Page 36 of Incarnate

"You may leave this room, under my supervision, once the bind has been resealed."

I shift slightly, hating my nudity under this damn fabric. It’s probably the only reason I haven’t leapt from this bed. "And the bind," I say slowly, my gaze hardened on him. "How does it get resealed?"

"You will be the one to initiate that."

I blink several times, lowering my head to examine the ruby-red bedding. "What does that entail?"

"You can never say I forced it on you this time.” Something passes through his features that’s not quite shame, but its neighbor. "That is my concession."

He takes the tray of food and places it on the bed, as if moving food closer to an animal that doesn’t trust the hand feeding it. “Your energy was drained during that attack. Food will replenish it.”

I stare at it. Bread, mandarins, a thin broth that steams faintly, and cheese.

I clutch the fabric of the bedding, my eyes roaming over him and the food. Not long ago I was making an offering at this man’s statue among many others, and here he is offering me sustenance. "I'm not hungry."

He’s not close to me on the bed, but also not far enough for me to comfortably move. "I will feed you myself, if that’s what it takes.”

The way he says it leaves no room for interpretation. “I’m naked,” I state quietly, as if embarrassed. “That also means someone undressed me.”

Kallúm raises a hand, a gust of wind moving through the room as a long piece of pale fabric floats our way until it’s in his hand, the fabric drooping lifelessly as he hands it to me as if the magic was unremarkable. “No one other than me has touched you, and I only examined for any afflictions to your flesh. You may dress if you’d like.”

I’m more hungry for the ability to cover myself than I am for food. Taking it from him has an awkward intimacy to it, the scary demon king handing me the gentlest silk gown. I give him my back as I slide it over my head, the dress sleeveless, and I shimmy it around my bottom.

Then it’s quiet as I sit there, as if free now that I can get up without revealing my body. He watches me so carefully, and for a moment I catch a break in his stolid gaze as if he’s about to come apart at the seams.

Staring at the food, I’m genuinely not hungry.

“Eat, my dear,” he croons.

I haven’t been here long, but I’m aware now that all kinds of magic and binds happen without me understanding. “Is eating a part of a ritual?” I quietly ask, staring into his eyes. “Does it lock me in here?”

His gaze softens. “The ritual of ensuring you are taken care of.”

As he starts to reach for the food, I quickly lean over to swipe the bread, tear off a piece, and chew slowly, aware of his gaze on my mouth. The bread is warm, dark, dense with seeds. I even dip it into the broth, which is salted and herbed. Something in my chest loosens at letting the warmth slide down my throat, like muscle tension releasing that I didn't know I was holding.

He watches me eat with the focused attention of someone cataloging what I reach for first, how fast I chew, whether I favor the left side of my mouth.

“I don’t know what to say.” I dip the bread into more broth, deeply uncomfortable.

Kallúm reaches forward and starts to unpeel a mandarin for me, his hands rough enough to mirror a blacksmith’s. He offers me the peeled fruit, which I take because I don’t know what else I’m to do. “You may get up and roam. You will be staying in these quarters for a while.”

The way he has a command over my body is deeply unsettling while also exciting me.

I don’t hesitate, however, because I’ll take any reason to get up and start moving. He doesn't move from where he is as I move across the wooden floor, his eyes tracking me like I'm the only source of light in the room.

The space is larger than I first realized, with vaulted ceilings of dark stone and iron chandeliers holding candles that throw long shadows against carved walls. Heavy curtains the color of blood frame the windows. The bed is enormous, draped in fabrics that are too fine for someone like me.

For a moment, I stare at where I had just lain, a fraction of my reality sinking in that I was just in the bed of the Dominus, where he had fully undressed me and was washing off my shoulder when I woke up.

I move to the wardrobe first, which is half open, so it seems like an invitation. Inside are dresses in shades of blue, green, and pearl. I touch one, and something about the colors feels at home. The fabric is cool against my fingertips.

"Every one is fit for you," he says from behind me, as if reading the question before I ask it.

I put the dress back and move on, my cheeks warm.

Am I… am I really the soulmate of a demon king? It’s like it’s sinking in that this is what’s before me. Shaking my head, I move further in the space. There are shelves holding random items—a piece of driftwood worn smooth, a jar of black sand, what looks like a compass with no needle. On the desk, books in languages I can't read, and a single drawing, ink on parchment, of a woman standing on a cliff, her hair whipping behind her in the wind, the ocean raging below.

I pick it up. Even the crude drawing of the ocean makes this room feel stifling, like I need the energy of the waves. It reminds me of the bath that Judica had drawn for me…