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No boots pounding down the floorboards of the hallway came, though.

So, I picked up something else and threw it. Again, nothing.

Stupid fuck. He was known to be so damned violent that none of them cared that there was something trashing his chambers. Of course not—why would they care? They wouldn’t have to pick it up. That would be me. His chambermaid. Who was currently in his chamber to clean up the fucking mess.

Gods be damned. It was all on me. All of it.

I slid back down next to him, trying to remember if you’re supposed to pull it out or not. I think it was leave it in and apply pressure. Yes, that sounded about right.

I rolled him over on his side, and he gripped the bodice of my gown, tearing it with his terror-laced strength. I silently growled my annoyance at his skin touching mine for the first time since the night I was given to him. It felt slimy, slithering, like bog water sliding over me. I hated him for it.

I tore his linen shirt from the hole where the dagger was and scampered back immediately. It was all wrong. The spiders in his eyes were crawling under the skin around his wound. Tiny little black specks with eight legs crept from the gash, scattering about as they writhed under his skin. Bubble after bubble, his blood wept more of the arachnids into the world.

I screamed, and even though the sound was locked behind my throat, it felt good to strain into it with all the disgust and fear I was feeling. It was the release I needed, so I did it again. I screamed a silent bellow at him as he gaped at me, as mute as I was.

Alright, Bandrui, you better fucking show up this time, dammit. I hissed in my mind as the memory of the boon beads came to mind.

Shoving my hands up my skirt, I yanked the whole strand off its secret belt and let them fall into my hand. I didn’t know how to use them. Was that why she hadn’t come last time? The last time I needed her with me in this very room? Was crushing them the wrong thing to do?

The King’s eyes widened when he saw the beads, felt their power throbbing into the world as I felt them throbbing against my palm.

No . . . crushing them was the right thing to do. The knowledge sang in my blood as it pooled around the three little star beads. Crushing them released the magic. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. And for once, Rule #8, “Instincts are your secret weapon,” was going to be trusted.

I closed my eyes and screamed, Help Me! The echo of my plea, desperate as it was, rolled through my head like an avalanche gaining speed and power as it went, and I crushed not one, not two but three of the beads. I needed her more than ever because a dead King was not going to get me free. A dead King would probably lead to a dead Cricket, and that was the last thing that I wanted.

I felt the power escape the beads. Felt it curl like golden glitter around my hand and then dissipate into the air about me. I waited with bated breath. How long would it take her? I needed her to appear out of nowhere. I needed her to step into existence right the fuck now.

Moment after moment ticked by, spiderling after spiderling creeping from the King’s back and the black veins of his wound spreading farther and farther.

Snatching a silver candlestick off the nightstand, I began pounding the floor with it, banging it as hard as I could like a drummer in a metal band.

Only when I heard the first set of panicked foot falls and then a score of others did I stop beating the floor.

The King and I met eye to eye for a moment as the last of the whites of his eyes were eaten by the black.

When his eyes closed, I panicked. I ripped the dagger from his back, and a wave of spiders flooded out of the wound right as the doors were kicked open.

Chapter 24

The Raven’s eyes connected with mine first, his gaze seeking me out before even taking in the situation. Behind him, seven Fae guards rampaged into the room, blades at the ready.

What would they see?

Me, the daoire who they all knew had been abused by the King and nearly died from it. The daoire, who they knew was daily tormented by the King. How many times had they come into the room after one of the women had left and cast pitying eyes at me as they chatted with the King? How often had they sat there and, with their silence, whispered their sympathies as I ate lunch? None of them could stop what was happening to me, and after a while, every single one of the guards who frequented the royal wing knew of his cruelty toward me and pitied me for it.

And there I was, covered in his blood. It felt like every surface of my body was dripping in it. My bodice was ripped down the front, the golden pearly skin of my breasts on full display, splattered obscenely with red. A dagger in my hand. The multiple stab wounds leaking spiders and bubbling froth.

They had all known about the wounds I had given The Raven. Every one of them had made some joke or another about the kitten having claws. That first week after, they had even made a show of moving the butter knife for my lunch away from me when the platter was set down.

And there my foolish self was. The only one in the room when the King was bleeding out and holding the fucking dagger.

I was, in fact, a godsdamned idiot.

Male voices were shouting something, but my eyes never left The Raven’s. Worry. Fear. Shame. Anger. Concern. And something tender that I couldn’t name flitted past his forest eyes before they were shuttered off from me completely.

“Seize her.”

The gentle thunder of his voice was unrecognizable. It had been a balm to my nerves. Just to hear it and feel it roll over my skin set me to ease and comfort. Yet now, it was all steel, all barbed wire and rattling sabers. It remained even, but the razor-sharp edge to it was no longer pointed at those who would harm me. Now it was pointed at me.