“Because if you will not help my people as promised, then you are not what I believed you to be. Even though I doubt your honor, I have never doubted that you are a fearsome warrior, but if you will not protect The Grove, then all my family will die, and I have nothing left to live for.” His grip loosens from my chin and I free my wrist from his grasp with a jerk. “So go ahead. Tell me nightmares. Tear me to pieces. I am not afraid of you. There are worse things than you in the Sundered Kingdoms.”
Daedalus paces backwards away from me, but his eyes do not leave mine. “Really? Like what?” he scoffs.
“The Legion of Saints and the one who commands them,” I mutter, inspecting the redness looped around my wrist. “He is the sole reason The Tenders agreed to this bargain.”
I grimace and rub at my wrist, then realize Daedalus has fallen silent. I look up to see the fire in his eyes reduced to a smolder and his jaw clenched as he mulls over my words. Is he offended that he is not the only monster in the Sundered Kingdoms?
“The Golden Son,” he says at last. “You saw him?”
I furrow my brow. “Yes. He stormed through the forest like it belonged to him, his men crushing the undergrowth and slaughtering rabbits and deer that had never been hunted.”
“And you are sure it was him?” Daedalus persists.
I nod, as condescending as his tone. “Yes. I am sure. He said as much when he demanded we bend the knee and join his ranks.” Then I pause and chew my bottom lip. “I suppose I did not see his face. He wore…”
“A golden mask,” Daedalus sighs. “No one has ever seen his face. They say he is so horribly burnt he hides his hideousness behind the mask. But they also say he was killed in the Betrayers’ Battle, so who knows if that really is him or if someone else has donned the mask?”
“All I know is whoever he was, he promised to burn The Grove and everyone who dwells within to ash if we did not swear an oath to the Legion. That is when Keeper Tovar sent his letter for aid to Baev’kalath.”
“And the Golden Son did nothing to stop this?”
I tighten my fists enough that my nails prick my skin. “You like to tease that we Tenders are nothing but singing, dancing idiots, but we are not as helpless as you think. He did not have the full power of the Legion behind him, only a scouting party. We told him no and fought him back with everything we had and when the rain came and the soil turned to mud that swallowedthem up to their knees, they retreated on the promise they would return.”
“You told him no?” Daedalus asks with mocking disbelief.
Suddenly the raw ache around my wrist vanishes, the mysterious weakness that starves me for breath and strength disappears. All I am left with is the reminder of that day and an unyielding pain that will stay with me forever, like glass lodged so deep in my heart that it will never come free, but torture me with agony for as long as I live.
“Yes,” I mutter, my words barely a whisper. “And forty-nine men, twenty-one women, and six children of The Grove died for our defiance. But even that is hundreds less than what we lost inyourBetrayers’ Battle. So ask me again, Prince Daedalus, if I understand what paying a price means.”
He dips his chin, glowering from beneath his heavy brow as he stalks towards me. I refuse to believe the heat building inside me stems from anything but my anger and loathing, but the feline way he moves and the slow, rhythmic thump of his boots as he crosses the floor has me hypnotized. As his open shirt sways around his strong, sculpted hips, suddenly I’m reminded of every perfect, hard ridge of his body and how breathtakingly beautiful he is.
An unsteady step backwards is my only defence, but I come to a halt when I feel the end of the bed press against my legs. Daedalus continues his approach with agonizing carnality until he towers over me, trapping me in his shadow.
I cannot move. I cannot scream. But I do not know if I want to.
His warm, rich scent sends my head spinning. It must be Fae magic.
How else could a smell frenzy me the way his does?
His chest heaves before he releases a long, rumbling breath, and I notice the shimmers of color in the cracked moonstone around his neck. “Tell me, Princess Amara. Would you like tocontinue trading trauma tales, or should we do what we came here for?”
I grit my teeth and slowly shake my head in vehement defiance. “I came here for the protection of the Grove. If you cannot give what you promised, I have nothing to give to you.”
He chuckles gruffly. “Oh, there will be no giving, my spirited wife. Only taking.”
Every nerve of my body comes alive when he lightly presses his finger to my chest and traces the line of my sternum down the deep, plunging neckline of my dress.
I shudder. “Prince Daedalus…”
“I have told you once. Call me Daed. Don’t make me tell you again”
When the neckline of the dress ends at my ribs, he grumbles his disappointment before sliding his hand across my stomach to grip my waist.
Through the thin fabric I feel his warmth, and when he curls his fingers to hold me tighter and his nails dig into my flesh, I imagine he could rip this dress right off my body if he wanted to. But I do not want him to. He is a liar and a murderer and if he will not fight for me—he is also a coward.
“Let me go. Please,” I murmur, my eyes falling closed.
If I can not see him, I will not want him.
