Magic, I realize with a quickening pulse.
King Theron used magic to keep his door locked.
I try to remember every story about the fae that I’ve ever heard. I vaguely recall something about highborn fae being able to create wards, which are magic, unseen barriers that can holda person prisoner in a room, or keep others from getting inside. Something like that.
I’m locked,warded, inside the Winter King’s bedchamber.
You are the most beautiful human female I’ve ever seen.
The words he spoke only moments ago reverberate in my mind.
Though he’s my captor and my enemy, I can’t deny that I’m flattered by his assessment of my appearance. But I’m also more than a little worried because I hold an uncanny resemblance to someone the king knows. Who is this female I look like, and is she a friend or a foe to the king? A foe most likely, I eventually reason, if his brother believed he would enjoy hurting me. Is she still alive? My head spins with questions, and I soon find myself pacing back and forth in the cavernous room.
My stomach growls, and I notice a spread of food on the sideboard near the wine and whiskey. Cheese, bread, and glowing berries. I glance toward the door, wondering if I’m permitted to eat this food. Also wondering if it’s even safe for human consumption. Some of the stories claim it’s dangerous to eat the glowing fruits and vegetables native to the fae lands.
I opt for a piece of bread that I drizzle with honey, deciding it’s likely the safest option. I also pour myself another glass of wine. I take my refreshments to a small table by the large window that overlooks the city.
As I partake in the snack, I can’t help but wonder what King Theron is doing. He’d mentioned returning to the banquet hall… but why? I think about the blood on the floor, the blood I’d inadvertently knelt in. Did he return to the banquet hall so he could torment more humans?
I suddenly notice something in the distance that makes me lose my appetite immediately, and I push the bread and wine aside.
Decapitated heads line the parapet near the gates. Dozens of them. Perhaps even hundreds.
I close my eyes and turn away from the sight. A shudder moves through me. I’d heard about the heads on the parapet, but my mail route never took me close enough to the gates to see them for myself. I shudder again, repulsed by the display of savagery.
In the days after the battle, how many survivors walked near the gates as they searched for their missing loved ones, only to glimpse their heads on the parapet?
Will I truly remain King Theron’s prisoner forever?
Will I truly never return to my old life?
My heart breaks when I think about Isabel and Mr. Sinclair. I’m usually back at the bakery by now, and they’re probably starting to worry. In the few months I’ve lived there, they’ve become like family.
In fact, Mr. Sinclair recently announced he would include me as a member of his household during the upcoming Tribute Day, when each household in Braemar will be required to visit the castle and offer the fae a tribute of ten silver pieces.
If I were to attend Tribute Day alone, I wouldn’t have the required ten pieces of silver. Not that I’ll have to attend Tribute Day now… at least, I pray I won’t. According to the stories the traveling merchants have told about Tribute Day in other cities, if a household doesn’t have the required ten pieces of silver, they must compensate the fae in some other way, usually by giving a son or a daughter to the fae. I’d hoped to avoid such a fate and had appreciated Mr. Sinclair’s kind offer.
And yet… I’m now the Winter King’s prisoner.
Perhaps he won’t treat me as cruelly as the fae typically treat their slaves, but I’m not free to leave. At this moment, I can’t even walk into the corridor. He’s using magic to lock me inside.
Hours pass, and the sun eventually kisses the horizon. My eyes grow heavy, and I long to lie down, but I don’t dare crawl into the bed, no matter how inviting it might look with the velvet blankets and the silk pillows. Instead, I push the sofa closer to the fire, lie down upon the soft, velvet cushions, use my cloak as a blanket, and close my eyes.
I finally start drifting off, but my slumber is far from restful. Every time I fall asleep, I dream about murderous fae patrols chasing me down, and I jerk awake with a gasp. Over and over. I can’t seem to find any rest or peace. Even during my waking moments, I’m on edge, certain that danger will soon strike.
Harry. I try to think about Harry. I summon his face in my mind and try to remember all the happy times we shared. His steadfast presence. His tender kisses. His quiet strength. The way he always held me while we fell asleep each night. The way he’d comforted me and helped hold me together when, only a month after we got married, my poor mother perished in the fire.
If only he were still alive. We might still be living in the cottage, picking up the pieces of our lives in the aftermath of the Winter Court army’s attack. But we would be together, and he would keep me safe.
Harry, I miss you so.
CHAPTER 8
THERON
I stare down at Helena,hypnotized by her beauty. Curled up on the sofa, she’s fast asleep, the firelight casting an orange glow over her delicate features, accentuating her beauty. I find it curious that she chose the sofa rather than the bed, but then I suppose she fears I might view it as an invitation to claim her if I discovered her sleeping in my bed.
Gods, claiming her isallI can think about.
