George stepped away, the backs of her knees bumping the low table. “I will not.”
“You will,” King Gasparo growled.
“I don’t feel comfortable—”
George jerked forward, her shoulder wrenching from an invisible grip pulling on her wrist. Her father’s hand shot out to wrap firmly around her arm, either enhancing or replacing his magic. “Isay what you feel comfortable with.”
She hissed as the king twisted her joint in his massive hand.
“I’mnotcomfortable,” she rasped again, then squeezed her eyes closed as if fighting some vision being forced into her mind.
No, Georgie, just agree,Isahn silently pleaded. He watched as her father’s grip tightened. Then the king growled something quietly enough Isahn couldn’t hear. The look on George’s face told him a significant threat had been made.
George shook her head firmly.
He yanked on her wrist, eliciting a yelp from her, and he took to his feet, dwarfing his daughter. Isahn couldn’t see a damned thing except the king’s back. But he heard thecrackas Gasparo’s palm connected with George’s cheek.
Isahn bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and crafted an ice-knife for comfort, relishing the weight of the weapon in his hand. He wanted tokillthat fucker for laying a hand on George. When the time was right, he would.
For a minute, their conversation was soft, garbled. Even his water magic couldn’t clarify it.
“Youwillhave a guest,” the king said firmly. “It’s absurd you don’t keep an aide.”
“I have one.”
“Your own pet?!” Gasparo’s sickening laughter soured the air as he retook his seat. Isahn could see past him again, finding George’s tear-streaked face.
His heart broke for her.
“Yes,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
“Ah.” The king helped himself to a goblet of wine. “Very well, bring them to my banquet.”
“Father,” George began.
No, Georgie. Just get out of there.
“Yes, my beloved Georgetta?” The princess’s name was a sinister purr, claws scratching at Isahn’s heart.
He no longer wondered why she disliked her given name.
“I’ll be at the banquet. But I will not stay for your after-party.” Her voice was firm, except for one slight hitch in the middle of the statement.
Isahn watched in horror while the king raised one of his meaty hands again. A plethora of shimmering rings glittered in the lamplight as he pressed his index finger to George’s clavicle and drew a line across her chest, his fingertip lingering in silent threat as it crossed her throat. “Is my little princess shy?”
She slapped her father’s hand away, but the king only threw back his head and laughed, a repulsive sound from a repulsive person.
Isahn shuddered as bile rose up his throat.
“You may go, my sweet Georgetta. I look forward to meeting yourpettomorrow.”
Isahnhadnoideawhether she’d want to see him or not, but he was placing the key back in her washroom when George pushed into the suite, panting and crying.
“Georgie,” he breathed, emerging from the bathing chamber.
She threw herself into his arms and clutched him around the middle. He wrapped her up, hugging her gently and hoping to the gods he helped her feel at least the tiniest bit safer.
“I hate him. I hate him. I hate him,” she chanted as her fists pounded against his chest.
