I hadn’t escaped Kairos at all.
17
THE FAE KING
No, this can’t be right.
He couldn’t be an actual king.
A dark fur mantle draped his broad frame, fastened at the shoulder with a bone clasp. Beneath it, just a simple leather tunic. His cloak brushed the floor as he rose.
He was extremely handsome. Not the porcelain beauty of Skalgard’s nobles with their soft lives—harsher. Carved from granite and brought to life. This wasn’t the beast who’d dragged me through mud, snarling like an animal. This was a king.
Somehow, that made it worse. Kings didn’t just break bones—they broke worlds, reshaped them to their liking. And I was standing in his.
He closed the distance between us in three slow strides. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, my neck craning at an angle that made me feel small. He was massive, thick with muscle that shifted beneath his clothes with every breath.
My breathing hitched. “You’re aking.”
He lifted a brow. “Yes.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing to understand. “But you said you were from Caelir.”
“Caelir is where I was born. Sanguir is where I ended up.”
“How long do you mean to keep me here?”
He gestured to the feast. “We’ll discuss it while we eat.”
Venison glazed with dark sauce glistened under firelight. Tubers roasted with herbs. Loaves of bread. Honeyed root vegetables, drizzled with a golden gravy. Bright, jewel-toned berries, some I’d never seen before, and a bowl of persimmons. Rheya would’ve loved this. As a child, I used to sneak her old pastries and watch her face light up over bread that wasn’t moldy.
My stomach twisted violently, almost in protest of the rich aroma. I stepped closer. Just to look at it all.
Kairos pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten in two days,” he ground out, his knuckles whitening on the chair.
“You’ve cured me of my appetite.”
His jaw tensed. “Starvation is a poor strategy.”
I tasted the succulent air. Either this was impressive illusion magic, or they really did cook an incredible meal. So much delicious food. Even Henrik hadn’t fed us like this.
I wavered, my mouth watering. Even the silverware was wonderful. Real, polished silver with tiny dragons engraved on the handles.
A place had been set for me.
“Sit,” Kairos whispered. “You need your strength.”
My eyes snapped to his. “For what? Being locked away?”
“I won’t ask again. Your pride is your own to burn.”
Then he walked to the head of the table and sat like itdidn’t matter, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Loading a plate with tubers, venison, and carrots, he slid it toward me.
I hovered for another breath.
