Page 42 of Fated to the Wicked King

“That doesn’t sound very hospitable of you,” the king mused. He cast me a prompting look. “What do you think?”

The heart in my chest beat steadily, ready to serve its purpose.

I took a deep breath. “I…” I kept my assessment low, careful, steady. “I don’t feel any substantial threat from any of them right now. They are apprehensive.” Frowning, I strained to sense through the thick multitude. “Some are scared, furious, and possibly rightly so, but mostly they are cautious. They are baffled by this visit.”

“Ah, so the rumors are true,” Gregory sneered. “The Wicked King has acquired a mystic to seek out and punish traitors.”

My eyes bulged. “No! I⁠—”

The king cut me off. “Mind your tongue, Your Royal Highness,” he snapped. “This witch is the only reason any of you are still breathing right now.”

Witch? My jaw dropped in offense, but I shut my mouth. The prince was being obstinate enough for both of us.

“You will forgive us, Your Majesty, but to offer the word of a dubious witch under the devil’s command seems mighty flimsy in terms of assurances.”

With an exasperated sigh, the king drawled, “For god’s sake, let us in. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Of course, Prince Gregory was too brave for his own good. “What happens if we refuse?”

I gritted my teeth. If the king deemed the prince “unreasonable”, I already knew what was going to happen next. “Please, Your Highness⁠—”

The king cut me off again, all manner of self-assurance in his tone as he called out, “Your army appears robust, your castle defenses impressive. I would hate for you to lose them all in one night.”

Biting my bottom lip in alert, I scanned the archers along the parapets, atop the towers, on the bridge, and across the courtyards one more time—with a sick, sinking realization.

It was almost unnoticeable under the cover of night.

Each and every one of Lucerne’s mighty forces were being held captive, secured by dark tendrils of shadows. Many had a ghost of a grapple hold around their necks, or wrapped around their weapons, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.

They were a terrifying and treacherous formless legion recently rejuvenated by the fresh mystical tide, ready to mangle or slice each one of Lucerne’s soldiers into many bloody pieces.

At the Wicked King’s command.

I let out a long, slow breath in dread.

The king did say he could have simply sent his shadows to annihilate everyone, even from within the comfort of his own castle. It was that easy.

I stared up at him in alarm, but his sharp gaze was focused on the blond prince.

He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? Could I stop him? No. It was utter madness. How could I have possibly thought I could do anything to stop the most powerful tyrant king sorcerer of Wünder from doing whatever the hell he wanted to do? If he wanted to slaughter this entire kingdom, he damn well was going to slaughter this entire kingdom.

The same realization must have dawned on Gregory.

Tension coiled thick in the air, so sharp and suffocating, a single breath could have sliced it open.

The blond prince cursed under his breath and waved his hand.

The massive stone doors began to creak open, sweeping snow aside that had gathered on the ground.

Heart pounding, my knees almost gave out in my relief.

A corner of the king’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. He shot me a triumphant sideways glance. “I rather like this negotiation idea of yours.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.

If I weren’t still suffering the dregs of panic, I would have laughed.

The king crossed the threshold of the outer gate with measured, unhurried steps, the iron-banded doors yawning open behind him like the jaws of some great mechanical beast.