He pushed against the floor. And that was when he discovered he was naked.

Whatever. He didn’t want to make the maichen feel awkward, but if she didn’t like the view, she could leave.

Not that she was looking at him. Her head was lowered in submission, as she had been trained.

s’Ex apparently was prepared to take some kind of care of him while he was in prison—or at least keep him alive for the time being. And for a moment, he pitied this poor female whose social rank was so low she was sent in, by herself, to possibly dangerous males without consideration for her safety or her sex.

Then again, in the hierarchy of things, she was considered to be essentially worthless.

Sad. But he had other problems to worry about.

Without acknowledging the maichen or his birthday-suit situation, he got to his feet and walked over to the screen in the far corner. The water facilities were behind it and he took advantage of them—getting another reminder he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

As he bent over a commoners’ sink to wash his face, he had only a single crank to turn the faucet on, rather than separate ones for hot and cold.

It was not because he was a prisoner: The whole wait-for-hot-water issue was among the things he’d had to get used to outside of the Territory. Humans insisted on toggling some mix of opposites to a perfect temperature. Here at the s’Hisbe? All water was ninety-eight degrees. From drinking to washing to brushing your teeth, it was one single constant, neither hot nor cold.

Splashing his face, he picked up the black towel that hung on a wall rack and dried off. Soft. So soft. Nothing like human ones, and he was just a prisoner.

He retucked the damp length out of habit and stepped free of the screen. “Tell s’Ex I want to see him.”

Prisoners were typically not afforded requests, but he didn’t care. He also refused to speak in the Old Language or the Shadow dialect. Because of the predominance of human culture, English was taught in Shadow schools, and even staff were expected to have some rudimentary knowledge of the language.

“And I’m not eating that.” He nodded at the tray. “So you can take it away.”

God only knew what was in the shit, whether it was a drug or some kind of poison; he was very confident his treatment here wasn’t going to stay so benign. They were, in most likelihood, going to pull his arms and legs out of his sockets at some point—although not until they notified Trez of his captivity.

Shit. He should never have trusted—

The maichen placed the tray on the floor. Then she extended her hand, picked up the spoon, dipped it in the soup, and brought it upward. With her free hand, she lifted the mesh far enough to expose her mouth and take a sample. Then she did the same for the bread, and the fermented apple cider that was in the carafe.

Allowing the mesh to fall back into place, she sat back on the soles of the leather slippers on her feet.

Unfortunately, the gesture did nothing for his suspicions. maichens were so far down the food chain, again, that even the word itself was paid little respect at the beginning of sentences. That she might be poisoned or compromised? No one would care.

His stomach, however, was seriously encouraged as she continued to breathe.

Before he could stop himself, he went over to her and the tray. maichen did not look up, but then again, she was afraid of him—for good reason.

The scent of her fear mixed nicely with that spicy soup.

So did the scent of her skin.

Inhaling through his nose, he felt another shock go through his system, his muscles twitching—as did his cock.

Which made no sense. Here he was, stuck in shit up to his chin, and his sex decided to get interested? Really?

No wonder they called the damn thing a dumb handle.

Standing above her, he put his hands on his hips and watched for signs that she was going to hit the floor. When she remained upright, he waited a little longer. She was trembling, but she had been ever since he’d gotten to his feet.

iAm knelt down on the hard stone floor, mirroring her pose. Almost immediately his knees began to ache—another reminder of how long it had been since he’d been around his people. Such manner of sitting was a commonplace here in the Territory.

Handy if you’re buck-ass naked, too. Didn’t put your altogether on as full a display.

He ate fast, but not sloppily, and it was a good call. His brain needed the calories—his body, too, if he were going to bust out of here.

Which was the plan.

“s’Ex,” he demanded when he’d finished. “Go get him.”

With that, he pushed the tray toward the female. As was custom, she bent forward in supplication, her covered forehead nearly ending up in the empty white bowl.

She picked up the tray, straightened her torso, and gracefully got to her feet without wobbling or dropping any of the dishes. Backing out of the cell, she triggered the door by putting the sole of her shoe against a section of the wall. A moment later, because the exit was clearly monitored, someone opened things up remotely—either that, or the exit was footprinted somehow.

And out she went.

As the panel closed with a Star Trek sound, he knew it would have done him no good to overpower her and try to use her as a bargaining chip. s’Ex and his guards would be more likely to negotiate to save a dog.

Pacing around, he pictured his brother beside Selena as she lay on that examination table, under that bright light, her body all contorted, a frozen expression on her face.

God, he should never have done this. Talk about a no-win situation: Trez was going to want to come get him out, but leaving that female when she was ill was going to kill him.

Nothing like throwing gasoline on a fire. Along with about a hundred pounds of dynamite.

Trez had meant every word he’d said about Selena and her freedom of choice.

As he strode through the underground tunnel, heading for the training center’s clinic, he was one hundred on pretty much one and only one thing—well, two, but the fact that he was in love with her was a rock-bottom given. The other thing he knew for sure was that Selena, and Selena alone, was going to decide how her condition was managed, and if anybody tried to strong-arm her in any way? He was going to butt-out them like you read about.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to go see Doc Jane.

About his queen.

God, that pet name for Selena was so funny. The instant the sobriquet had come out of his mouth, it had locked in. As if his vocabulary had bonded to that word like his body had bonded to hers.

And she would be the only queen for him. No matter what happened to them, or where he ended up, she would be his reigning female, none other to supplant her place in his heart, his respect, or the utterance of that word.

Dragging his palm over his face, he forced his feet to stay at a walking stride even though a big part of him wanted to run at a full tilt to the clinic. There was no rush, however, at least as far as his female was concerned. Selena was up in his bedroom, naked in his tub, soaking her beautiful body in warm, scented water.

She was not completely pain-free. She hid the lingering stiffness and discomfort well, but the telltales were in the subtle winces of her face, and the jerky manner in which she moved her hands and arms. The bath and some OTC aspirin were going to help, though. And when she had had a good, long soak, she was going to get into his bed for a rest before their “date.”

Her joy at the prospect of their dinner together was contagious. He literally felt warm inside his skeleton, as if her happiness held a kinetic magic that, through his bonding, magnified within his own flesh. Hell, all he had to do was think of her at that breakfast table, grinning over their bowls of oatmeal, or think of the sound of her voice getting all excited about where they were going . . . and he was sublimely at peace.