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“Can you draw it for me?” I sit on the edge of the bed and cross my ankles. “Maybe we can take it together?”
I’m not sure how much of this act he’s buying. He must feel the aura of my all-out rage.
“Very well.” Cirrus picks up a wine glass and carries it into the bathroom.
I climb onto the bed, taking the frame down from the wall and laying it on the floor. With my dagger, I make quick work of the bindings and free the parchment from the casing. My hands sweat. I don’t like that I can’t hear Cirrus over the running water in the bathroom. If he catches me, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I fold the parchment, tuck it into my corset, and shove the frame under the bed.
Cirrus appears in the doorway, nose in the air and glass of wine in hand. “My father used the dwarves to dig out Frostacre in the sixty-seventh century.” He pauses when he finally looks at me. “What are you doing on the floor?”
“I dropped my ring.” I swipe my palms over the thick carpeting frantically. “Oh, never mind. I found it.” I hold up the ring, I’d slipped from my finger moments before at the sound of his voice. “It’s a size too big and keeps coming off.”
He stares at me as if he can’t believe the prophecy picked me to assume the role as savior. “Your bath is ready.”
I scramble to my feet, trying not to trip on the skirt of my dress, and hurry into the bathroom. Knowing nothing about the king, I’m not sure how observant he is. It might take him two minutes or two years to notice the frame missing from above his bed.
With my limited time, I roll up my sleeves and remove the dagger from my pocket, ready to force myself into a mindset where I can kill the fae king in cold blood. The weapon shakes in my hand as I take in shallow breaths, contemplating my next move. Every creak of the floorboards beyond the door sets my heart into wild palpitations. It’s a strange game of who will open the bathroom door first.
To both my dismay and relief over not drawing it out any longer, he makes the first move. As the door opens, I hide the dagger behind my back, carefully slipping it into my pocket.
“Can I help you with your dress?” He moves behind me, not waiting for an answer, his lithe fingers sliding the buttons through the eyelets. Cool air hits the bare skin of my shoulders.
My heart is now in my throat. I don’t want it to go any farther, and if I don’t stop him, we’ll end up in bed like the vision he implanted in my mind earlier. Without a word, he slides the green velvet from my shoulders, his cool hands skimming along my skin. He’s an expert in using his glamour, threatening to make me forget all about the dagger in my pocket.
The garment slips from my hips to the ground, and I’m standing exposed in my corset and underclothes. The weapon seems impossibly out of reach.
His lips brush my shoulder, stopping to nip the sensitive spot where my neck meets my collarbone, and work their way up to my ear. “Join me, Maribel. Make Frostacre your home. As my pet, you’ll never need to lift a weapon again.”
In my clouded judgment, it sounds so inviting. This drop dead gorgeous fairy wants me around. He’ll protect me from Arazian and Lady Raven. I drift into his dreamworld as I feel his fingers working the ribbon on my corset. There’s some reason he shouldn’t do that. There’s something hidden, but I can’t remember what.
He stops long enough to pick up a glass of wine from a small wooden ledge beside the tub. “Here. Have a drink. It will relax you.”
I hold the glass of wine, staring down into the red poison.
A voice calls out in my head. Don’t eat or drink anything. Fae food and drink will drive you into madness.
Levi.
I turn and throw the contents of the glass into Cirrus’s face before diving to the floor to find my dagger in the dress.
“You’ll pay for that, you Undesirable wench.” His slender fingers turn from gentle to unforgiving as he grips my hair and drags me across the bathroom floor.
I keep hold of my dress, patting the folds for the hard iron. There’s too much material. My scalp cries out where his fingernails dig into flesh.
Using my hair, he lifts me to my feet and shoves me against the wall, holding me by the shoulders. His eyes are wide, and dark lines threaten to burst through his pale skin. In anger, he can’t hide his true self behind his glamour. “You’re going to die like the miserable half-blood lying on the dining room floor. It will take my staff weeks to get the stain out of the marble.”
My searching fingers finally hit the hard object in my dress, so I plunge them into the pocket to retrieve it. Hands no longer shaking, I stare at the king as his hands slide from my shoulders to my throat, trying to choke the life out of me. As my head spins, I use everything within me to thrust the weapon’s blade into his side.
He staggers backward, staring down at the projectile protruding from his waist. For most, this wouldn’t be a fatal blow, but he’s fae and the weapon’s iron.
“What have you done?” He yanks the dagger out and tosses it to the ground as the black lines on his face become more pronounced. “You’re a human. Mortal. You’re weak. I’m the king.” His skin morphs from its usual perfect ivory to ashen as he stumbles, trips, and lands in the tub. His head lolls to the side as he gets the bath he wanted.
I just killed the king of Frostacre.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Voices come from the bedroom. Have the fae discovered my crime so quickly? I throw my dress over my head and crack the door open to peek into the other room. A shadowy figure stands beside the king’s dresser, rifling through the contents. Another is on his hands and knees searching beneath the bed.
I rush into the room and throw myself into Bastian’s arms, catching him off guard as he rifles through papers on Cirrus’s table. I’m lucky he doesn’t pull a weapon on me.
