Here, with his head bowed and his answers clipped, he’s someone I don’t recognize. A soldier with unwavering devotion toward his king.
My fingers clench.
“Were you aware of the Fae blood running through her veins?” King Malachi twists the orb between his fingers, and a subtle wave of static swims through the air.
Callum’s fingers tighten on the pommel of his sword, and something pushes back against the pulse streaming from the orb. A warm bubble stills the vibrations around the two of us.
Callum shakes his head once. “No, I learned of it when the others did.”
My eyes snap to Callum, but he doesn’t flinch or meet my gaze. He admitted to me in my cell that he was there when my father carried me out of the prison. He’s known of my Fae blood since birth. And while he’s done nothing since the prison to show me that I can trust him, he just lied to the king.
“We assume her father snuck her out of the prison when he was a guard,” Callum continues, and while his fingers have relaxed, I still sense something humming around him, fighting the current radiating from the king.
“And her hair?” King Malachi lifts a skeptical brow at my messy strands.
They’re matted and greasy, drawing out the darkness of the blue at the ends.
“He said it was caused by a morning glory tonic.”
“Morning glories on Alyssium?” The king’s back stiffens.
“Yes, Your Majesty. They’re gone now, like much else.”
King Malachi’s expression remains indifferent, but his eyes curiously search my own. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Alyssium has been fading for centuries.”
It takes everything in me to bite back my anger. What the court sees as a dead, magicless island is my home. The village is my family.
The village.
My stomach clenches at the thought of what might have happened to them since I was taken away.
I was so busy being angry with Callum when he came to fetch me that I didn’t bother to ask what is left of my home or my friends. I didn’t ask if my father was given the blessings before he was burned—if he was burned at all. Or if Letia and her family survived.
My heartbeat thunders inside my chest.
“You’re scared.” King Malachi stands finally, and I get a sense of how tall he is in height and in power.
In one swift move, everyone in the room drops to a knee and bows their head for him. I’m still standing frozen for a moment before I realize I should probably do the same. My head dips as I take a knee for the king.
King Malachi steps forward, walking until his polished shoe pauses directly in my line of sight. “I’ve been told we should fear you.”
I dare to look up at him. “I don’t know why.”
The orb around King Malachi’s neck twists between his fingers like he’s reading me. “I suppose you don’t. Do you?” He holdsout a hand. “Stand.”
I rest my fingers in his palm. His skin is warmer than a human’s. His palm is smooth. His touch is impossibly comforting when I know I should fear him.
He helps me stand, releasing my hand once I do.
The king slowly circles, looking over every inch of me. My cloak is tattered and torn. My shirt is ripped where the blades cut through. The fabric is stained with blood. Dirt cakes underneath my nails, and dust creates a layer on my skin.
“What is your name?” He stops directly in front of me, and I tip my head back to look up at him.
“Elorie Vale.” My answer is pulled from my lips before I’ve thought it. As if he tugged it out.
“Quite the trouble you’ve stirred, Elorie Vale. Wandering my prison. Waking the dead.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
