"No, no, you're not." My voice was the clipped sound of icicles breaking. "I'm not even sure why you're trying. You betrayed me and now kidnapped me. I think I have a right to be salty."

He clenched handfuls of his silvery hair in frustration. "I wish there was a way for you to understand that I never meant to betray you. I had no choice but to protect the one who held my geas."

"Wow, that sounds almost like someone saying, 'The devil made me do it.'" I scoffed, then waved my hand in a shooing motion at him. "Skip it, Traitor."

Silence settled between us again, thick and tense as I turned away from him, glaring at the fogged-up window. My fingers traced angry, nonsensical patterns on the glass, a poor attempt to distract myself from the confusion and bitterness swirling inside me.

I thought of Joseph, but this time, the painful memories of my past overlapped with the strange mess I was now in. Erick, with his conflicted loyalty, Joseph's manipulations, and now Luke—this so-called sovereign who'd pulled me into this cold, unfamiliar world. I felt trapped, but something about Luke unsettled me in a different way.

When I turned back to Erick, I found him watching me, his expression unreadable. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

"No," I replied curtly, pushing away the concern I didn't want from him. It was too late for that.

As if to escape the moment, Erick poured himself another drink, his hands slightly trembling as he poured. I could feel his tension, the unspoken things he wanted to say, but I wasn't in the mood for his apologies.

I looked at him askance. "Listen, you should ease up on that. I don't want to be this close with someone drunk."

He set the drink down. "Fine."

Then we took the rest of the ride in silence until we turned into a driveway. The mansion we drove up to had a front lawn like an ocean. It ended in front of an imposing home with many gables and what looked like a hundred chimneys. The builders made the mansion of pale gray brick with marble lions guarding a staircase that went up three flights before ending at gigantic double doors.

While I gawked, the limousine pulled around the wide circular driveway and stopped. Then the driver opened the vehicle door, and I got out, looking dazed as I took in my new digs.

The driveway encircled a tall, gaudy fountain of three mermaids holding up a shell from which water might have spouted.  The house had small cherubs perched over each arched window along the first floor. Although it was March, the cold was blistering, and snow blanketed everything.  I clutched my borrowed cloak as the frigid air seeped into my bones. It was cold in San Francisco too right now, but a few weeks here, and I'd be walking around there in shorts.

But I had to admit that the views were breathtaking because the area was all frosted mountains and chilly, white forests. However, the house seemed so stiff and unfriendly, and the cold was closing up my lungs.

As I climbed the grand steps, my eyes settled upon the figure I assumed was Luke. He was taller than I expected, his wavy copper hair catching the faint light from the snow-covered landscape around us. There was something sharp and commanding about him—his face all harsh angles, the kind that made it hard to tell if he was scowling or just naturally stern. His pale green eyes, narrowed and intense, watched me with an unsettling focus that made my steps falter for just a moment.

He extended a thin hand, his long, graceful fingers outstretched toward me. The simple gesture carried an air of formality. I noticed the Rolex on his wrist,  and the immaculate suit that hugged his lean frame. The clothes seemed to elevate him, refining his rough features, making him almost...sexy. Handsome, in a dangerous way.

I took his hand, the warmth of his skin a surprise against the freezing air. He didn't just shake it—he turned it and bowed over it, his lips hovering close to my knuckles for a fraction too long. His pale eyes flicked up to mine, and I struggled to figure out what he was thinking behind those icy green eyes. Was he judging me?

"Greetings, Madeline," he said, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth. The words hung in the air, formal, but his tone made me feel like he was trying to keep something tightly controlled.

"Hi..." The word felt out of place, too casual for the way he looked at me. I instinctively pulled my hand away, but his fingers tightened for a moment before he released me. The way he held on that extra second—it made me nervous.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I thought a king would be a lot older than you..." My voice trailed off as I tried to make sense of his age. Twenty-five? Thirty? He was way younger than the image I'd built up in my mind.

His eyes flashed with the briefest hint of humor, the corners of his mouth lifting into what could've been a smile—if his face wasn't so rigid. "I'm not a king, simply the Sovereign. Normally, the sovereign is a woman, not a man," he said, his voice taking on a tone as sharp as his gaze. "But no, twenty-five is not too young to be sovereign. I was placed in this position as a ward of your mother's family. Interim regent...until the true ruler can be chosen."

There was something in the way he said it, an almost imperceptible tightening around his mouth. As if the role was more of a burden than a privilege, but one he was determined to carry. I studied him, wondering how someone so young could hold so much power—and why he looked at me like I was part of that burden.

"So, what do I call you?" I asked in part as a way to find something to say. "Your Majesty?"

He gave me that same piercing look again, the intensity of it making me step back without even realizing it. For a second, his gaze sharpened to the point of violence, as though he was restraining a monster within him he didn't want me to see. Then his lips twisted slightly, not quite a smile but more a grim acknowledgment of the question. "I prefer you call me Luke."

There it was again—that tightness, like the use of his name was both a command and a plea.

His face was a mask of cold propriety again. So he wanted me to call him Luke. Luke, it was then.  I nodded.

"It's cold outside. Please come inside. When you have rested, you will attend a welcoming party in your honor," he continued.

My mouth opened to protest. I had just been kidnapped with my friends—there was no way I was going to play nice and attend some stupid welcoming party. But Luke had already turned away, walking up the steps to the massive double doors like my objection didn't matter at all. His indifference was infuriating, but it also stirred something else—an unsettling wariness. I could scream at Erick all day, but the cold intensity radiating from Luke unnerved me more than I'd like to admit.

He swung the doors open, revealing a vast foyer that took my breath away. Twin staircases twisted upwards like elegant vines, and archways lined the walls, leading to rooms I couldn't see from where I stood. In the center of the floor was a tile mosaic—a familiar design. My heart skipped a beat. It was an orchid, just like the earrings I wore around my neck.

I clutched the necklace hidden under my shirt, stepping back. What kind of place was this? What had I been dragged into?

Luke strode across the gleaming marble floor, his movements measured, precise. He reached a door on the far side, one I assumed led to his office, and was about to disappear inside when frustration bubbled over in my chest. "This guy pulled me off a motorcycle into a van and knocked me out, and all you're going to do is walk into your office after springing the news of a party on me?"

He froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned, his pale face going even whiter. His gaze flicked to Erick, eyes narrowing into slits.

Luke's strides back toward me were deliberate, each one making the space between us shrink until I could feel the tension radiating off him. His eyes swept over me, lingering on my wrists. His voice dropped several menacing octaves. "What is this?"

The bruises on my skin must have stood out like a neon sign. I hadn't even realized how battered I looked until his icy stare pinned me.

Luke's question wasn't directed at me. Erick stepped forward, kneeling without hesitation as though it was second nature to him. "I apologize, your Majesty. Unfortunately, there were... complications on the plane when she woke up. It was a safety concern."

Luke's expression darkened. He loomed over Erick, glowering down at him as if he were nothing more than an insect. And then, without warning, Luke struck him across the head. The sound of the blow made me flinch, but Erick didn't even move. He remained perfectly still, like a statue, his head bowed in submission.

"You dared to touch her?" Luke's voice was laced with venom. "She is so far above you, you are not worthy even to look at her, let alone lay a hand on her."

Erick didn't protest, didn't even wince. "I forgot my station. You are right to punish me."

Luke wiped his hand off on his lapel, disgust curling his lip, as though Erick's very presence sullied him.

"Hey!" I found myself stepping between them, pushing at Luke's chest before I even thought it through. My palms hit a wall of solid muscle, and Luke didn't so much as budge. It was like trying to push a mountain. "Stop it! That's enough!"

Luke's gaze flicked down to where my hands rested against him before returning to my face, his gaze felt like a laser. "Why would you defend him?" His voice was even, but there was something else in his eyes now—a rage so intense that I gasped. "This worm isn't worthy of your protection."

I swallowed but refused to back down. "Maybe because we had a lot to catch up on! He was too busy trying to keep me from hijacking the plane to explain everything."

"Madeline..." Erick's voice was low, a warning, but I ignored him.

Luke's jaw clenched, his gaze cutting back to Erick like a blade. "You will not speak her name," he snapped. "She is 'My Lady' to you and nothing more."

Erick bowed his head again. "Yes, My Lord."

I stared at the exchange, feeling a fresh wave of confusion. What was this? I didn't understand their dynamic. I didn't like Erick, but seeing him treated like this—kneeling, getting slapped—made something in me stir.

"That's not right!" I protested, stepping in front of Erick more fully now. "I don't like him, but he can call me by my name if I want him to, Your Majesty."

Luke's gaze snapped back to me, fierce and unyielding. "You will address me as Luke. Now, come inside my office. I meant to let you rest, but it seems circumstances have given me cause to explain things to you."

He opened the door to his office, stepping aside to let me pass, and I paused for a moment to get my bearings.  Luke terrified me, but Erick... I glanced back at him, still kneeling, his head bowed, and I just felt that despite everything, he didn't deserve this.

I met Luke's gaze once more. He looked as though he'd been waiting for me to move, and it was taking me too long.

I didn't like any of this.

With a reluctant sigh, I stepped inside, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.