Page 32 of Embers of Ruin

He looks at me as though he's been expecting this moment all along. As if he’s been waiting for me. King Thorin’s gaze never leaves my face, and for a heartbeat it feels like the entire world has quieted for that moment. I open my mouth to speak first, but what would I say? And what did Mazelle say about not speaking until the king addressed me? So many rules for a palace I never asked to be a part of.

I feel a peculiar buzz at the base of my skull—as if something deep inside of me is waking. It isn’t exactly pain, nor is it the warm familiarity of my magic. It feels like sharp recognition—like a long-forgotten chord humming to life. I blink and the feeling vanishes, leaving my skin tingling where it lingered.

“Lyra.” He tilts his head as his gaze sweeps over me with quiet appraisal. “Welcome to Andell.” Something like satisfaction flashes through his eyes before his expression smooths back into unreadable calm.

He doesn't move, save for the slow rise of one hand. My fingers itch, as if repelled by an unseen force. Perhaps it’s his incessant shadows that hover near me like serpents, snaking up to circle my hand.

I grit my teeth and drop into the same deep bow Mazelle did. "Your Majesty." My voice comes out steadier than I expect.

He studies my face, those gray eyes traveling slowly from my face up to my hair, then down my dress. Heat rises to my cheeks, causing me to look away, breaking whatever trance I was in.

Thorin’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk as his eyes linger on my hair again. “Silver,” he says softly, as if speaking to himself. He moves in a blur of shadow, closing the distance in the span of a blink. One moment he’s on the throne, and the next, he’s invading every inch of my space. I crane my neck to look up at him.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches forward and gently lifts a lock of my hair, rubbing the strands between his forefinger and thumb. His gaze is intense—so magnetic that I can’t look away despite my best efforts. And damn it, I do want to look away. It feels as if he is looking to the core of my very existence and I instinctively know that he will see beyond whatever facade I try to portray.

Without warning, he raises a hand to cup my face and runs a fingertip across my cheek, the gesture so intimate and featherlight that I can’t look away. I want to tear my eyes away from this monster who is destroying the kingdom because he is cursed but I can’t and I hate myself for it. Electricity dances down my spine and it feels as though golden stars are dancing behind my irises. I feel anger, hot and insistent, but underneath that is something else. Something I can’t make sense of. My magic doesn’t balk from him either; it actively searches for him, while I use every ounce of control to keep my magic concealed.

King Thorin removes his hand, and mine moves reflexively to the cheek now bearing his touch. My flesh feels hot to the touch and I’m sure my skin is flushed but it doesn’t matter in the moment. I’m not exactly sure what matters in this moment, but I’m effectively paralyzed. I blink and he is back on his throne again, so fast—so damned fast, leaving a trail of shadows in his wake.

With distance between us, it’s as if his trance has been lifted. I curse myself for letting his fingers linger in my hair for a moment that stretched too long. I should’ve jerked away; should have flinched, but his attention pins me rigid.

King Thorin sits on his throne and hums, seeming satisfied. “Lyra Tarethyn, you are more beautiful than what I have been told,” he says, and I suck in a quick inhale.

I narrow my eyes at him, flexing my fingers to keep from balling them into fists at my side.

“A compliment, Your Majesty. I will treasure it for the rest of my days.” I grind out, irritated with myself. My sarcasm sounded laughable even to me. What in the seven hells is that about?

“You have traveled a long way from home, Lyra. I hope your chambers are to your liking.”

“You mean my prison cell?” I shoot back, realizing too late that my thoughts were said aloud.

“Prison cell? No, Lyra. You are my guest.” His face is a mask of cool indifference, but his eyes are twinkling with something that I can’t name. Is he mocking me?

“Do you usually hunt your guests down and drag them across the continent to toy with them?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. He could have my head or my tongue for the disrespect alone. He probably plans on taking it anyway, so I don’t stop. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I am not the woman you are looking for.”

“Is that so?” he asks, running a finger across his lips as he keeps his gaze fixed intently on me. “And what do you think I am looking for, Lyra Tarethyn?”

“I—” I stop myself before I can finish the sentence. He’s toying with me, and I’m only setting myself up for the trap. “I’m lowborn, and I have nothing that would warrant the interest of the King of Solaris.”

“I beg to differ,” he says simply, and I grit my teeth. “You have a gift, and you are going to use it, or you will break if you do not.”

I don’t know how much longer I can go back and forth with this cruel, hateful man. I have no intention of breaking, not for him, nor anyone else in this godsforsaken palace.

“I will say it again, Your Majesty,” I say slowly, attempting to show deference as I dip my head in a display of respect, “I am no one. I have always been a no one. And I would like to go home.”

“Home?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper but everyone in the chamber stiffens at his tone. “This is your home now. You will stay here until you learn to master the magic you insist you do not possess.” His eyes are narrowed on me now, and he leans forward, flourishing his hand as if to emphasize his point.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, this place is NOT my home. And I’m not yours to control.” I’m crossing the line and I know it—but anger has a way of overriding common sense and I have so much built-up anger, so much hatred for this man that I can’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth.

“Everything in this kingdom belongs to me. And that includes you.” His face is set in a calm, smug smile, and I feel my magic wanting to lash out. My body feels as if it’s on fire and I don’t know how much longer I can resist it.

“I will never belong to you!”

“No. Not yet. But you will.” He says it with such certainty that I linger on his words, wondering if he knows something that I don’t.

With that, Thorin leans back slightly and nods, his eyes moving beyond me and I look down at the perfectly polished floor to conceal the hot tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

“Onyx,” King Thorin calls quietly.