Briar opened her eyes.
The silence grew heavy. Malus tried once more, this time with enough pressure that even a dull blade should have drawn blood. Nothing.
"My lord?" Lord Pendron's confusion was evident.
Briar saw the moment Malus's control cracked. His jaw tightened, his eyes went flat, and for an instant, rage flickered across his features before he smoothed them.
He set the knife down carefully and turned to her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then he grabbed her throat and slammed her back against the throne.
The violence of it shocked the court. Several fae stepped forward instinctively, but more Withered moved from the shadows, their presence both a threat and a promise to anyone who thought to intervene.
"Someone," Malus said, his voice still casual despite his hand crushing her windpipe, "has been getting creative."
He yanked her forward, then drove her back again. Her head snapped back against the wood leaving her dazed.
Malus leaned in. "Did you think," he said against her ear, fingers tangling in her hair at the nape of her neck, "that parlor tricks would stop me?"
“Don’t—!”
He sank his teeth into her throat, tearing through whatever protection the oil provided through sheer savagery. She screamed and her hands came up, striking at his face, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach.
He caught one wrist, pinning it against the throne while using his body weight to trap her. Her free hand clawed at him, drawing blood from his cheek before he grabbed that wrist too, holding both now as he fed.
The warmth in her chest raged, pushing against her skin, trying to manifest. She could feel it building into something violent, something that wanted to shove him away from her, but the oil created a barrier it couldn't breach.
Malus drank deeply, and she felt her strength ebbing. The futility of it, the pain, the violation of being fed upon in front of the entire court. When he finally pulled back with a gasp, she was shaking. Blood ran down her throat, staining the autumn silk.
"What—" He released her wrists to touch his mouth, staring at the blood on his fingers. Then at her. His pupils had dilated strangely. "You taste of forests. Deep forests. Old growth and shadow and—"
His expression shifted from confusionto rage.
"You taste ofhim."
The court erupted in whispers. Malus grabbed her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"How?" His fingers dug into her skin. "The bargain is mine. The marks are mine. But your blood carries his forest." He inhaled sharply against her hair, her skin. "What did my brother do to you?"
She couldn't answer with his hand crushing her jaw. The warmth in her chest pulsed with something like satisfaction. Even claimed by another, her blood knew its true master.
"My lord," Lord Pendron said carefully, "what does this mean?"
Malus released her face to grab her by the throat again, displaying the savage bite to the court. "It means," he said, "that my brother left more than marks. Her blood carries forest magic. Old magic."
"That's impossible," someone said. "She's human."
"She was human." Malus's grip tightened, and she could feel her pulse pounding against his palm. "Now she's becoming something else. Something that belongs to the forest itself, despite my claim."
He released her suddenly and she collapsed against the throne, gasping, blood still running from the wound. The copper leaves at her throat were splattered with red.
"Clear the hall," he commanded. "Everyone out."
"But my lord—" Lord Pendron began.
"Out!" The word cracked like thunder. Autumn leaves throughout the hall burst into flame, then crumbled to nothing.
The fae fled. Even the ancient ones who'd been eager for blood seemed startled by his fury. Within moments, only the Withered remained, still as death in the shadows.
Malus turned on her, and she saw murder in his eyes.
