Father’s eyes flick to me, then back to Thorne. He lowers his voice. “What do you intend to do with her?” The way he sayshermakes it sound like he’s referring to a stranger. Not his daughter. Not the girl he so recently expressed fondness for.
“The question is, what doyouintend to do with her? My weapon now lives among you. There’s no way for you to know I haven’t given her other orders to execute later. Will you chain her up? Lock her in the same tower you once kept her changeling decoy? Or will you be so cold as to end her life, like you’ve done to countless others who’ve stood in your way?”
I expect Father to deny such actions, to say he’s a changed king. That he’d never resort to murder. He doesn’t answer, which fills me with dread.
“Ah, I see,” Thorne says. “It’s a family decision. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He takes a step away but pulls to a halt. Meeting my gaze, he says, “You can lower the blade now.”
My arm goes limp at once, eliciting a gasp from me. I want to drop the knife, but my hand is curled too tight. So instead, I focus on the firm handle against my palm, the steadying comfort of a weapon in my hand. I’ve never wielded anything with deadly intent, but the rage that courses through me, mingling with the relief at being released from Thorne’s demand, makes me feel like I could. Not justcould. Would. Willing. Eager.
I burn Thorne with a glare. My toes flinch, my feet desperate to close the distance between us so I can plunge my blade into that bastard’s heart.
My thoughts must be written clearly on my face, for Thorne wags a finger at me. “Perhaps you should think before looking at me with those murderous eyes, little nemesis. Your father swore on behalf of everyone in the palace that no one would stop me from leaving.”
Would stabbing him in the heart count as stopping him from leaving? My eyes flick to his chest, to the tattooed skin that covers that treacherous organ. He did say the knife was sharp enough to cut through bone. Could I slide it between his ribs? My studies covered both human and fae anatomy. I know how to find the heart.
With a dark chuckle, Thorne stalks even closer. Father shifts his stance but says nothing as my enemy stops before me, staring down at me with a hateful, arrogant grin that makes him look so unlike every version of him I’ve witnessed before this moment.
I hate that I even know of another version of him.
I hate that I considered that version a friend.
I hate that I ever dreamed of him.
I hate that we danced together.
I hatethat one dream.
I hate him.
Him.
Him.
My hatred burns hotter as he slowly leans closer. I clench my teeth, forcing myself not to flinch, not to show an ounce of fear as he brings his lips by my ear.
“Now tell me, nemesis. Was I right? Am I still the handsomest man you’ve ever seen?” There’s no demand in his voice, no invisible pull that forces me to answer, only soft, seductive teasing.
I hate that if he wanted, he could command me to answer him. He could command me to say anything. Do anything. Hurt the people I love. The family I only just got back.
My rage builds into an inferno that writhes through my veins. A dark thought crawls into my mind, one so tantalizing I can’t let it go.
Thorne can’t command me if he doesn’t have a tongue to speak with.
“You don’t have to answer,” he whispers. “Your dreams of me have shown me a truth you can’t deny. I’ve been pulled into enough waltzes with you to know you want me. More than that, I’ve seen you hold my gaze while your hand slides between your thighs. I’ve heard you whine while you writhe with pleasure—”
The inferno takes over, fueling my muscles. I take a swift step back and plunge the knife upward, toward the underside of Thorne’s jaw—
Too many things happen at once.
Warning shouts blare around me.
My blade punctures Thorne’s skin.
The shouts cut off.
He lifts his head with preternatural grace and darts back, avoiding a deeper cut.
The clatter of plates and heavy thuds fill the room.
