Not Breena.

Not Faye.

Food was always on the nightstand when I woke. I had no idea if it was Faye who brought it to me or one of the other fae, but it was always a sandwich of some sort. That was the only food I saw all day, and sometimes I wasn’t hungry, because I . . . I was already full from a different source.

When I had complete control over my mind and body, it took every ounce of willpower that I had in me not to claw his heart out with my bare hands. It would’ve been hard and messy, but there was a damn good chance I could have done it. The hate building inside me burned brighter than a thousand suns, but even with that rage, I always, always felt cold. With each passing day, it was like I was filling up on the inside with ice and shadows. The only time I didn’t feel this way was when I slept.

I felt nothing then.

Once he explained to me why I slept after . . . after feeding. The way he described it reminded me of how you want a nap after Thanksgiving dinner, but I also thought it sounded kind of like any time you were high. Eventually you came crashing back down and your body sort of gave out. There was no hangover or recovery for me though. All I needed was sleep, and I was better than before, as sickening as that was.

I didn’t think of Ren during these times. I couldn’t allow myself to, because when I thought of Ren, I worried about how safe he was. I knew the prince couldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t break his promise, and that meant he couldn’t indirectly cause Ren harm, but that didn’t stop any other fae from deciding a way to please their leader was to serve up Ren’s head on a platter. And even though I tried not to allow it, Drake and Breena’s words haunted me. Those words messed with me, just like they’d intended, and I thought maybe if I wasn’t stuck in this room, being forced to do horrible things every damn day, I would have the strength not to give in to those words.

I didn’t know anymore.

But in the minutes and hours I was alone, pacing the length of the room, no matter how hard I tried not to, I mourned Ren, because if I made it out of here alive and was reunited with him, I still couldn’t see a happily ever after for us.

On the sixteenth day, the prince arrived in the afternoon. I was ready for him, restless and antsy, standing by the dresser in another dress, much like the first one, but in a deep forest green this time. I don’t know what the fae around here had against pants, but I really looked like the chick from that Disney movie now.

The prince stopped just inside the room, his gaze moving from the bed to where I stood. Based on previous experience, I knew he would immediately pull me under, and once that happened, I would be lost.

“Can we talk for a little bit?” I blurted out before he could do anything.

His brows rose. “Talk?”

I nodded as I folded my arms across my chest. “Yeah, that’s what people typically do.”

“But we’re not people.”

Irritation spiked, and I took a deep, even breath. Keep your cool, Ivy. “I know, but I think talking wouldn’t hurt. I only have a couple more days—”

“Six days if you’re counting today,” he interrupted.

“Thanks for keeping track,” I replied, and he smirked. “But I’m still not . . . comfortable with you.”

He stalked forward, and I tensed as I dropped my gaze, focusing on his booted feet. That would only work for so long. When a fae used manipulation, something changed in their voice. It was like a lullaby, and you had to listen and look. And once you looked, you were a goner.

“I would think by now you’d be comfortable,” he said as he stopped a few feet in front of me.

Loathing of the deepest kind flared in my chest. He hadn’t . . . God, I couldn’t even bring myself to think it let alone say it, and I hated that, because it made me feel shamed, and I had done nothing wrong. Nothing. He repeatedly took advantage of me, proving he was the worst kind of creature, and the only reason I think why he hadn’t gone there was because he really didn’t want me.

The prince was aroused only when I fought him, as disturbing and twisted as that was.

It took a couple of seconds before I trusted myself to speak. “You manipulate me into feeding, and then after that I’m not really me. None of that counts and doesn’t help me get comfortable with you.”

He leaned against the dresser, loosely crossing his arms. “I’m not sure it’s actually necessary to get more comfortable.”

“I disagree.”

“I’m sure you do,” he replied. “I’ve been incredibly lenient with you.”

I blinked, and almost looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I have removed the chain. I have not pushed, and if you think I have, then you haven’t learned anything.” Straightening, he curled his hand around my arm. “I could’ve gotten you to say yes several times over the last couple of days. I haven’t. Should I have?”

“I would’ve said yes only because I’m not in control of myself,” I said, shifting my gaze to the floor. “And I assume the reason why you haven’t done that is because you know it won’t work. Sure, you can get me to agree, but I cannot be under your control, and I am the entire time.”

Drake didn’t respond for several moments and then he dropped my arm. “What do you want to talk about?”

Surprise flickered through me. He was actually relenting? “I . . . I have questions.”

“Then ask them.”

His bored tone irked me, but I let it go. “Do we have to stay in here?”