It’s subtle at first, like an inhale, a hum. The fluttering of lashes against a cold cheek, the strike of a match right before it catches.
Then, there’s a sudden shout outside my door.
I hear more exclamations of surprise, cursing, yelling, the guards sounding confused and authoritative at first—but it changes into something more like desperate begging. There’s the unmistakable noise of swords being yanked from their hilts and running footsteps, but it’s all followed by a series of ominousthumps.
And then...nothing.
No sounds at all.
My heart races and my stomach roils, while fear squeezes me in its nefarious grasp.
Then, the doorknob jiggles. Just once. Like someone tested to see if it was locked. A second later, I see the handle fall away completely, disintegrated into grains of golden sand.
I tense as the door swings open, and a silhouette appears in the threshold like a demon stepping out of hell.
The dim light of the room shouldn’t be enough for me to recognize who it is, but I know. I think even in the pitch black, I’d know.
Because I can feel it.
Just like when I was on that hill, his power seems to travel from the ground and soak into my feet. Another wave of nausea roils through me, making my fingers curl tighter around the bars as King Ravinger himself steps into the room.
All the air in my lungs dissolves like that doorknob did, and my body freezes in fear. He steps in almost boredly, without even squinting in the dim light, as if his eyes don’t need to adjust to the dark.
Maybe that’s because darkness lurks within him already.
Walking forward, he scans the room methodically. He’s wearing neat black leathers with a high collar shirt, and a barbed crown of branches sits proudly on his head. They look withered, petrified, like they died long ago and then hardened in a molded polish.
He stops in the shadows, a few feet away from my cage, but I don’t need him closer to see how his gaze hooks onto me.
His are deep green eyes, like rich moss right before it’s about to turn brown. Life, right before death. Richness, right before rot.
But it’s the markings on his face that I can’t stop staring at. They rise out of his collar, trailing up his neck, curling over his jaw, like roots searching for soil. Like veins come loose from a poisoned heart.
As I watch, they move, curling and writhing, like something sinister is contained in those insidious markings.
He stands there, and my eyes warily look at the doorway, but no guards are gathered there. It’s as silent and heavy as death.
“Did you kill them?” I ask through labored breaths.
He gives me a shrug of his proud, unbothered shoulder. “They were in my way.”
My heart falls in fear. He killed all of them withinseconds.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that makes me shake.
I swallow hard. “King Ravinger.”
He hums, and my mind races with why he’s here, why he’s come. I thought I’d escaped him, but I should’ve known that trade-off was too simple, too easy.
He doesn’t seem at all nervous that King Midas might find him here. In fact, I suspect he’d welcome an excuse for the confrontation.
The firelight bathes his crown in vibrant orange, like autumn to a leaf. His black hair is somewhat creased, while a shadow clings to the jaw of his slightly gray-toned face. He’s younger than I thought he would be, but no less terrifying.
“So, this is where King Midas keeps his famous gold-touched favored.” Even with the dark distance between us, I see him studying me from bottom to top. “You really do look like a caged Goldfinch. Shame. You don’t belong in there at all.”
Eyes widening, my heart pounds in my chest, thrumming with a sharp hurt. Rip told him. Rip told his king his nickname for me. And the way Ravinger repeated it makes it sound crude, almost mocking.
Is that what Rip did? Mock me when he spoke to his king?
