“Do you care for me so little?” I ask in a small voice.
“No. But I have nothing to offer them but you.” He starts to cry. Both the King’s and the Prince’s eyes widen as they draw power from his suffering, before they turn to me.
“I will spare your pitiful father’s life,” the King says, tightening his grip on my jaw to the point I whimper in pain. “Provided you agree to a bargain. Otherwise, I will simply kill you both.”
Both of us?
“Yes. Both of you. My patience has been tried too much this day, and it has been some time since we held a public execution. The energy from such an event…” The King shudders with sick pleasure. “It is so very plentiful.”
“What are your terms?” I whisper. All around us, the townspeople have gathered, and yet none of them say a word. I search the crowd for Roarke, and I find him just over the Prince’s right shoulder with two other magic bearers holding him back as he tries to get to me. His hazel eyes practically glow, and his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Silently, I beg him for help, but I know he cannot come to my aid. The Fae are more powerful than all of us, and his friends are doing what they must to ensure he does not also die.
Releasing my chin, the King rubs his hands together. “You will be taken to the castle and put to work for my court. We could use a spinner of our own. If you refuse to perform your assigned duties, you will be punished, but otherwise,Iwill not harm you.”
“For how long?”
“That,” the King says, “is up to you.” He glances at his son. “Three nights and days should suffice at a minimum. However, I anticipate it will be much longer.”
“Three days’ work for my father’s life? And mine? There must be some sort of catch.”
“Oh, there is, my dear.” His lips pull into a grin, and inclines his head towards the Prince.
“And what might that be?” Fear tightens in my chest, and the feel of the Prince’s hands on my arms makes my skin crawl.
“For the entirety of your time with us, my son will court you. He will be able to use all of the powers of our kind—and they are many—to win your love. To be released, you must say his name and declare that you are not in love with him. Otherwise, on the night of the second full moon that passes with you as our guest, you will wed him and be bound to him forever.”
“Aurelia, do not agree to this.”
The hissing words seem to float on the air and wrap themselves around me like a cloak. My gaze finds Roarke again, and somehow, I know…they’re his words. But how? No one else seems to hear them. He is not Fae. I would know. And even the Fae cannot do this.
“I will never fall in love with a Fae,” I vow and try to shake off the Prince’s grip, but he holds fast.
“Give us your answer, Lia,” the Prince demands as he spins me around to face him. His silvery eyes mesmerize me, and even with Roarke’s voice in the back of my mind, I have no choice. I have to do this or my father and I will both die.
“I agree to your terms.”
Chapter Three
Roarke
No!
At my sides, two other magic-bearers, Valinor and Crux, struggle to hold me back.
“Watch yourself, Roarke,” Valinor hisses in my ear. “You cannot best the King. Not with four guards protecting him.”
Crux mutters quietly, “His obsession with that outcast will get him killed one day.”
When I growl and meet his gaze, Crux falls silent. Smart. My dragon is so close to the surface, I fear I will lose control. “If youeverrefer to her as ‘less than’ again, I will personally rip out your heart and feed it to you.”
The warlock seems to deflate before my eyes, but he does not release his hold on me. The spelled ground siphons our magic, and if we are not careful, the King will sense us. I suspect Valinor is a werewolf and has been hiding that fact for decades.
Aurelia stands perfectly still, caught in the Prince’s thrall. Damn Fae and their ability to compel their human victims. The King summons a long black rope with a snap of his fingers, then gestures to Aurelia. Wordlessly, she presents her hands, wrists crossed, and the rope wraps around them so tightly, pain flits across her beautiful features.
Another length of rope winds around her torso, effectively binding her arms to her slender frame from shoulders to elbows.
Still, she barely flinches until the Prince pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and blindfolds her. Aurelia’s chest heaves, and I can scent her fear even from across the square. The end of the rope dangles from her bound wrists, and the King uses it as a leash, gripping it tightly and yanking her forward, hard.
She stumbles and crashes into his chest, but he shoves her towards his son who catches her and strokes his hands down her sides, all the way to her hips.
