“Melder Bien.” Damir’s words were as cold as a north wind. “King Hundur, along with myself, would delight in hearing your reasons for attacking not only a guest of Stonegate, but a nobleman of Myrda.”
“Choose your words carefully, woman,” Hundur grumbled. “They very well could seal your fate.”
Roark stiffened. His hand went to my back, a touch of possessiveness and protection in one motion.
“Sire, I did not attack Ser Grisen. He spoke threateningly to me, insisting he would…force himself upon me, so you would give me to him as a wife.”
King Damir’s eyes flashed.
“A story, no doubt.” Hundur grunted. “One carefully crafted when a man cannot even speak for himself.”
Roark stepped nearer to the dais, hands speaking in direct, harsh swipes. He did not need to make a sound. I could sense his rage in every gesture.
“The Sentry was there, King Hundur,” Prince Thane translated. “He saw your seneschal’s son with his hands on the melder.” The prince paused, watching Roark. “She made her refusals clear, and he ignored them. He planned to harm her.”
King Hundur’s glare fastened on Roark. “We cannot know if they both are lying. Your so-called Draven thrall—”
“I would watch how you speak, Hundur,” Prince Thane cut back. “Of those whom I am loyal to in this room, Roark Ashwood nears the top. But your resistance to harken to your own daughter’s words, a melder, and a respected warrior of Stonegate have me curious as to why. Embarrassment that it was Myrda who stirred trouble? Is this retribution for the loss of your seneschal during the raids? What is it?”
King Hundur’s wide face deepened to a fierce shade of red, asthough he held his breath far too long. “I seek the truth. Nothing more.”
“It would seem you have it.” King Damir drummed his fingers over the arm of his throne. “What would you have me do, Hundur? She is the only melder we have. Would you have me maim her, make her hideous so men do not wish to touch her?”
My heart dropped. Roark took a step back to me, steady as a predator. A fleeting thought left me curious if the Sentry might stand against his own king for this.
The notion of it stirred something inside, something darker. More and more, his actions in this room gave up that Roark would be willing to draw a blade for me.
More and more, I was convinced I might want to do the same.
“I propose a compromise, so we might get back to celebrating.” Damir clapped his hands together. “My melder will heal Ser Grisen. Fadey could unravel his craft at times. I’m certain Lyra will manage much the same.”
A harsh sound crackled from Roark’s chest, but I was not certain King Damir heard. There was darkness in the way the Sentry tracked the king. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him.
This was madness. One heated moment, and I was allowing this man to consume me.
“In return,” the king went on, “I propose a gift for King Hundur, a show of good faith.”
The Myrdan king huffed. “What sort of gift?”
“You’ve always desired your own melding, my friend.” Damir’s mouth quirked on one side. “Whatever you desire, the melder will put in place.”
There was no choice given to me.
I did not want to meld. I did not care for the sly gleam in KingDamir’s eyes. This was nothing more than another excuse to search for whatever power he desired in the mirrored world.
The king was cunning. With little hesitation, Hundur’s mouth split into a wide grin. He flexed his fingers, once, twice, then dipped his chin. “Agreed.”
A Stav took hold of my arm, only loosening his grip when he caught sight of Roark’s murderous glare, and guided me toward Tomas.
He scrambled to get free of me. I bared my teeth and leaned close, my words meant for him alone. “I’m to do this by the king’s command. I’ve never done it. For your sake, I hope it goes well.”
The fear in Tomas’s gaze brought a twisted bit of satisfaction. Perhaps I was a monster. I fell into his whimpers, his protests, and trapped his face between my palms.
A sick glide of molten bone shifted under my palms. Tomas cried his pain, still muffled behind his melded teeth.
Queen Ingir gasped when bone cracked. A new cleft formed, splitting Tomas’s mouth. He drew in a sharp gasp of air. More teeth were cracked and jagged from breaking apart, but the opening was wide enough he could drink and slip small bits of food inside.
The room spun and I pulled away my palms. Golden threads only I could see frayed and split, freeing the melded parts of his jaw. I swallowed bile when Tomas spit out the mangled piece of his fingertip onto the floor. At my back, I caught sight of Thane leaning into Roark.
