I’m frozen in place. My cat friend, unbothered by the prospect of a man being beheaded, lifts a leg to lick his toes. Surely, someone will knock at the door any second. The long awaited breakfast will come. Someone will arrive to say, “Sir, you cannot bite a man’s head off in your betrothed’s room. Truly, you cannot bite a man’s head off at all.”
That’s what I tell myself as the king’s shadow stretches long. I tell myself that till I can’t anymore.
Then I leap.
Tumbleis probably the better word for what I do. My foot catches in the sheets, and I nearly fall on my face before scrambling up, lunging in front of Abely, and throwing my arms out.
“Stop,” I say, and that’s all, because I can’t think of anything else. All words vanish from my mind as I look at the king.
Scales run from temple to jawline, and his pupils have narrowed to black slits amidst the flames. The horns are far too long, and the twin points of his upper canines dimple his lips. I can’t decide if I’m looking at a beast trapped in a man’s body or a man trapped in a beast’s.
I shudder.
The king doesn’t say anything, but the breath he drags in through his nostrils is loud enough to echo throughout the room.
“Move,” he grates out.
I shake my head.
His dark gaze travels down my neck to rest once again on the blue starburst glittering there. Perhaps he regrets giving me such a gift? Perhaps he wants it back? I’d happily do so to end this.
His eyes fall lower and then glance away, jaw hardening.
I stiffen as he spins around, stalks to the other side of the bed, and veers into the dressing room. When he emerges, he storms his way back with something balled in his fist, his gaze somehow even angrier. He stops mere feet from me. Fast as a whip, his hand lashes out.
I flinch.
A beat of utter silence follows. When no blow lands, I open my eyes to find round pupils staring back at me out of a scaleless face.
A scaleless, stricken face.
For several seconds, we regard one another like that, our emotions bared out of sudden surprise. When he turns his attention to the object held out beneath my nose, I do the same. It’s a robe, a silk, lavender robe.
Only then do I remember the sheer nightgown Hiln, and her giggling girls, dressed me in. A deep blush blooms across my cheeks. I take the proffered robe and wrestle my arms in the sleeves, humiliation making me clumsy.
“Get out, Abely,” the king says, his words flat.
The minister scurries from the room. Only when the door latches and Abely’s panicked steps fade away does the king stride to a chair, snatch up the neatly folded shirt there, and exit the room himself.
I stand where I am, listening to the sound of my own breathing.
Someone raps at the servant’s door. When I answer, a young maid pokes her head through to beam at me.
“Would you like breakfast now, Your Highness?”
I can’t imagine eating right now.
“Yes,” I say, folding my hands in front of me. “I think I would.”
17
Soren
She thought I was going to hurt her. I could see it in her eyes.
The rage burning in my chest blazes higher as I pace the floor of my room. I had to leave, had tobreathe, and yet the urge to charge back in there and demand she tell me who made her afraid of an outstretched hand is nearly uncontrollable. A female doesn’t fear being struck unless someone strikes her first.
I’ll tear apart whoever did it, rumbles through my mind.I’ll sink my teeth into their flesh, and rip their—
