“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t hurt me.”
More laughter erupts in the banquet hall.
A growl vibrates from his throat, and he spins on his heel and starts carrying me away. My stomach flips. I suspect he’s taking me to the dungeon. Maybe he’ll keep me in chains and torture me whenever it suits him until finally one day claiming my life.
But to my shock, he carries me up a set of wide, stone steps.Up. He’s taking me to an upper level of the castle rather than the dungeon. My heart races faster, and I swallow hard. I tremble in his arms. His cold pine and peppermint scent fills my lungs with each shaky breath I take.
He carries me down a long corridor lined with dozens of doors, low-burning sconces, and thick, embroidered tapestries. Occasionally, we pass a small window with a view of the courtyard. I also catch glimpses of human servants, or slaves, scurrying by, all pale with terror as they give us a wide berth.
The king reaches a massive oak door near the end of the corridor and pauses outside for just a moment. Then a quick but chilled breeze rushes past us, and the door opens without him having to touch the handle.
His fae magic. His winter magic.
He’s highborn. All fae royals are. And he’s the Winter King. I suppose he’s probably the most powerful male in all the Winter Court.
A quiet sob bursts from my throat as he carries me into an ornately decorated bedchamber. Tears escape my eyes, only to immediately freeze on my face. I should’ve realized sooner why he didn’t carry me directly to the dungeon. Because he wants to have his cruel way with me first.
“Shh, darling human. You needn’t cry,” he says in a strangely gentle tone that catches me off guard. He carries me deeper into the room and the door closes behind us.
“Please please please,” I whisper. I can’t seem to stop begging. I also keep sending silent prayers to the gods, desperate pleas for rescue.
But deep in my heart, I know no one is coming to save me.
I’m alone with the Winter King, and I’m all his to do with as he pleases.
CHAPTER 6
THERON
For a reasonI can’t fathom, the little human’s pleas and tears cause my chest to tighten. As I carry her toward the bed, she whimpers and shifts in my arms, then violently thrashes around, trying to escape.
I tighten my hold on her and growl.
Gods blast Alaric and his constant need to impress me. I have no doubt he thinks gifting me with a woman who looks just like Elssandra will endear him to me and perhaps finally convince me to make him a commander in the Winter Court army.
Fucking fires. Surely this means he’s also aware of Elssandra’s betrayal. Why else would he gift such a human female to me? He clearly thinks I’ll enjoy tormenting Helena and eventually killing her just because she resembles the mate who betrayed me.
Helena. I can’t deny that I like the way her name feels on my tongue. Though I’m loath to admit it, there’s also something about her that fills me with warmth. I tell myself it’s just because she looks like the female I once loved.
“Shh, Helena. Settle down.” I set her on the bed.
She immediately scrambles across the covers, jumps off the bed, and runs across the room. She puts her back to the stone wall and peers at me, pale-faced with frozen tears clinging to her cheeks, as she holds her hands out defensively.
I sigh and head for the sideboard where the wine is kept. I uncork a bottle and pour two glasses. Then I slowly approach the terrified woman. I hold her gaze, so radiantly blue, and offer her the drink. When I notice the blood covering her hands from the banquet hall floor, I summon my magic and send a quick, cold breeze to clean it away. The blood disappears from her palms and her clothing. She stares at her hands in astonishment.
“Drink this. I think you need it.” When she still doesn’t accept the drink, I add, “Please, darling human. Just take it.”
Darling human. Why do I keep calling her that?
I try to tell myself that I mean it in a mocking way, but I can’t deny the warmth that fills me whenever I use the phrase that could very well be considered an endearment.
A cautious gleam enters her eyes as she looks at the wine. I’m pleased when she finally reaches out to take it. As she accepts the beverage, our fingers brush, very briefly, and a jolt of awareness passes between us. It makes me want to sweep her into my arms and hold her again. It makes me want to lean close and take deep inhales of her delectable floral scent.
Fresh tears fill her eyes. She clutches the wine and looks at me.
“Is it poisoned?” she asks.
“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t use poison. What kind of king do you think I am?”
