It doesn't take a genius to work out there’s been an attack and the Savage Prince intends to hold me responsible for the crimes.
I idly wonder if the Fates are about to let me be whipped for something I took no part in, if they care about such things. Then I remember what the Fates have in store for me, the future I ran from, and being whipped doesn't seem so harsh anymore.
“Mirfield and Havers Run are gone.”
Gasps ring out amongst the crowd. The high-fae females murmur amongst themselves, but they clearly already knew this. It's the servants and maids who are horrified, and I realize some might’ve had family in those villages.
The Savage Prince waits until the room quiets some before he continues, “The survivors have been brought here and are being treated, and we’re seeking appropriate lodgings for them in Yregar. We can't find a motive for why the witches chose to attack these villages, but as we have one among us, I thought it would be simple enough to ask.”
He takes two steps toward me, and I look into the icy cold depths of his eyes, his lip curling the moment our gazes meet. The scar across his face stands out, slashing through his features cruelly as his mouth snarls in rancor at me. Why the Fates believe a union between us will work is beyond me, but it doesn’t really matter what I think.
Nothing about today is going to change that.
My own voice is clear and strong, carrying through the room with ease. “I have no affiliation with the witch armies terrorizing the kingdom. I fled to the Northern Lands as barely more than a witchling and have never interacted with Kharl Balzog or any witch under his command. I have no loyalties to them or their barbaric aspirations, only to the land and the peaceful people here.”
Disbelief rings out. No one attempts to hide their reaction to my words, and one of the soldiers to the side of me scoffs and scuffs his foot on the ground as he hisses out to those standing next to him, “All witches lie, there’s no honor among any of them.”
Careful to look casual as I scan the crowd, I catch Sari’s chin lift toward me, her own mouth clamped firmly shut. She knows I speak the truth, but the guard at her side has a hand on her elbow, deceptively gentle in the presence of the Savage Prince and his household.
When I turn back to the Savage Prince, he shakes his head at me. “You must take us all for fools. Clearly I’ve been too kind to you if you believe you can trick us simply by sitting in that cell without protest. Do you think acting submissive will endear you to us? That you can simply wait me out, and I’ll change my mind about you over time alone?”
Something he said on the long walk here from Port Asmyr drifts into my mind, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Have you finally learned some patience?”
Gasps again hiss throughout the hall and a low murmur of shock at my lack of groveling and respect to the prince, but Airlie and Tyton both flinch and look away from the spectacle we both make.
Tauron’s eyes snap in my direction, and a thunderous look overtakes him, his hands fisting at his sides as though he’s holding himself back from meting out his own justice on my flesh.
The eerie calmness that has overtaken me is like an old and forbidden potion of gorgon root and elf blood, numbing me completely. With detachment, I watch as the prince bends toward me until one hand snaps out and wraps around my throat. His hand is as cold as ice, as cold as his eyes as they bore into my own, and the chill they leave behind seeps into my bones. He jerks my body toward him as he crouches over me like a predator pinning its prey. Silence takes over the room, not a rustle of fabric or the clearing of a throat to be heard as the court watches their prince and his Fates-cursed mate.
The smell of the toxic witch blood clings to him, bile creeping up my throat at the stench of it and my nausea made worse by the feel of his skin against mine. The Fates rejoice at the connection between us even as I hold myself rigid, desperate to fight my pull to him but unable to get away without causing a bigger issue.
The Savage Prince’s eyes narrow at me. His tone remains level and low, but the high-fae ears around us will no doubt hear every single syllable perfectly. “I have learned enough patience to wait this fate out. The moment I’ve fulfilled it, I’ll feel the warmth of your blood run down my arms as your life leaves your body. I’ll sacrificeeverythingfor my people and my land, but the ending will always be the same—your blood spilled and your life forfeit. Nothing will fill me with greater joy.”
I stare up at him, my words matching his in tone and intensity. “I have no doubt of such a thing, Savage Prince.”
* * *
When the Savage Prince turns away from me, dismissing me without a word, I’m not taken back to my cell like the last time he put me on display to the high fae. Instead, the gathering continues around me as though my arrival never interrupted it in the first place. Everyone ignores my hunched form, and I remain chained to the ornate floor in front of the throne, an ache spreading from my knees down to my toes where the guard dropped me.
I can't use my magic to heal the muscles and bruises from the fall and the rough treatment, not without sparking new suspicions and possibly losing my head to one of the iron swords buckled at the hips of the soldiers around me. Healing like that glows brightly, and the high fae have already proved to be terrified of any power I might wield.
Unlike last time, there’s a large military presence in this room.
Keeping my head ducked and my gaze on the pristine marble before me, I let my magic out as carefully as I can to sense what my eyes and ears cannot. Tyton is in the room only a few paces away, laughing at something his surly-faced brother said, and there's every chance his magic will feel mine if I'm too bold about casting it out.
I observe what I can, soaking in the atmosphere and dynamic of the Unseelie Court that the Savage Prince rules and noting the differences between this evening and the previous raucous affair when I was brought before the regent.
These high fae are subdued. There’s no wanton drinking or gluttonous eating. Everyone in this room appears to be aware of just how dire the food situation is, and though there is laughing and revelry around me, it’s restrained, as if they all know they’re teetering on the knife's edge of ruin.
The Savage Prince never takes a seat on one of the thrones.
He never so much as looks at the perfectly polished, silver high-backed thrones, sapphires and diamonds set into their ornate filigree designs, a plush Celestial-blue cushion on each of them. He works his way slowly through his people, the stern look never leaving his face. All who approach him are reverent and respectful, bowing deeply and speaking to him as they should to the heir of our kingdom.
I watch grudgingly as he averts conflicts and suggests solutions, as he praises the efforts of his soldiers, congratulates them on their victories and upcoming nuptials, and blesses a part-blood couple amongst the group of servants who announce they have a baby on the way.
The couple is shy about it, glancing nervously toward the stone-faced Princess Airlie, who is sitting with Sari and protectively clutching at her belly as she studies the Savage Prince’s interactions. She doesn’t react to the news of the pregnancy, even when the other female murmurs something to her quietly, though she does grimace when Sari pats at her swollen belly and the child she holds so dearly.
She doesn’t stop her.
