“I mean, if I swing my sword into it, will I cut you? I value my neck and would like to keep my head attached to it.” An impossible task.
Was that the sound of a smile? I start to pull my sword out.
“Swing away, guard.”
I don’t trust her. I put my sword back. Fire covers my fingers. I grab the vines. First, they smoke; the green waxy shine weathers away, like water wrung from a wet towel. It weakens them just enough for me to snap them in half.
Damp, mossy notes clash with cinder.
Once the hole is big enough, I slip through it.
I wish I hadn’t.
As soon as I enter, I’m directly in her bed chambers. Another bad design in the castle. To protect the queen, a buffer zone—a waiting room—should separate her bed from potential entry points.
Shit! My boot catches on a vine. I shake it free as I stumble, almost twisting my ankle. Vines cover the room from floor to ceiling.
King Galen is skilled. It’s a bird’s nest, layers of vines to keep an egg safe. I should look away. Instead, my eyes remain locked ahead on the queen, bound by vines.
Our eyes lock. Selene’s lips part, then pull into a tight snarl. “You!” she seethes, a sound hotter than the fire on my fingertips.
Oh shit!Here it comes.
Chapter
Ten
Selene
Oh, husband, you are next level.
You want to play dirty?
I’m not scared to break a nail.
My new guard enters. The control of his fire magic is impressive. The way he burned Galen’s precious vines could come in handy.
His eyes take in the mess, particularly me, trapped in my bed.
It’s not my best moment, certainly a first impression that will linger, though.
Will I beg to be cut free? No, I’ve mastered conspiring when trapped in a cage. Everyone thinks I want freedom. I’d rather show them what being caged feels like.
Pushing my spine into the mattress, I do my best to relax and ignore the tingling aches and pains groaning throughout my body.
Wait… tall, strong build, wide shoulders. That face wearing the mask of humble innocence, just like he wore when he received his new title!
Titus! The man who killed my brother is to be my new personal guard.
I push against the vines, fresh thorns cutting me as I do.
Oh, look, the murderer is concerned. He stumbles forward, tripping again. His eyes glare at the thorns cutting me.
“How can you protect me? You can’t put one foot in front of the other,” Ibristle. He shifts from foot to foot, finding his balance on the foliage.
Suddenly, my body falls limp. My mind plots all the scenarios Galen must have calculated when he assigned Titus.
Galen expects me to kill Titus. He’s handing him over to me on a silver platter.
