Breathing becomes difficult. So does standing. It takes all my strength to remain on my feet.
But he’s the WinterKing.
Am I expected to kneel or bow?
If I don’t make the right choice, will he kill me where I stand?
The king stares at me as he remains seated on the throne. His eyes penetrate straight to my soul, and I’m certain he’s able toglimpse my deepest, darkest secrets. I feel stripped naked before him, vulnerable and completely defenseless.
Then I notice the frozen, decapitated heads.
Oh, my gods.
A gasp almost escapes me. Almost. My mouth goes dry, and disbelief coils in my gut. I feel on the verge of sickness.
On the dais all around the Winter King, numerous heads are mounted on stakes. Though they’re frozen solid and covered in frost, one of them looks familiar. King Geoff, I quickly realize, the former ruler of Braemar.
Gods, please help me.
My trembling increases, and I wrap my arms around myself and try to steady my breaths as my gaze moves back to the fae king.
King Theron remains seated, though he taps his right foot lightly, and each time his foot hits the floor, the patch of frost beneath the throne becomes larger. I get the sense that he’s trying to decide what to do with me. My fear deepens.
As I replay the events that led to this moment, I recall that the king’s brother seemed preoccupied with my hair and mentioned something about my resemblance to…someone. Someone the king knows?
Your hair is so smooth and black, and your eyes so very blue. And your facial features… gods, the similarity is uncanny. The king will be so pleased.
The king will like you very, very much.
I daresay you will be his new favorite possession… for however long he allows you to live.
Oh, gods. What’s going to happen to me?
Tears sting my eyes, and my throat burns as Prince Alaric’s other comments echo in my mind:
Oh, you beg so prettily, and the tears really are a nice touch.
My brother will like it when you cry and plead for mercy.
“This human female is a gift for me?” the king finally says. “How thoughtful of you, Prince Alaric. You are my favorite brother by far.” This comment elicits a chorus of laughter from the tables in the banquet hall, though I don’t understand why it’s so funny.
At last, King Theron rises from his throne.
He walks in my direction.
My knees finally buckle, and I sink onto the stone floor. When my hands touch something sticky and cold, I glance down and gasp at the sight. Blood. I’m kneeling in a splatter of blood. Someone died here recently. Right in this very spot. Perhaps I’m next.
Fierce trembles make my teeth chatter. I watch as the king steps down from the dais and comes even closer. I can’t stop glancing at the blood. Eventually, the king’s boots enter my line of vision.
He’s standing so very close.
Am I about to die?
I think of Harry. Sweet, gentle Harry. Maybe I’ll see him in the afterlife sooner than I ever expected. I close my eyes and wait… for death.
But it never comes. I sense the king is still standing there, staring down at me. Is he contemplating how he wants to kill me? Will he make it quick, or will he torment me first?Gods, please let it be fast and painless.
My eyes flutter open. I stare at his boots again, terrible anticipation sweeping through me. I feel even sicker to my stomach than when I first saw the frozen heads. And scared. Honest to gods, I think I’m on the verge of shock.
