His hand felt possessive. Claiming. My fingers clamped over his, squeezing hard enough to bruise bone. Terror and fury braided together inside my chest.
Egath moved faster than I could track. One instant he stood ahead of us. The next he blurred sideways, intercepting the reaching woman. A sharp crack split the air. She howled. When Egath resumed his place, her arm hung limp, bent at a grotesque angle. The crowd swallowed her cries as if they were nothing more than background music.
“Egath, Egath,” a smooth masculine voice crooned from the dais. “Do your best not to injure my court.”
The crowd thinned as we reached the foot of the throne. Egath dropped to one knee without hesitation, no greeting offered. He tilted his head, exposing the side of his neck in a deliberate display of submission.
The king watched.
Silver hair fell straight and sleek over black fabric, strands catching the firelight like molten steel. A red necktie cut a vivid line down his chest, the only color daring to exist against his dark attire. His eyes held no warmth. Pale gray. Nearly colorless. They reflected nothing.
His face bordered on perfection. High cheekbones carved with precision. A long, straight nose. Brows arched with quiet calculation. Time left no mark I could read. The silver could have been age. Or his birthright.
A rough shove forced me down. Stone struck my knees with bruising force. My palms scraped the carpet as I caught myself. Fingers dug into my hair, wrenching my head sideways to display the collar. The metal bit deeper against my throat.
Tallon loomed above, weight shifted off his injured foot, a satisfied curve lifting his mouth.
“Quite daring, Prince Tallon,” the king mused, amusement threading through his tone. “Locking your prize up like that.” His gaze lingered on the keyhole on my collar. “All who enter Vellos bare their throats to me. Even her.”
“She’s mine.” Tallon’s eyes narrowed. His thumb brushed the key hanging against his chest. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
The king’s attention sharpened, lips stretching into a smile that revealed elongated, filed teeth. The gums had receded so far that the points looked exaggerated, razor-keen. Tiny cuts marked his lower lip, thin lines where enamel must have split skin.
Predator and monarch intertwined in one elegant, monstrous form.
“Come, child,” he ordered, though his eyes never left Tallon.
Tallon’s jaw tightened. “I brought her here–”
“I said, come.”
Pain ripped through my scalp as fingers fisted in my hair and yanked. My breath fractured. Hands flew to the wrist dragging me forward, nails biting into skin as I fought the instinct to scream. The sound swelled in my chest, trapped and burning. My feet slipped against polished stone, scrambling for purchase. Sheer fabric tangled around my calves, tugging askew as I stumbled.
The guard released me at the foot of the dais.
I fell hard to my knees, palms skidding over carpet. The scent of crushed spices and old wine clung to the red fibers. My nose hovered inches from gleaming black boots, polished to a merciless shine.
“Up here.”
My arms shook as I pushed upright, lifting my head until I met the Velli king’s pale gaze. He patted his thigh, smile warm enough to mock the gesture.
“Let me see this new guest.”
The room tilted. My pulse pounded in my ears, thick and relentless.
Tallon had leverage. He stood there not as a beggar but as something coveted. Egath could not challenge him. Servants would not risk speaking to him. Whatever Tallon was, it granted him footing even here.
Fear rolled through me like a dark tide. I gathered the edges of my will and crawled up the red-carpeted steps. Each movement measured. Each breath calculated. Kallias needed time. I would give it to him. I would learn what I could, wedge myself between Tallon and his ambition if I had to.
At the top, I forced myself to stand straight.
The king opened his legs slightly, black trousers swallowing the intricate embroidery stitched along the seams. One hand smoothed over his thigh as though preparing a seat. The otherrested on the throne’s arm, loose and unguarded. No blade at his hip, nor dagger at his wrist. No weapon beyond his teeth.
With agonizing care, I perched on his leg. Disgust churned beneath my ribs, sour and thick.
I wasn’t his.
The thought of Kallias stepping through those doors to find me perched in the lap of the enemy king carved deep, chipping away at my soul
