Black leather boots crunched the snow beside my head.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze. Dark blue steel greaves, polished to a mirror shine. A cuirass embossed with aged gold, bearing the Crown’s sigil: a hawk with talons outstretched, ready to strike.
My heart stopped.
A weathered cloak hung on his broad shoulders. It split down the center, parting around the massive swordstrapped to his back. Pale hair peeked from under the low-drawn hood. As he approached, light illuminated his fair skin.
I knew this fae. We all feared him.
The king’s executioner. He beheaded traitors of the Crown and stood in the Square during the Rite, when the volunteers trembled beneath their flower garlands. No matter how much they sobbed, the executioner did his duty without hesitation.
Up close, he was worse than I imagined.
Deadlier.
His frame blotted out the world—tall like all fae, but built like a warrior, his chiseled jaw softened by full lips. Everything about him screamed predator, and I needed to run, to make myself small, to do anything but meet his eyes.
But I couldn’t look away.
Amber eyes, like liquid autumn. Eyes that had witnessed centuries of death. Eyes that pinned me as if I were a bug caught under glass. Those eyes had watched so many people die.
And now they looked at me.
This was it. This was how I died. Not old in a bed or even at the Rite, but here, in the snow. Any moment now, he’d kill me. Fae like him didn’t need weapons—not when their skin was covered in battle runes.
My pulse thrashed like a trapped bird, so violent he could probably see it hammering in my neck. Cold sweat beaded along my spine.
He stared at me. “Who are you?”
His deep baritone rolled through me like thunder. So rough, like a shovel hitting dry earth.
My lips parted, then shut again.
I’d escaped from guards before, but my bones whispered that movement would be a mistake. Fae were closer to beasts than people, and if I ran, he would chase me. I willed my heart to stop pounding, but it only churned harder.
“I’m a servant,” I mumbled, shaking back my sleeve to show him my silver bracelet.
“And a thief as well.”
My face flushed. “You—you’re mistaken.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Please. I’m begging you, let me go.”
His mouth twitched with dark amusement, and my stomach clenched. If anything, my begging seemed to entertain him.
“I’ve heard better pleas from people with their guts hanging out.”
I studied the cruel curve of his smile, my chest tight. I’d survived this long by knowing which people wanted bribes, flattery, or something else. Once, I’d even convinced a prince that I was worth protecting. But none of that would work withhim.
Why wasn’t I dead yet? He kept staring at my mouth, my ratty dress, my boots with more holes than leather. His frown deepened, but he didn’t draw his weapon.
“Run,” he said softly.
I stared at him, my thoughts slow, like wading through mud.Run?
I tensed. “You’ll kill me.”
