Orea feels betrayed by the fae, but fear is the predominant emotion. It’s why only those with magic are allowed to rule. It’s why Queen Malina had to give up control of her throne and marry Midas for his magical power. Because if the fae ever do come back to finish what they started, we need rulers who can protect their kingdoms.
I wonder if King Ravinger knows exactly what kind of beast he has on his leash. I wonder if he can feel the commander’s power brimming beneath the surface, sense his suffocating atmosphere.
I’m vulnerable here at his feet, with the commander’s eyes locked on my weak ribbons that are still trying to help hold me up. His unwanted attention makes my heart gallop.
With a mental push, I?
??m somehow able to collect the shattered pieces of my strength and force myself to my feet. As soon as I stand, my loose ribbons hang limp and dull behind me in the snow, no strength left to even wrap themselves around me.
The commander’s head cocks in an animalistic way as he regards me with a slow drag of his eyes from bottom to top, making the sheen of the barely-there scales over his cheekbones ripple in the gray dawn.
When his gaze finally lifts to my face, my wary gold eyes get caught by his intense black ones.
The pirate ships pull further away, the army continues to move, but the commander and I continue to stand there, watching each other.
From this close, I can see flakes of snow getting caught on his thick black lashes. I can see the polished gleam of the spikes over his brow. I wouldn’t call him handsome, he’s far too wicked looking for that, but the savage grace of him is as magnificent as it is utterly alarming.
Even though I’m freezing, my palms begin to sweat inside my gloves, my pulse pounding so hard I expect it to knock pinprick holes through my veins. The wind picks up, ruffling the brown feathers along my stolen coat, making it look as if my whole body is trembling.
Strong. His presence is so damn strong and full of death, like even his aura knows how destructive he is.
Finally, he speaks again. “So, this is King Midas’s pet.” He glances down at the feathers on my sleeves, the gold ribbons bereft in the snow, and his black eyes flash with interest as they lift again to my face. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to find a goldfinch.”
I’m not sure why hearing him call me a pet bothers me, but I find my hands fisting the fabric of my skirts.
“I know what you are,” I say with a sharp tone, my accusation escaping with a puff of hazy air between us.
A slow smirk spreads over his mouth, a menacing curl of his lips that makes my heart stumble. He takes a single step forward, a simple move that somehow sucks all the air out of the world.
He leans in, his aura pushing at me, testing, feeling, overwhelming. And despite the frigid air of the Barrens, despite the deafening noises of the scraping ships and the marching army, his voice presses hot and resonant against my ear as he speaks. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Chapter Forty
King Midas
I’ve been to every single kingdom in Orea.
First Kingdom is a tepid jungle, flooded with pretentious fools who fancy themselves masters of the arts. Second is an arid expanse of sand and not much more, the monarchs a dull, puritanical lot.
Third Kingdom holds more interest, their coasts speckled with private islands only to be visited upon invitation of the monarchs. Their only blight is that they share a murky border of swampland with Fourth, but King Rot’s kingdom holds no interest to me at all.
Fifth Kingdom, however, I’ve grown increasingly fond of.
I look out below me, my hands braced on the balcony railing. The ground glitters silver and white, but my focus is on the ice sculptures in the courtyard, maintained as religiously as any royal garden, every curve chiseled, every inch shaped to perfection.
What a wonder it will look like once all the ice has been touched with gold.
I don’t have ice sculptures in Highbell. The blizzards and storms are far too vicious for that. But here in Fifth Kingdom, the everlasting cold is much more mild, only light dustings of snow gracing its sparkling ground.
I watch the sculptors continue to carve for a moment longer before I turn and head back inside, letting the balcony doors snick shut behind me. I’ve been given the south suites of Ranhold Castle to stay in, the interior all decorated in whites and purples, with gray rock and black iron fortifying its structure. It’s lavish and entirely respectable enough for a visiting monarch.
Except, I don’t intend to simply visit.
I sit down at the desk set into the corner of the room, fresh blue winter blossoms set cheerfully on top, its stem resting in frosted water.
I’m deep in a stack of papers when the knock sounds on my door, and my advisor, Odo, shuffles in.
“Your Majesty, a letter has arrived for you.”