Greta and the Goblin King

by Chloe Jacobs

  It wasn’t hard to guess from the wolfish look in his eyes when she finally figured it out that he was never going to let her live it down.

  “Greta.”

  No polite “danem” this time, huh? The casual trill of her name on his lips was more than a little ironic considering what saying his name had cost her.

  His voice was lower than usual, as if encouraging her to confide in him. Yeah, right. She glanced into the pitted mirror above the bar, and gasped to find him standing only a few feet behind her. When had he gotten up from his seat and crossed the room?

  Probably when she was trying so hard to ignore him.

  He said it again, her name. More like a whisper, actually. But closer and clearer than it should have been with all the others around them, drinking and laughing…

  Except suddenly there was no one else around. She was alone with only him and the mist for company. She whirled around to face him.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Exactly where do you hail from?”

  She leaned back as he pushed forward, until the edge of the bar pressed against her spine. Questions. Of course. Luke had warned here there would be questions if she allowed anyone to get too close. Thankfully, her life was a fairly solitary one. Other than Luke, she had few friends. Okay, none. Not that it bothered her. It didn’t. The risks of unwittingly revealing her human heritage far outweighed any benefits that might come from having someone to talk to.

  Especially if that someone was a hot goblin with a penchant for hijacking dreams, who also just so happened to be the newly minted king.

  Just thinking about that made her want to break her fist over that square chin of his, and wipe the confident smile from his lips. But this was still just a dream. It wouldn’t really be her fist flying and it wouldn’t really be his face under her knuckles.

  “You know I never answer your questions. Why do you keep asking? Why waste your time in my dreams?”

  “You said my name,” he answered. He reached out, taking a lock of her hair between his fingers and rolling it as if he was fascinated by its softness. When she self-consciously tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, his eyes flared and his gaze locked on her mouth. “You invited me in. You gave me the power.”

  He touched her cheek with the most feather-light caress, the pad of his thumb following the line of her bottom lip. She swatted his hand away before she did something stupid like lean into his touch. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “How could you not know?”

  The implication went unsaid, but it was still there. She should have known because everyone knew saying Isaac’s name had consequences. Everyone who belonged in Mylena, that is.

  Well, she didn’t belong in Mylena, and loneliness had gotten the better of her the night they met in Maidra’s tavern. When he approached her despite the menacing keep-away glare she always wore to protect herself, she’d faltered in the face of his bright smile. Nobody had ever looked at her as if she were beautiful and interesting before.

  They’d talked for hours and before she knew it, she’d plummeted into his trap. After she’d broken more of Luke’s rules than she thought possible and reluctantly stood up to leave, he’d asked her name. Greta had only reciprocated, thinking nothing of it.

  Just call me Isaac.

  So she had. Apparently, it didn’t matter if you were an ignorant human whom no one had bothered to explain the rules to. She’d been vulnerable to him. Was still vulnerable.

  “It doesn’t matter why I didn’t know!” Her hands clenched into fists. “My ignorance didn’t give you the right to take advantage of me.” Closing her eyes, she tried to remember where she really was, willing her consciousness to get a clue and—

  Wake. The hell. Up.

  “You only wake when I’m ready to let you go.”

  “Then what do you want with me?”

  His smoldering look went all the way through her. Her stomach fluttered madly and she stepped back, hoping to God she wasn’t blushing. “Are you reading my mind?”

  He snorted. “I’m in your mind, getting to know every part of you.”

  Her face burned with embarrassment. “You’re deluding yourself if you think you can know who I am or what I want from spying on me in my dreams. Therein lies a realm of fantasy, and while it’s an interesting place to visit every once in a while, we both have to live in the real world, don’t we?”

  “You can put up walls, Greta, but sooner or later, I’ll break down every last one. There won’t be any secret you can keep or any part of you I don’t know…” He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Intimately.”

  Her knees shook at the thought. Intimacy meant weakness. Weakness that he was obviously trying to exploit. She realized it now. His appearances in her dreams…all that talk…craftily designed to subvert her defenses.

  He’d implied he never wanted to be the king, but of course he wanted to be king. Who wouldn’t? He was a power-hungry goblin so full of arrogance she felt like an idiot for not seeing it before it was too late.

  She would not—could not—give into the things he made her feel. That way lay disaster, even if part of her was tempted to find out exactly how intimate they could get.

  Frantically, she plotted. She didn’t just need to wake up, she had to find a way to put an end to these visits once and for all before her will to resist was gone. “Why would you even want to? Trust me, I’m not the slightest bit interesting.”

  “You intrigue me,” he said.

  Greta huffed. She was nothing. Less than nothing. She had none of the strength of the goblins, none of the beauty of the nymphs, none of the magick of the sprites or the faeries. She downplayed her few curves beneath a hostile scowl and multiple layers of clothing to keep others from looking too closely and wondering if there was a reason why she was so spectacularly unimpressive.

  No, he couldn’t know her secret. If he did, he would’ve cut her down out there in the forest by now. And if he didn’t want to get his hands dirty with it, not even Luke would be able to protect her from the lynch mob that he would send after her. “Get out of my head.”

  He smiled. “But I just got here.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  His hand lifted back up to her cheek. She flinched, but he only pushed her hair off her cheek. She held her breath. Even knowing his touch wasn’t real, tingles danced all the way to her toes.

  After what seemed like forever, he dropped his hand, looking thoughtful. “You’re so secretive and prickly, Greta. Why is that?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Oh, I think it is. In fact, I think who you are and what you do is very much my business.” He stepped closer and she drew back, ready to defend herself if he decided to try “persuading” her to talk. But he only gripped her arms as if to pull her into an embrace.

  She tensed and put her hand between them, on his chest. His heart was pounding fast, maybe as fast as hers, and she could almost imagine that this was real. She glanced up to find him looking at her intensely. And then he did pull her closer. Close enough to press his forehead to hers as he whispered, “Reveal yourself to me, Greta. Trust in me. Tell me your secrets, and I can be lenient with you.”

  She shook her head. Deny, deny, deny. That was standard operating procedure.

  The hard look in his eyes returned. He dropped his gaze and let her go. She expelled a long, slow breath, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  “We’ll discuss this again,” he promised. “Now, wake.”

  …

  She was aware of his presence the moment she took her first conscious breath. It didn’t take much longer to pin down his position. Opening her eyes, she zeroed in on his figure sprawled in a chair in the deep shadows across from the cushy bed—a softer, warmer bed than any other in Mylena, she would bet.

  But with no fire in the hearth and only one covered window, the room was cold and dark.

  “Where am I?” Her voice was too loud, ech
oing in the cold room. Shaky and pinched, the hoarse sound threatened to tear her open, expose her to the reality of the cold world when she was still reeling from the dream.

  The aches and pains of her battered body settled back in quickly now that she was awake. As much as she wanted to demand some answers and make some threats, Greta’s body wasn’t quite in sync with the rest of her.

  “You’re safe. For now.” His low-voiced answer came out of the darkness. She still couldn’t see his face but his shoulders were hunched, and he sounded tired and tense.

  Greta remembered the ghoul. The woods. She remembered being hurt.

  Had he come back for her?

  She remembered the way he’d looked at her in her dream. He’d wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it. And she would have let him, she was sure of that, too. Her cheeks were burning so hot, he would immediately know what she was thinking. How could she face him?

  She decided not to think about it. None of it. At least not until she got out of…wherever she was.

  Shifting, she dropped her legs over the side of the bed. The blanket slipped and she shivered from the chill in the air. Her cloak and shirt had been removed. Nothing but thick bandages covered her upper body. Soft white cotton had been wound around her arm from elbow to wrist and over her burned hand. Another wrapped over her shoulder and across her chest.

  No, no, no. Please, no. A spike of cold horror arrowed through her, and her fingers tightened in a death grip on the blanket as she jerked it back up to her shoulders and tried not to think about Isaac seeing her naked.

  She couldn’t bear the thought that he’d been the one to remove her clothes, and clean and bind her wounds. It didn’t seem likely, though. He was the goblin king, after all. There had to be a houseful of servants ready and waiting to do his bidding. They were probably standing just outside the door. The thought eased her panic just a bit.

  Still. How long had she been unconscious and at his mercy? Taking some small comfort in the fact that she still wore her pants—as crusty and abrasive as they felt against her screamingly tender skin—Greta rolled her shoulder, stifling a wince as sharp pain reverberated down her arm.

  “The ghoul’s poison worked its way through your system fairly quickly, but your wounds became infected. They are taking a surprisingly long time to heal…for a sprite. You’ve been out an entire day fighting off fever.”

  She nodded, taking the news as matter-of-factly as possible given the stunning revelation that she’d been gone for that long. Luke would have started looking for her by now.

  Her muscles ached, and beneath the bandages, her upper body felt raw and torn. No doubt it was going to take a few more days for the gashes in her shoulder to heal, and then she’d be left with a whole new set of scars to show for her latest adventure.

  She stared into the dark corner where the goblin king continued to sit and watch. He reminded her of a great cat following its prey’s every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His intensity made her nervous. Rattled and sore, she didn’t know what she would do if this cozy scene went south.

  Finally, he leaned forward into the small shaft of light coming through the window and braced both elbows on his knees. Her mouth went dry as she zeroed in on the thick, corded muscle that defined his wide shoulders, and she had to look away just as fast. But the rest of him didn’t help her state of being any. His hair was mussed, standing straight up in places as if he’d been dragging his hands through it. There was a sleepy, softened look to his face that only increased her agitation. He was too appealing like this. Too close.

  Deep breaths.

  She forced her gaze away and glanced around, pretending to stare at a particularly interesting knot in the wood paneling across the room, the fine pieces of furniture, the smudge of dirt blurring the view out the window…anything to avoid looking at him. “Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you just dump me off at home?”

  “And where exactly is home for you?” He watched her with a piercing coldness. “Your real home, that is?”

  She lifted a hand to the side of her head only to find that her strategically positioned braids were gone. Her hair fell forward, long, pale ends swinging in front of her face. Unbound, it made her feel too soft, too vulnerable.

  Over the years, she’d learned all the tricks. Keeping her hair plaited just the right way. Keeping her head down. She knew how to blend in, become just another face in the crowd. She could fudge some of the other inconsistencies, but her lack of faerie points was the one overt physical feature that proved she wasn’t who she’d been saying she was. Greta never left her hair down, even when she was certain of being alone. The chance that someone could get a glimpse of her rounded human ears was too great.

  She remembered the way he had touched her hair and caressed her cheek. If the ice in his glare was any indication…

  Her stomach hollowed out and her heart pounded too fast. How long had he known? Did he discover the truth before invading her mind, or was it the dreams themselves that had betrayed her? And which dream? Thinking back to his words and actions, it was obvious that he’d known the truth for a while.

  But that didn’t lessen her fear. What happened now? After uncovering Greta’s most vulnerable weakness, what would the goblin king do with the knowledge? And why hadn’t he done it already?

  She chanced a quick glance at the door, expecting a horde of goblin warriors to barge in at any moment and put her in chains. Her blades were lying atop a tall table on the other side of the room. Too far away. In top form with weapons in hand, she might have been able to take him. Might. But half dead and without a shirt? She probably shouldn’t try unless it became absolutely necessary.

  She lifted her chin and dropped her bandaged arm to her side, slowly pushing herself to her feet and tugging the bed sheet along for cover. “What is this place and why am I here?”

  He rose with her, but didn’t come any closer. “I saved your life out in the snow and you cannot be bothered to even say thank you?”

  She jerked her gaze back to him, surprised. That’s what he was worried about? The level of her gratitude? “I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “I am grateful for your help, but my pater will be worried about me.”

  “Your pater is Dolem Lucius, the bounty hunter?”

  She nodded. Mylean youth either became farmers like their fathers or were contracted at early ages to skilled masters for training in other fields, depending upon the position and wealth of their families. Trades like iron working and weaving were considered worthy career choices.

  Bounty hunter…not so much.

  “And how exactly did you become bound to him?”

  Gangbusters with the questions again. If he was planning to call her out as a fraud and have her hauled away, he needed to do it already. “There was no contract, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s my father.”

  After a long moment, he only shook his head. “Your pater is a very reclusive sprite, and nobody knows much about him. I didn’t realize he had a daughter until I met a capable new bounty hunter working in goblin territory.”

  She tried to take a few steps, but her movements were slowed by pain and nausea, making her woozy. She might just throw up on his boots. That would serve him right.

  “Well, he does. So if you’re finished bombarding me with questions, I’d like to go home and see him now.” She started looking for her own boots, hoping he wouldn’t push the matter any further.

  “Say my name and I might agree to let you go.”

  She glanced up at him sharply. His eyes were dark, almost black. Dangerous. God, why did that make her heart beat faster? “Now, why would I do something as stupid as that again? You might have fooled me once, but—”

  “No games this time.”

  He sounded so sincere. She wanted to believe him.

  That was part of the problem.

  She took a deep breath and was flooded with him. The scent of wood smoke and spice, the way his body vibrated with strengt
h and energy. His vitality overwhelmed her.

  No games, he said. What a joke. Between the two of them, it was nothing but games. Even if he hadn’t been a conniving jerk, there could never be anything else between them. There were so many reasons why it was impossible, why she wouldn’t let herself fall for him.

  “What do you get out of it?” she grumbled.

  “I like hearing my name from your irreverent lips.”

  Pressing her eyes shut, she shook her head. “We don’t always get what we want.”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  A vision formed in her head. A bright kitchen. Long rays of sunshine coming through the flawless window, bouncing off the polished chrome handle of a refrigerator door. A woman opened it and pulled out a carton of juice. It was one of Greta’s only memories of home where all of the details remained absolutely clear as crystal in her head.

  Except for the fact that she could no longer see her mother’s face.

  Something in his expression altered as he continued to stare at her with that unwavering intensity. He was just waiting for her to slip up and reveal too much, wasn’t he?

  “Nothing. I don’t want anything at all. Especially not from you.” She abruptly made a beeline for her clothes, gritting her teeth against the physical discomfort.

  “I don’t believe you,” he pushed, coming up behind her before she could reach for her shirt. “Everybody wants something and you’re no exception. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She didn’t know if that was true or not, but if she didn’t turn around, he couldn’t confirm anything, could he? “Yeah? And you’re going to give me what I want, is that it?”

  “It’s what I do now.” She felt him standing behind her, the hitch in his breathing as he hesitated. Finally, his hands fell on her bare shoulders.

  She tensed, little electrical tingles tripping down her arms to her fingertips, which curled tighter into the sheet she held wrapped around her.