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Shit, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t focus. I thumbed the ring on my finger as if it would magically help me figure it out. I should’ve been glad he’d pulled away, yet as I stood there, awkwardly, I couldn’t help but feel rejected. What did I expect? It was absurd. Thoughtless. It meant nothing. My eyes flicked to his swollen red lips while my lungs learned how to breathe again, and my legs learned how to hold me up on their own.
What was wrong with me?
Talon cleared his throat, the subtle sound like a train horn in the tense silence, jarring me. “I, uh, I should probably go?—”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” I wanted to tell him to stay. To kiss him again to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I didn’t want to risk looking even more like an idiot. The quicker we could forget about this encounter, the better off we’d be.
Talon nodded too, a reassurance for himself it seemed, but said nothing else as he strolled out of my bedchamber.
His absence left me ten times more confused than when he initially showed up.
I gathered my breath, shook the tightness from my limbs, and picked up the envelope that had fallen to the ground.
Flipping the envelope over in my fingers, I plopped onto my bed. The king spared no expense on his stationary, I noted, admiring the golden paper and the detailed insignia stamped in wax. Anything to distract me from Talon’s moan echoing inside my skull.
I refocused, pulling out the handwritten note:
Ms. Elowyn Rosewood,
It would be at the pleasure of the crown if you would join me and Prince Bowen in the grand hall tomorrow at dusk. A celebratory feast awaits you to celebrate your and the other competitor’s success in making it this far. I anticipate your company.
Sincerely,
King Harkin
What exactly did he want to celebrate? Us murdering each other? What a sick, deranged man.
I slapped the letter back onto the table, raking a hand through my hair, mortified and repulsed. The last thing I wanted to do was break bread with that sociopath. Yet as I laid back down and buried myself under the blankets, something told me it’d be a certain someone’s rough, greedy touch I’d have to worry about most.
Twenty-Two
The doors to King Harkin’s personal dining hall opened on an invisible breeze that carried a savory aroma. Inside, a long, ornate table dominated the center of the room, and food covered every inch of it. Ham and turkey. Bread and butter. Potatoes. Vegetables. Bowls of fruit. Cheese platters. Cakes. Pies. Endless bottles of wine. There was enough of it to feed a small village—it must’ve taken all day to cook everything. Or a snap of a finger.
Calandra appeared at my side, her stomach grumbling to announce her presence, and hazel gaze locked on the massive spread before us. “Is all this for us?”
I shrugged. “Maybe our guards will be joining later?”
A hearty marble fireplace took up half the back wall, overshadowing the fifteen-person mahogany table in the center. From the vaulted ceiling hung an opulent gold chandelier, its flickering candles creating an enchanting golden ambiance that bathed the maroon walls. The elegance this room held was unlike anything else in the castle—unlike anything in Wellington Castle at that.
We wandered about the space, marveling at the portraits of previous kings that hung in thick gold frames against the lush crimson walls.
I trailed a finger along the chair rail, stopping before a painting of an ash-blond king in royal blue robes and a bejeweled crown identical to the one King Harkin donned. The gold plaque under the bronze frame gleamed under the candlelight.
King Gareth Rathborne.
A chill ran down my spine. The slain king—the brother betrayed. They shared the same hair color and jawline, however, that’s where the similarities ended. King Gareth’s demeanor was warm. Trustworthy. He carried himself like a true dignitary. A leader. Nothing in his appearance hinted at the vile and carnivorous nature King Harkin and the prince oozed.
His eyes were honey-coated and wise. There was something familiar about them I couldn’t put my finger on.
Speaking of the repulsive majesty himself, the king’s voice crooned from the far side of the room. “Well, hello, humans.”
I straightened.
He looked like an ant compared to the giant fireplace, his and the prince’s gaudy floor-length cloaks trailing a foot behind them. “So nice of you to join us. Please, take a seat.”
With a quick flick of his hand, the fire roared awake, and the smell of smoked cedar mixed with the food.
Aeron shouldered past me, sitting on the king’s left, across the table from the prince. Our plates and silverware magically appeared in front of us, and our wine glasses filled on their own as I took my place—albeit reluctantly—next to Aeron. I slid my chair over an inch to avoid our shoulders rubbing together and shot Calandra a dirty look, who chuckled at my expense. As if this was ideal for any of us.
