My dress—barely more than scraps of fabric—clings to my body. The General insisted we go immediately, with no time to change, and now I must face the King like this.
What Kiernan and I had been doing mere minutes ago burns in my mind. I feel like everyone will see it on my face, in my eyes. Heat floods my cheeks.
Kiernan walks at my side, his face tense and tight. When he glances over, his eyes flash with concern. He reaches out and laces his fingers into mine, his thumb gently swirling over my wrist, caressing.
The King waits in the Throne Room, alone in the vast space, the lights low and brooding apart from two Thorn Guards that flank the throne either side. He remains seated as we enter, silent and immovable in the shadows, his features hazy and indistinct.
Kiernan drops my hand before we cross the threshold. We approach the throne, and he pulls me behind him, putting himself between me and the King.
“Where did you find them?” the King asks, his voice low and menacing.
He has always been a vision of my nightmares, a dark ominous presence that lances dread through me. Even his voice is a threat that coils in my ears and pierces my mind. But this King—the one who sits before me now, his power radiating like a sickness hanging in the air, sitting so still yet seeming to tremble with pent-up rage—he is beyond my nightmares. He is what monsters run from. What lies beneath those nightmares, waiting for its turn.
“In the hidden room in the library,” the General replies, the lightness choked from his voice in the King’s presence.
“So, while our Fae were slaughtered, my son, the heir to this kingdom, was hiding?” His voice is like thick tar, oozing with contempt.
“I fought, Father, but I presumed it safer to get Alaya out of there, especially with one of the Equitae taking an interest in her,” Kiernan replies, his jaw so tightly locked that the muscles in his neck strain against his collar. The words he forces out are clipped and sharp, as if he was trying to prevent his voice from vibrating with the fury behind it.
The King leans forwards on his throne, his features momentarily catching in the Faelight. A gasp catches in my throat. Pure malice is etched upon his face—clenched teeth, deep lines of tension, and a wicked glint in his obsidian eyes.
“Why do you hide her behind you, Kiernan? Hey there, Little Princess, let me see you.”
Kiernan tilts his head towards me, a warning flashing across his face.
Shame burns through me—I’m not brave enough to defy the King. My legs shake as I step out from behind Kiernan, shooting him a look of apology.
“Ah, there she is. And looking as delectable as ever.” The King’s gaze drags over me. “I must say that dress suits you far better now than it did at the ball.”
Revulsion shivers through me.
“Come closer.”
My body seizes. Even my lungs refuse to draw a breath.
“Father—” Kiernan’s voice stammers beside me as he takes a step towards me.
The King lets out an animalistic roar. “No! You will not disobey me, you cowardly bastard. I don’t know what kind of magic this bitch has cast on you, but I will not be defied this way by my own son again. Step down, Kiernan, or I will kill her right where she stands.”
Kiernan stops moving. With a hiss through clenched teeth, he takes a step back.
“Come,” the King says again, beckoning me with his hand, his honeyed voice laced with a venomous edge.
Every part of me screams as I move towards the throne. With every step, pain shoots through me. A tether to my safety—to Kiernan—pulls taut.
At the bottom of the steps leading up to the dais, the tether strains so tight it vibrates with tension. Still, the King’s stare penetrates as if he’s crawling under my skin.
“Closer,” he whispers. The tang of copper coats my tongue—the taste of his ire made manifest.
My foot rises onto that first step, though my legs feel heavy, chained to the floor.
A quick rush of air. Nails dig into my arm. The kingdom tilts as I’m wrenched off my feet and land with a painful crush into his lap.
The tether to my salvation snaps like a dry twig.
I am alone.
Coldness seeps into me from where my legs rest on his, creeping up my body like a rising fog, invasive. One hand sweeps my hair away, exposing the length of my neck. He breathes in deeply, a predator smelling his prey. Then helaughs—a maniacal, high-pitched sound that reverberates in the massive room before the shadows swallow it whole.
