A Court of Ash and Necromancy

35. A Bowl of Bitter Cherries

Wynter sat on the edge of Melantha's bed as the Witch made her way around the room. He stared at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. Melantha hadn't spoken a word to him since she brought him upstairs.

Wynter didn't look up. He didn't move. Perhaps if he was silent, Melantha would forget he was there. Five hours. What she could do to him in five hours... What she could make him do... His chest tightened with anxiety and fear.

He stared at his hands, ignoring everything around him. He didn't look at the large four-poster mahogany bed, covered in burgundy sheets. He didn't look at the dozens of windows, which were partially hidden behind russet colored drapes.

He didn't look at the glittering chandelier overhead, or the ornately crafted golden candle fixtures on the black walls. He didn't look at the vanity Melantha sat in front of. He didn't watch as she brushed her long raven hair, before letting it fall against a fur lined, ruby robe.

Wynter swallowed, his hands more fascinating than any of the rich possessions around him. "Do you know why I chose you?" Melantha asked, her lilting voice surprisingly gentle.

"Why?" Wynter whispered.

"Because you intrigued me. Your people do nothing for you, yet you're willing to do anything for them. You play with ungrateful, spoiled children. You give them gifts conjured by magic. You serve your subjects with each breath you draw, but no one has lifted a finger to help you since I stole you away. Yet, here you are, still giving of yourself to help others."

Melantha twisted and Wynter felt her gaze on him. He still didn't look up. "Why?" She asked. "Why do you do that?"

"Because I care."

"You care? Explain."

"I care about the happiness of my people. It is my duty to serve them and make sure they have all that they need. If it's in my power to make things better for them, then I should do so."

"The females you are so desperately protecting are not your people. They aren't even your friends." Melantha smiled. "They are eating their fill of sandwiches right now while you sit here, stiff with dread. While they sit there with full bellies, I can do whatever I like with you."

"You could do that anyway," Wynter muttered.

"I could, yes. But, it's much nicer when you agree. That way, we both know what is expected and you won't make things difficult for me so I don't have to punish you." Melantha stood, robes swishing around her feet as she moved towards him. She hooked a finger beneath his chin. "You intrigue me, Prince. I admire your selflessness. There was a time when I shared it. But you will learn as I did, that it is better to look after yourself than others."

"I'm not like you," Wynter replied, keeping his voice cold and flat. "It doesn't matter what you do to me. I will always serve those who need me."

"Then it is a good thing I need you, isn't it?" Melantha laughed. Wynter fought the urge to shudder. "Five hours. What shall I do with you?" She raked her fingers through his unbound hair, lifting it and letting it fall over his shoulder. She flashed her pointed teeth. "I have so many ideas."

Wynter swallowed hard, his eyes burning. It was all he could do to remain still. To remain breathing. To keep himself from shaking. "We'll start with this." Melantha stepped away from him, retreating to a far corner of the room. When she returned, she held a bowl of shiny red cherries. "Are you hungry, Prince?"

"No," he lied.

Melantha smiled, her black eyes sparkling. "Yes, you are. You bargained for six meals in the dungeons. You bargained for yourself, as well as those females. You are hungry. Here." She held out a cherry. "Eat."