There’s a part of me that doesn’t quite believe I’m here in the fae-occupied Braemar Castle with the Winter King looming over me. A part of me that’s certain this can’t be real.
I’m not really here and this isn’t really happening…
It’s the same sort of dissociation I felt after Mama and Harry died, bouts of confused detachment in between the longer, more painful moments of clarity.
King Theron takes one step closer, and I catch a hint of smoky wood, pine, and peppermint, along with the crisp, cold scent of snow. Spices, too. Cinnamon, cloves, and a few others I can’t name.
His scent helps ground me in reality, bringing me back from the brink of my mind’s disconnection.
Frost spreads beneath his boots, causing the blood I’m kneeling in to become even colder. Eventually, it freezes.
He truly is the embodiment of winter.
And he’s more powerful than I ever imagined a highborn fae might be. I’m doomed.
“What’s your name, human girl?” The king’s deep voice vibrates through me, as cold and commanding as I expected.
“My name is Helena.” I don’t dare glance up.
“Look at me, Helena.” He places a finger beneath my chin, forcing my gaze upward.
Our eyes meet, and a gasp catches in my throat. His hand is cold on my chin, but not uncomfortably so. I stare into his eyes, captivated by their otherworldly blue, unable to look away, even as his gaze swirls with dark fury. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. For the briefest moment, there’s a flicker of pleasure in his eyes.
Oh, gods.
If he doesn’t kill me now, will he keep me in the dungeon?
I think he wants to hurt me. Anger radiates off his massive form, and his grip on my chin suddenly tightens, though not to the point of pain.
“Thank you, dear brother, for the lovely gift,” he says, though his glacial gaze remains locked on me as he speaks.
“You’re so very welcome, my king. I hope you enjoy her. I daresay the rest of us will enjoy hearing her screams and smelling her blood.” Prince Alaric laughs, and then I hear the retreat of his footsteps.
Hearing her screams…
Smelling her blood…
A tear cascades down my cheek. Before it can freeze, King Theron wipes it away with a cold finger.
The banquet hall is eerily silent. Everyone is watching. And waiting. Another tear escapes, then another. The king doesn’t catch the newest ones, but he studies my cheeks, observing as they freeze. I expect pleasure to flare in his eyes, but it doesn’t. Instead, he looks… troubled.
He clears his throat and straightens a bit, and his visage quickly returns to normal. Cold, calculating, and filled with anger. He drops his hand from my chin, but I don’t look down. I can’t seem to tear my gaze from his. The frozen blood beneath my palms feels colder. A chill, an actual chill too cold even for my liking, reverberates through my body, causing my teeth to chatter.
The king reaches down, grasps me by my upper arms, and hauls me to my feet. My breath hitches. He leans down, invading my space, until his face is but an inch or two from mine. His cold, peppermint breath fans against my frozen, tear-stained cheeks.
“You smell delicious, darling human.” He inhales deeply, and this time the pleasure flaring in his eyes is too obvious to miss.
I tremble anew. If he weren’t holding me up, I would surely fall back down on the bloodied floor. Though his grip isn’t tight, I can’t help but wince under the pain of it because he’s holding me right where Peter grabbed me earlier. He frowns, leans back a bit, and looks me up and down. To my utter shock, his grip on my arms loosens a little. Not enough to allow me to fall, but enough to help ease the pain somewhat.
Without warning, he suddenly sweeps me into his arms. I yelp and push at his chest. Even though I know it’s pointless, because what chance do I have against the all-powerful Winter King, I still struggle in his hold.
“Settle down, Helena.” Though his voice is a soft whisper in my ear, it’s full of so much command that I go instantly still in his arms.
A shiver rushes down my spine.
“Good girl. I’m so glad you can be obedient. You’ll live longer.” He shifts me closer to his chest and peers down at me.
A few chuckles sound from the banquet tables, reminding me that we have a captive audience.
