“Think?” Her tone sharpened, still soft but cutting all the same. “That’s not a habit I associate with the Autumn kings.”
I forced a laugh. “Perhaps that’s why the last one’s dead.”
Her eyes gleamed like shards of polished ice. “You’re smarter than he was.”
“Or more desperate.”
“It can be both.” She moved closer, and the cold rolled off her in waves. “Have you come to a decision, Prince Callan?”
At her disrespect, my carefully-hewn façade threatened to slip.
Instead of letting it, I gestured lazily toward the throne beside mine—identical in shape, carved of marble and oak, veined with silver instead of a stag’s horn.
“I had something made for you. A gift. Should we come to an agreement on a union?”
“What is that?” she asked, her own good humor giving way to wary disgust.
“A throne, of course. One matching my own.”
“It is no match for the Harvest Throne,” she said.
“It is what I’m offering my queen,” I told her quietly. “My only offer.”
Her hand lashed out before I could blink. Power cracked through the air, white and violent, and slammed into my chestlike a blow from a god. I stumbled back, my breaths sharp against my ribs.
“Careful,” I managed, forcing a grin through the pain. “You’ll bruise the merchandise.”
“You dare toy with me.” Frost crept across the floor, veins of ice spidering outward from her feet. “Do you know how many worthless fae I’ve buried beneath my snow, boy?”
“Dozens, I’m sure,” I rasped. “But none of them looked half as good as me.”
Her fury rolled off her in waves, but there was a flicker—admiration, maybe—that kept her from ending me outright. “You truly believe arrogance can mask fear.”
“So far, it’s worked wonders.”
She shoved me aside with one hand, the force sending me staggering down the dais. Her attention turned to the Harvest Throne. The power in the room shifted.
“Don’t touch it,” I warned.
She ignored me, mounting the steps like a queen ascending to her altar. When she reached the throne, she trailed her fingers over its armrest. Gold veins shimmered faintly beneath her touch.
Then she sat.
The sound that followed wasn’t just silence—it wasabsence.
Nothing happened.
Her posture stiffened. Frost flared along the marble, trying to take root, but the veins of gold refused her. The throne remained inert, defiant.
A slow, awful realization spread across her face.
Then she turned that look on me.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
I straightened my coat, schooling my features into innocence. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play games with me, Autumn.” The temperatureplunged, the braziers flickering out one by one. “Where is the real throne?”
