Selene will be furious. Devastated.
It’s another punishment.
“They tried to kill you,” Roy adds as he lifts a brow.
“They are fae,” I whisper as I grab my cup. “If we lose our ability to respect the traditions of death, then how do you expect us to value life? He should have returned the bodies, not burned them.”
The table grows silent. Good, let them think.
“King’s orders.” Roy’s lips form a thin line.
I hold his stare. I feel Tristen’s hand slide down his side and rest on his dagger.
I want to rip out my tongue, but instead I say, “The king knows best.”
Roy continues to look at me, then he moves. Thomas jerks, having sensed the tension. Roy lifts his cup in the air and toasts, “To the king!”
“To the king!” the room yells back.
I raise my cup, having no choice. Blood fills my mouth. It takes a moment for me to realize that the taste of it isn’t normal. Instead of energizing and relaxing me, it’s bitter, salty, and metallic.
Spew!I spit it out, covering Roy’s face in the blood.
Tristen lurches as he stands, his dagger half pulled out.
I cough and gag as everyone grows silent. A room full of fellow soldiers watching and waiting for me to tell them why the fuck I just spit out a cheer to the king. I stand and try to catch my breath.
Why did it taste like that?
Glancing to the side, I see the truth in Tristen’s eyes.
Fuck! It’s happening.
Lying quickly to save my throat, I yell, “Poison.”
Soldiers stand, and conversations erupt.
“They tried to kill him again!”
“The fae will never stop!”
“Spit it out! Don’t drink it!”
Great, now they think this was another attempt by the Fae. That’s not what I wanted. The panic spreads like wildfire.
“Poison! They poisoned our blood!”
“I don’t feel good. Help!”
“Mine tasted fine. It’s from the same pitcher,” Roy grunts loudly as he stares into his cup.
Thomas grabs the pitcher and lifts it to his nose.Sniff, sniff!His eyes shift slowly towards mine, resembling a nail that might hit my coffin or miss and land on the side.
“Smells odd to me, too!” he shouts. His eyes soften as he lowers his chin the smallest amount, a silent gesture he’s on my side.
I wonder how many other needles in this haystack share my thoughts and feelings. How many men and women are getting tired of Galen’s disrespect towards the living and the dead?
Clang!
