I am the Winter King, descended from a line of vicious Unseelie warriors.
I will do whatever I must to remain on the Winter Court throne, just as I will do whatever I must to protect my peoplefrom murderous humans and orcs who wish to prevent our migration into their lands. If I must slaughter a thousand humans every day for the rest of my life, then that is what I will do. I will keep going, keep killing. I will keep using my deadly winter magic and brute strength to protect my people.
Helena shifts in my arms, moving slightly away from me, tensing as though she means to make a sudden escape. I tighten my hold on her, bringing her more firmly against my bare chest.
Mine. My female.
Her long, wavy hair tickles my flesh. She casts a nervous glance at me, her breath faltering. I inhale her familiar scent, frost flowers and something sweeter, and it feels like home. I wish she could feel the same sense of peace I’m experiencing now as I hold her. Instead, it seems she is eager to escape my arms. If I were a well-mannered male, the kind of man her husband probably was, I would let her go. I would give her space. I might even release her from captivity.
But I’m possessive. And jealous. So much that I won’t let her go, not even if she gets on her knees and begs. The possibility that she might’ve loved her husband and misses him still riles me to no end, a chilled ripple beneath my skin that feels like the beginning of another storm.
Though I used winter magic to clean the remnants of battle off myself before entering the bedchamber, I suspect the scent of smoke and blood clings to me still, faint but unmistakable. Human blood. Does she smell it? Does she know the level of rage I felt as I killed her people?
“You’re frightened,” I say at last, my voice low. A statement, not a question.
She stiffens and peers down at her trembling hands. That alone is answer enough.
I tilt my head, studying her profile, the purposeful way she avoids my gaze. She fears me now in a way she did not before. Not because I am fae. Not because I am her captor.
But because today, more than once, she has been reminded that I am a king and that I rule through violence rather than mercy. First, Tribute Day. Then, the swift justice I meted out to the humans who attacked my people.
“They attacked my soldiers,” I say, even though she hasn’t asked. “They set fire to dozens of tents. A few of my people sustained serious burns.”
“Did any of your people die?” she asks in a whisper.
“No. Our best healers are tending to them now. All are expected to live.”
“How many…” Her voice trails off and a shudder passes through her. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I feel her breathing change, shallow and uneven. “How many of my people did you kill tonight?”
“Nineteen. All adult human males. They were captured outside the gates of Braemar trying to sneak back into the city through a concealed entrance in the wall.”
She turns in my arms and peers into my eyes. “Did you kill anyone else after that? Any innocents from the city?”
I almost scoff at her question, but then I consider her viewpoint. During the battle to capture Braemar, my people slaughtered most humans we encountered in the streets, only sparing children, whether they were soldiers or regular citizens who’d had nothing to do with the attack on the settlement of faefolk.
I lean closer to her and comb my fingers through her hair. I can’t help but notice that her gaze occasionally drifts to my bare chest. A flush blooms across her face.
“I didn’t personally kill anyone else after that,” I eventually tell her. “But I cannot promise that the fae soldiers patrolling thestreets of Braemar won’t be especially cruel tonight and in the days that follow.”
“You could leave Braemar,” she says quietly. “You could take your entire army and leave tonight. No more killing. I doubt anyone from Braemar would dare to bother your people again, especially since all our soldiers are dead.”
“No.” I tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, then wrap my hand around her throat, just as I did before we kissed earlier. And just like earlier in the night, I don’t squeeze. I just… feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my fingers.
“Must you truly occupy every human city you conquer indefinitely?” Her voice is sad, distant. Resigned. She already knows that I won’t change my mind.
“Yes, we must. I have already appointed a warden to rule over Braemar. When the majority of the Winter Court army departs your city in a few days, one hundred soldiers will stay behind to help keep order.”
A soft, mournful whimper leaves her, and her look of sorrow deepens.
I long to comfort her, but I cannot do as she’s asking. I cannot give her what she wants. All it would take is one angry human to rile his comrades up enough to lead an attack on another fae settlement. It’s a risk I cannot take.
Besides, if I showed her people even the tiniest bit of mercy, the soldiers who follow me would doubt my ability to lead the army and sit on the Winter Court throne.
I think back to the last time I was challenged, a few years after Rumarc tried to kill me. My second in command, General Davadd, secretly plotted to take my crown just because I didn’t torture a group of orcs that trespassed into our lands before killing them. His skull adorns the main banquet hall at the Winter Court, of course, taking a place of honor next to Rumarc’s. Ever since then, I haven’t appointed another generalto help lead the army. Instead, the two dozen commanders in the army report directly to me. When I must put my trust in just one of them, I usually choose Commander Ashvale.
The point being, when it comes to the safety of my people and the preservation of my place on the Winter Court throne, I will never take risks. Showing even the tiniest bit of mercy can result in grave consequences. Not only is cruelty safer, but it’s part of me. I savor the screams of my enemies during battle, just as I relish the scent of their blood.
I don’t believe Helena realizes just howunnaturalit was for me to promise to help her friends, Isabel and Mr. Sinclair.
