I’m vaguely aware of the glamoured slaves moving around the room, completely oblivious to my turmoil and fury. I cannot believe King Theron has so thoroughly warded his bedchamber to keep me from leaving. And yet… I suppose Icanbelieve it.
My shoulders slump and I turn around. I eye the balcony doors. What would happen if I stepped outside again and tried to climb down the castle walls? Or is the balcony warded too?
A mournful sigh leaves me. Even if the balcony isn’t warded, it’s a long drop to the bottom, and the entire city of Braemar is lined up outside. Furthermore, there’s a fae patrol in the courtyard, and likely many more in the streets beyond the castle.
I remind myself that King Theron will probably be leaving Braemar in the coming days and taking most of the Winter Court army with him. Perhaps if I bide my time, the opportunity to escape will eventually arise. Though, if I’m being honest, the idea of running away while on the road in unfamiliar territory is a bit scary.
In all my life, I’ve never left the walls of Braemar. Not once. As a child, my mother made me repeatedly promise always to remain inside the protective stone walls of the city. It’s a promise I kept into adulthood, even after I got married. I kept the promise after she died too, though sometimes I used to wonder what it would be like to walk through the nearby forest, the forest I’ve only glimpsed from afar.
But if I escaped King Theron, where would I go? My mood darkens, and despite the crackling fire, the room suddenly feels colder. I couldn’t return to Braemar. Surely it would be the first place the king would look.
The prospect of finding a safe place to hide is daunting, but I resolve that I’ll do whatever it takes to escape him.
I can’t remain a prisoner for the rest of my life, even if my captor never hurts me.
My thoughts become muddled as I consider my conflicting feelings for the Winter King. I still cannot reconcile the cruelty he’s shown my people with the gentleness he’s shown me. How is it that he’s never hurt me? He even healed me once. He used his winter magic to erase the bruises Peter left on my arms.
I pace back and forth as the slaves clean the bathroom and remake the bed, probably to appease King Theron’s exacting standards. Gods forbid one of his pillows isn’t properly fluffed.
My stomach growls, but I hesitate to sit at the table and eat while the slaves are hard at work. It feels wrong to sit around and enjoy the food they brought while they’re flitting about the bedchamber, cleaning up after me.
Before I married Harry, I cleaned houses and performed other odd jobs for my neighbors, everything from running errands to nursing a sick relative to babysitting. I’ve never had a housekeeper before, and I’m certainly not used to having meals delivered to me three times a day.
Everything about it feels wrong, and though the glamoured slaves seem completely unaware of my presence, I still feel guilty that they’ve been waiting on me hand and foot.
Relief fills me when the slaves finally depart the bedchamber. They exit the room without any issues and close the door behind them. Apparently King Theron has crafted his ward to allow them to pass through but not me.
I walk to the table and sit down. As I uncover the plate on the tray, another scream pierces the air, reminding me of the darkness that’s unfolding several floors below. I instantly lose my appetite, and I return the cover to the plate.
Rising to my feet, I peer toward the balcony. But I’m afraid to walk any closer. I don’t want to see the line of people again. Gods, I wish I couldn’t hear the screams. Or the sobbing.
With a heavy heart, I take a seat in front of the crackling fire.
I cover my ears with my hands.
But then everythingchanges, and I’m no longer in the king’s bedchamber. I’m back in that dark, swirling abyss, falling falling falling. I scream and I thrash around, desperate to grab hold of something, anything, to stop the rapid descent.
At last, I see a light. A bonfire. I’m seated on a fallen tree trunk, and I’m surrounded by fae. The snowy forest around us is glowing and glimmering, and I instinctively know I’m on Winter Court lands. I try to speak, but no words come out. It’s sort of like the last vision I had. I’m a spectator, trapped in a body that I’m not sure belongs to me.
A tall male sits beside me. “Cousin,” he says. “I’ve heard the news. What a blessed turn of events.”
“Yes, I was shocked by the priestess’s revelation,” I find myself saying. “But perhaps it will be easier this way. I will play my part, and I will resist the bond. I’m strong enough. I know I am.”
“I believe you’ll do just fine, Cousin. And when this is all over, you will have a place of honor in the Winter Court.” He rests a hand on my shoulder and stares at the fire.
What revelation? What priestess?
I try to ask one of the many questions flitting through my mind, but I can’t speak. Not when I really want to. Gods, it’s so frustrating. And the longer I sit here, next to this tall fae male, the morefamiliarthis event feels. Like the erotic vision I had that involved King Theron, it’s as though I’ve been here before.
The vision fades, and suddenly I’m back in the swirling darkness.
Falling fast. Screaming. Thrashing.
Praying.
Gods, please make it stop.
CHAPTER 16
