Carter throws two hand towels over his shoulder, grips the glasses of water. The towels and water lift from his hands and glide along the plane to the king and executioner.
As the king approaches, I take in his wide shoulders and disheveled hair, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining. His bunching muscles look well fed, well tended, a male with time and magic to sculpt his body into what he wishes. His beauty is almost blinding, like trying to stare down the sun.
The king’s executioner wipes himself down. He is towering and dark and corded in muscle formed from years of physical labor, and any female would—and should—pool with heat. But Jeremee dissolving before my eyes will forever prevent that. Shame at my misplaced anger floods me. Even Death itself cannot truly defeat Reign fae. None of us can, and it’s infuriating and demeaning.
“Avery! So glad you found your way here. I wasn’t positive you could read, seeing as faeries aren’t interested in books,” the king says, drawing my attention back to him.
For the briefest moment, my eyes find Carter’s.Uninterested in books?The valet’s face gives nothing away, not even the mimicry of this conversation later tonight in the Mouth. I can hear it now.Then—get this, Fern—then the king said faeries don’t like books! As if we have the time and coin to waste.The cook will cackle at that one.
“I learned the basics during my service to Illusion,” I say. “It was nice to be challenged once more.”
“Because you are clever,” he answers.
Clever. Clever. Why is it alwayscleverand notintelligent? Clever like a pet who picks up tricks quickly.
You are too intelligent for that,Kassandra said days ago. Only now do I register that my mistress complimented me.
“Thank you, Your Magnificence,” I say.
“I brought you here so that the executioner and I can assess the extent of your injury. See if there will be a permanent crippling, though I doubt it with Eli’s skill sets.”
Carter’s attention weighs on me, but this time I do not return it. My hand twitches, aching to cover the healed wound beneath the bandage.
I take a step away from the king.
He tilts his head in confusion, spine rigid. Does he desire me to drop to my knees and weep? Thank him profusely and apologize for my loss of control?
It was his friend who harmed me, his almost-betrothed who caused it, the game he set up that triggered so much pain. As if the Avery of his mind would willingly and gladly worship the male she’s blood-bound to serve, like a whore who refuses payment because the fucking was so good.
“Avery.” His teeth shine in a tight smile. “You heard what I said, did you not?”
Do not insult him with your slowness.
“Oh!” I gasp. “Yes. I’m so thankful.”
“It’s settled. It’s about time she defends herself. Besides, there’s some fight in her—isn’t that right, Avery? Your reflexes were quick during the game.”
“Thank you.” I grimace, unsure whom he is truly addressing.
“But it’s no wonder! You were hiding the most interesting part about you. Nothing that couldn’t be discovered with a little digging.” He steps toward me, eyes sparking.
Everyone’s attention turns to the king and his sly expression. My palms feel clammy. Does he know about my arrangement with Kassandra? “What is interesting about me, my king?”
“Your father was the pit fighter Red the Ruthless.”
My mind detaches from my body, feelings of the hall falling away.
“When I turned two hundred, Dominik, Eli, and I snuck into the Peri in disguise and saw him fight. EvenIwas afraid; he truly earned his title.”
The bloody mash of faeries’ faces that begged for mercy before falling silent forever. My mother pleading in a tiny kitchen, my father beckoning me to come out from under the table becauseDaddy is sorry he got mad, he had a hard day and you’re hurting Daddy’s feelings by hiding, if you don’t come out I will drag you out by your hair and give you a reason—
“What do you say, Ruthless daughter?” the king asks. “Care for a match?”
Carter huffs a laugh. “My king—”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m not a worthy opponent for you,” I try.
