And one day, the mother of my child.
I help her into bed before quickly visiting the closet to change into something more comfortable. After kicking off my boots and removing my shirt, I shed my leather pants and put on a pair of soft trousers. As much as I would prefer sleeping naked, I’m certain the blushing human would object.
At last, I join her, pulling the covers over our bodies and drawing her close. She fits perfectly in my arms, as though she were made just for me. I can’t banish the thought even though logically I know she’s not my mate. I had a mate, once and only once, and the gods don’t bestow my people with second chances. It’s just a coincidence that she looks like Elssandra, and it’s a blessing that we’re so drawn to one another. Both of us widowed and alone, but no more.
“Close your eyes and sleep, darling human.Sleep.”
CHAPTER 15
HELENA
Oh,my gods.
The line of people seems to stretch on forever. It curves through the streets of Braemar all the way to the city gates. My heart pangs with grief. How many families will be forced to part with a son or a daughter today? Ten pieces of silver is a lot. Not everyone will have the required amount when they enter the castle to pay homage to the fae.
I imagine King Theron seated on his throne, watching as each family steps forward. Will he feel any regret as he witnesses families being torn apart? Will it bother him on any level, or will the pain and terror excite him?
Mama’s warnings return to me again, and I fight back a shiver.
The fae of Autumn and Winter are different. Darker. They are descended from Unseelie blood, their power drawn from shadow and cold.
If there are fae you must never cross, never trust, never provoke, it is those born of Autumn and Winter.
King Theron has never hurt me, but he’s hurt other humans. He led the attack on Braemar. I heard people in the street talking about his feats in battle.
His words come back to me now, his voice a deep echo in my head that confirms my mother’s warnings.
I enjoyed the battle more than you might ever imagine. I enjoyed killing your people, hearing their screams, and savoring the scent of their blood.
Angry tears burn in my eyes. He’s probably having the time of his life right now, the cold bastard. Does he truly derive pleasure from hurting my people? I can’t fathom it, yet it must be true.
A young woman standing in the courtyard below suddenly looks up and our eyes meet. I recognize her instantly as someone I went to school with but haven’t seen in years. Gwen Whitmore. Her face is puffy, as though she’s been crying, and her expression holds a profound sadness that punches me in the gut. Something bad is going to happen to her today and she knows it. Her family probably doesn’t have the required tribute. She stands with her parents and several smaller children. Their attire is threadbare, little more than rags.
Oh, gods. It’s too much. I can’t stand here and watch all day.
King Theron. What if I can reason with him? Maybe I can make some sort of deal with him, anything to convince him to stop this depraved cruelty. Gwen had nothing to do with the attack on the settlement of regular faefolk.
I turn and flee the balcony. As I rush inside the room, my gaze lands on the bed. The covers are still rumpled since the slaves haven’t visited yet this morning to tidy the place. My guilt and outrage increase. I rush to the bed and hastily start making it myself. My hands tremble as I pull the covers up and arrange the pillows neatly.
I swallow hard as I recall how peacefully I’d slept last night while wrapped in King Theron’s arms. He’d held me all night, and for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t felt lonely as I drifted to sleep. I’d awoken refreshed but a bit disappointed to find he was already gone for the day, gone to the receiving hall so he could preside over the mockery that is Tribute Day.
I stomp to the door and touch the knob, but it doesn’t turn. Frost quickly spreads over my hand. I jerk my hand back and brush the frost away. Damn him. Damn him for locking me inside and using his magic. If only I could break past his magic. Oh, how I wish I could walk through his wards, march downstairs to the receiving hall, and give him a piece of my mind in front of the entire court, the consequences be damned.
But even if I did possess a few drops of fae ancestry, I still probably wouldn’t be able to bypass King Theron’s wards or hold my own against his magic. I mean, he’s the Winter King, a literal force of nature.
A sense of hopelessness descends. I’m grateful the king intends to spare Isabel and her father, but I wish I could save more people, including my former schoolmate.
The sound of muffled sobs reaches me, followed by a distant scream. A woman’s scream. I go cold all over and my trembles deepen. My anger also rises. Someone has just been taken. I’m sure of it. Oh, gods. Was it Gwen? My heart breaks for her and for all the other young women and men who will find themselves in bondage to the fae before the day is through.
Approaching footsteps in the corridor catch my attention. My heart races as a plan starts to form in my mind, albeit an incredibly foolish and dangerous one. But I can’t just sit here and do nothing.
I glance down at my attire. I’m dressed in the same outfit I was wearing on the day Prince Alaric kidnapped me off the street, freshly laundered and delivered by one of the slaves justyesterday. But the plush, fur-lined slippers I’m wearing aren’t very practical for what I’m intending, so I hurry to find my boots and put them on. I finish tying the laces and hurry to stand near the door.
My heart gallops in my chest, and nerves churn in my stomach. For a moment, I hesitate as I worry about encountering fae soldiers in the corridors. But it is Tribute Day, and surely all the highborn fae who are staying in the castle have gone downstairs to observe the proceedings.
The door clicks open and two glamoured slaves enter. One is carrying a tray of breakfast food, while the other is holding a basket of cleaning supplies. Before they can close the door, I make my move. I bolt through the open door and… hit an invisible wall. A cold wall. It feels like ice beneath my palms.
“Fuck!” I curl my hands into fists and strike the invisible ice, but nothing happens.
