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Eldrion’s jaw clenched at her words, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anger and frustration, but he remained silent by the king’s side.
“You would do well to apologize for your insolence,” Galodir warned. “Furthermore, it is high time you explain why you took the books from the Cattleya’s court’s vault. What does the Crimson court want with them?”
Galodir was asking questions again. They wanted to continue this game. So be it—she could play it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anthea crossed her arms. “What books?” It was a blatant lie, and they all knew it. She made no attempt to pretend otherwise.
“You still have one hand that is unbroken, do you not?” Galodir gestured vaguely at her hands.
Fear gripped her, clenching her teeth and avoiding the eyes of the elf who had shattered her wrist, she kept her focus on Galodir. “With two broken hands, I won’t be able to eat. And humans need to eat to survive, don’t they?” Despite her bold words, when Galodir nodded toward Eldrion, her heart pounded a panicked rhythm in her chest. The warrior approached her with sure steps, his hand closing around her uninjured hand. His grip was secure, but not yet painful?—
“If he breaks my hand, I won’t eat,” she promised, her eyes burning with defiance. “In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to die and leave this miserable world.” In the solitude of this room, the past few days she’d been mulling over this idea, her only leverage in this twisted game—her life—the last thread of control she had over her own fate. She felt Eldrion’s grip falter slightly. But her gaze remained locked on the Nephrite king. Anthea was waiting, for a response, for a reaction. Anything.
Would he call her bluff or would he finally yield?
Then, a subtle shake of Galodir’s head signaled her temporary victory. A sigh of relief escaped her as Eldrion released her.
Without another word, the two exited the room. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. It had worked. Her bluff, her threat, had worked.
She sat back, rubbing her hand. The lingering warmth of Eldrion’s touch was still present, an odd, unwanted souvenir of the encounter. If she could get away with it once, could she do it again?
“You are coming with me.”
“Where?” Anthea’s mind swirled with possibilities, none of them good.
Eldrion stood, blocking the door. The last memory of him from five days ago was still vivid in her mind, his hand tight around hers, the unspoken threat, a reminder of what they were capable of, what he was capable of.
Would he take her to another torture session?
Perched on the edge of the bed, Anthea had been watching the heavy rain from her window, the occasional lightning strikes, when the warrior had stormed in and announced his intentions. She moved further away from him. Her sudden movement made the bed creak loudly, drawing his attention. He faltered, an almost imperceptible wince as he took in her defensive posture. She was huddled on the far end of the bed now, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her bare feet were dug into the coarse fabric of the bedsheet, ready to push off at any sign of danger.
Eldrion let out a long, weary sigh. “Prince Endreth and Prince Aegonar from the Crimson court are here.” Those words hit her like a bolt of lightning. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her first genuine one in a long time. It was a small, fleeting thing, but it spread warmth through her tired body. She let her head tilt back slightly, her eyes sparkling with the glimmer of hope she had been so starved of. Eldrion’s eyes roamed her face, drinking in her reaction. His eyes narrowed slightly, the steely gray of his irises seemed to harden. “Come.” He opened the wooden door.
29
Anthea spotted Endreth immediately as she stepped into the room. His auburn hair had been cut a lot shorter, now ending at the nape of his neck; it suited him. She didn’t miss the quick, assessing sweep he gave her battered figure. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw a spark of emotions pass through his eyes—anger, concern. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He was sitting behind a long, lavishly carved table. Its surface gleamed under the gentle light, every detail meticulously crafted. Next to him sat Aegonar, he gave her one quick look, pausing slightly on her bandaged wrist. His green eyes revealed nothing.
They were here. They had truly come for her. She had hoped, but she hadn’t known for sure, but they were here, Endreth was here.
Galodir, and Vaelor sat opposite of the Crimson princes, they hadn’t acknowledged her at all when she had walked in with Eldrion. Elodir, the youngest Nephrite prince sat next to Aegonar, he kept his hazel eyes on her, assessing. Beldor stood to the side, next to a large tapestry, still as a silent statue.
She turned her attention back to the Crimson princes—they were severely outnumbered. Where was Kaelan, where was Haldrian? Why had they come alone?
“Greetings, Anthea,” Aegonar said, his voice breaking the silence in the room. She hoped her eyes showed her joy of seeing them, she wished she could voice it—she took a step closer, but Eldrion’s hand stopped her in her tracks.
“Stay close,” Galodir ordered the warrior, nodding toward her.
She kept looking at Endreth, hoping to lock eyes with him, to communicate her trust in him, her plea for help. But his eyes were fixated on the scrolls in front of him.
Anthea swallowed the lump in her throat. Something was wrong.
“Endreth?”
“Keep quiet, girl!” Galodir rose from his chair.
Her eyes flickered to Eldrion, the warrior stood at her side, no doubt ready to keep her in line, if needed. To remind Endreth and Aegonar they had all the control in this room.
“We are running out of time and the girl appears uncontrollable.” Galodir gripped the back of his chair while addressing the others.
“Are you sure she is from another world? Aside from her immunity to magic, I see nothing special about her.” Vaelor looked straight at the youngest Crimson prince, when he said that.
