“Come along, fair human. We must go to the castle. It’s time for you to meet your new master. King Theron of the Winter Court.”
CHAPTER 4
THERON
I siton the throne in the banquet hall of Braemar Castle. The former king’s frozen head is impaled on a stake to my left, and the heads of his advisors and dignitaries are arranged on stakes on either side of me. Since the heads are frozen with winter magic, they don’t produce a stench. Eventually, I’ll have them relocated to the parapet, where they can rot freely in the open for all the citizens of Braemar to see. But for now, I prefer to keep them close. Trophies on display.
It’s late afternoon, but the revelries that usually take place in the evening have already started. The hall is mostly filled with highborn fae, though each day I permit a small number of regular faefolk from my army to join in the post-battle merriment. Human servants, musicians, jesters, and pleasure slaves are also present.
As my gaze roams around the hall, I contemplate which highborn fae from the Winter Court I will eventually appoint as the warden of this city. If Braemar were merely a village, I would appoint a lesser-born fae male to the task, but it’s one of thelargest human cities we’ve conquered. A powerful, highborn fae and at least one hundred well-trained fae soldiers will be needed to keep the surviving citizens of Braemar properly subjugated.
An unmated commander would be the most sensible choice… but who? I scan the nearest banquet table… until my gaze lands on Commander Harann. He’s a seasoned commander, a few hundred years older than I am, and it’s my understanding that he hasn’t yet met his fated mate. Which means he doesn’t have a female waiting at home anticipating his return, a female who might balk at having to relocate to a faraway human city.
I almost scoff. Why in the fires do I care? Why do I care if the future Warden of Braemar, whoever the fuck I appoint, has a mate waiting back in the Winter Court? I don’t. I don’t fucking care. I resolve that I’ll select the new warden within a matter of days, and I will pick the highborn fae male I feel is best suited for the job without allowing his mating status to sway my opinion.
I’m the king. The soldiers have all sworn allegiance to me.
From the far side of the hall, a servant girl screams and takes off running. Dark laughter echoes through the vast room, and a highborn soldier follows the female. He catches her easily, tosses her over his shoulder, and carries her out of the hall.
Sometimes, I think about doing the same.
What’s stopping me from taking a pleasure slave from among the human females? I could take a servant girl, or I could stalk the streets of Braemar until I encountered a woman who caught my eye.
Three hundred years. It’s been three hundred years since Elssandra’s betrayal, and I haven’t lain with a female since. The first few months of our mating union were the happiest days of my life. The intimacies we shared… utterly transcendent. I cannot fathom touching another female. Though Elssandra tried to help assassinate me, she was still my fated mate. The female the gods placed in this realm just for me. I revered her aboveall others. Despite her betrayal, part of me feels compelled to remain faithful to her even in death.
A commotion near the entrance of the banquet hall draws my attention. I’m not surprised when I glimpse my brother striding into the room, since he’s often the cause of disorder. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, since it’s not a very kingly habit, and sit taller on the throne.
“Please please please,” comes a soft, feminine voice.
That voice. It stirs something in me.
As the crowd parts around Alaric, I see he’s not alone. He’s holding a trembling human female in his arms.
A female with long, wavy black hair. Smooth porcelain skin. A tiny, delicate nose. And eyes… eyes like the frosted sapphires that can be found deep in the mountain caves of the Winter Court.
As he carries her closer, her facial features become clearer to me, and I swallow back a gasp. I clutch the gilded armrests of the throne, and the wood starts to splinter beneath my punishing grip.
The human female looks just like… Elssandra.
Fucking fires.
Judging by the gleeful smirk Alaric’s wearing, he sees the resemblance too. I suppose that’s why he’s brought this female to the banquet hall where he knew he would find me.
“My king,” he says with a deep nod, still holding the trembling woman.
Every so often, she whispers, “Please please please.”
Gods, even her voice sounds like Elssandra’s.
A growl builds in my throat as I stare at Alaric and the woman. I don’t know who she is, but there’s something about her that rouses my possessiveness, and it’s not simply her resemblance to my late fated mate. I don’t like that he’s holding her. I don’t like that he’s touching her.
Anger surges inside me.
But I’m conscious of the many eyes in the banquet hall. Every fae in attendance is staring at us, likely anticipating violence. There’s blood on the stone floor beneath Alaric’s feet. It’s not uncommon for a human servant to meet their end in the banquet hall. It happens nearly every night. Though the sun hasn’t yet set, two human males, a servant and one of the musicians, have had their throats slit by one of my people.
It’s part of the fun of conquering a human city.
But I don’t like that the dark-haired female is present in the banquet hall. It’s too dangerous for someone as soft and delicate-looking as her.
