Torvil smiles as Mortis slinks over to deposit me at his feet.
I crash down upon the rock, sniveling. Playing my part. He doesn’t know that I know of his plans to steal the novillum seed.At least, I’m praying he doesn’t. It’s my only edge, and one I’ll need to cling to fiercely.
“Very good,” he croons to Mortis, who snaps out a sharp bark, then sits back on his haunches, awaiting further instructions. “Make sure you’ve not been followed.”
Mortis barks again, once, twice, then darts back into the forest.
Torvil helps me up, and the tears in my eyes, while very real, are born from hatred, not gratitude. I doubt he can tell the difference.
“Oh, my dear Charlotte.” He brushes my hair off my face, pulls up the collar of my chemise. “What have those brutes done to you? I was so worried when the Macán bitch stole you away yesterday.”
“She b-brought me to Desmond, but he … Sir Quinn was there. He killed the duke just as he was about to …” I trail off, squeeze my eyes shut to spill tears down my cheek. “Oh, Torvil, I was so scared Desmond was going to claim me before I could get to you.”
Frightened and helpless, I paw at him. Seeking weapons.
Or a vial.
Timothy said Torvil intended to be a king without a queen. And the only way he could achievethatis if he brought another vial of that poison to the Eldergrove.
He grabs my wrists roughly, nearly snapping bone and interrupting my search, then presses my hands against his chest. “I promised I would win you, Charlotte. By any means necessary. There’s nothing to fear now. We will end this together.”
He bends down to kiss me, my hands trapped against him, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it this time. His tongue invades my mouth and every cell in my body revolts as he begins subtly moving toward the edge of the rock.
I try to hold firm, push back, but he’s far stronger than me. My boots slip, and stones skitter down the cliff. I force my panic down, test his grip, but it’s vise-tight. Not only can I not pull away, but I can barely breathe around his mouth. I don’t want this, don’t want him, and I am not doing a very good job of masking my struggle. There is no way he cannot sense my hesitation.
Obviously, he does not care.
He takes a huge step forward, and a gust blows up my chemise.
A howl tumbles through the trees, long and loud, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a struggle—barks and growls and swords crashing and armour clanking.
Torvil tears his lips from mine and in the split second of his distraction, I glance at my feet. A necessity to grab the thorn that unfortunately shows me how terrifyingly close I am to certain death. Half of my boot heel hangs off the edge, and an overwhelming wave of vertigo overtakes me. My head spins and my vision blurs. Bending over, even to grab my weapon, seems an impossibility.
Torvil shakes me, icy with rage. “You led them to me.”
Truthfully, I did not. If anything, it was Mortis. “Never, my king. I would never betr?—”
His hands are at my throat, choking off my words. “You traitorous little bitch,” he snarls, which is quite rich coming from a man who likely intends to poison me then throw me off a cliff.
He bends me backward, enough that I can reach the top of my boot to slip out the thorn.
I slice it across his wrist, and he jumps back, shocked. As if I have transformed before him once again. Not a lamb, but a viper. One who’s not afraid to strike.
“This game isover.” I level the thorn at him. “Give me the poison. I know you have it on you.”
He snickers, shaking the blood off his wrist before pulling a familiar vial of acid green liquid from his pocket. “This poison?” He slips his hand into his other pocket, retrieving another vial, this one filled with a bubbly liquid that resembles pink champagne. “Thought you might be more interested in the antidote, honestly.”
The thorn wavers as my hand shakes. “Antidote?”
He takes a long step forward, pressing his chest into the thorn. Confident that I won’t use it. Not yet. Not until I hear his villain monologue. How veryTorvilof him. If this situation weren’t so dire, I might burst into hysterical laughter.
“I have an offer for you, Miss Fitzroy.” He holds up the green vial. “When you take this, the novillum seed will be expelled from your body and rebind itself to the ring.”
WhenI take it. I am half-terrified to hear why he is so sure I will.
“After which, the ring will fall off, exposing your mortal body to the glacial march of time here in the Otherworld. Your heart will slow to the point your brain will be convinced it’s stopped beating. And you will die.
“Unless”—he shakes the pink vial—“you drink this immediately after. It will halt the time expansion. Heal you. Alter the very fabric of your being. You could stay in the Otherworld forever. Marry that poor, lowly knight who was always mooning over you. Have his hideous, ginger-haired babies for all I care. The antidote would make you compatible in that way as well.”
