Out of all the Faeries in Glace, I had to bump into someone who knows Behati? Fuck my life. “Which kingdom are you from?”
The haze must be thinning, because I detect his eyebrows—which are as dark as his hair is white—inclining toward his thin, bloodied nose.
“I’ve new terms for you,” he responds, instead of answering my question. “Tell me how you penetrated my chambers, and I’ll recall my magic.”
To end this monotonous cross-examination, I confess, “I entered with a sigil, which I painted on the bedroom skylight.”
The angle of his frown becomes vertiginous. And then he’s spinning on his heel and pounding away, making good on his promise. I’m so startled that he’s released me that my arms flop down and I remain planted on the bench. Nevertheless, the sound of a door whooshing open has me pitching forward.
As I near it, I glamour myself out of sight with a sigil, just in case he intends to manhandle me some more. When I pop free of the mist, the Faerie’s halfway down his corridor, clipping along at a ridiculous pace, pale-blue towel still wrapped snugly around his backside.
All right… Maybe he wasn’t planning on pursuing the interrogation outside.
Rubbing my bruised neck, I study his defined biceps, powerful legs, and finely-muscled back that casts his taut spine in shadow. No wonder his grip hurt. There’s not an ounce of softness on him.
I sweep my clothes off the floor and yank them up my invisible limbs, then grab my boots. I don’t spear them on, since bare feet will make less sound than leather soles.
Intent on slipping through the front door of his suite unnoticed, I tiptoe after the Faerie, trailing him into an adjoining parlor, where a desk sits, laden with stacked parchment and a—a?—
I lash my stare toward the white-haired male, then back onto the glittering snowflake crown. One of my boots drops and thuds on the parquet flooring.Focá.
The male continues walking, thankfully oblivious to my presence.
Or not…
“My castle’s a maze,Yegma,” he says, reaching for the door handle. “You won’t reach your destination without the help of one of my guards.”
My castle.
My. Castle.
My! Castle!
I assaulted Izolda’s older brother.
I assaulted the King of Glace.
“I’ll have someone lead you to your destination. Which room were you hoping to reach?”
When I don’t reply, Konstantin Korol pivots in the direction of my fallen boot. I gape at his swollen bottom lip, at the smear of blood rimming his nostrils, at the angry peaks of his ears.
My father isn’t going to killhim; he’s going to killme.
The Ice King tilts his head, which unsettles the large silver medallion hanging between his pecs. I need to book it out of hischamber…out of the castle…out of Glace. I snatch the shoe—no way am I leaving any evidence of my visit behind—and then I creep to the nearest wall.
“So, where should I command my guards to take you?”
If I tell Konstantin where I’m headed, he’s going to put two and two together and figure out who bloodied his mouth. “I’ll find my way.”
“You won’t.”
For once in my life, I know I will, since my destination is his ceiling. Or his castle’s front door. Whichever I reach first. I’ll never know my mate, and my wings might just fall off midflight from fatigue, but staying in the Ice Kingdom is inconceivable.
“The least you can do—after you struck me—is allow one of my guards to escort you to your destination, Isla Ríhbiadh.”
My heart misses a beat. Six. Twelve. Even after I ascertain I’m still invisible, my pulse fails to ease.
Konstantin’s bluffing. He has to be. He may have noticed the color of my hair before I adopted Behati’s, butmanypeople have black hair, especially Crows. All the Ice King holds for a fact is that I speak both tongues and possess Shabbin magic.
