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Footsteps.
“Ah dhia!” Orlaigh swung both hands to her chest, her pale features streaked with the same thin black veins that feathered across the white of her eyes.
Atalkingcorpse?
But… how?
Gray braids shifted as she turned her head toward the stairs. “Ye best come see this.”
The man sighed. “Does the mule carry mead?”
“Nay.”
“Ale?”
Orlaigh shook her head, hands slipping down until they rested upon wide hips draped in a simple, green-checkered cotton dress. “It’s a young lass.”
Pottery crunched beneath slow steps, but the grind of soles upon clay soon made room for the rushing of blood in my ears. My heart ached with incessant pounding, but only until a man stepped around the mule… then my heart stopped.
No, it couldn’t be…
Cold, colorless eyes locked with mine, set in a face with a straight nose and firm jaw, all framed by long black hair. It brushed over a white, untied shirt, barely hiding his well-thewed chest, hem shoved into black breeches.
No rich embroidery.
No gold chains.
No embellishments.
Nothing gave him away as more than a man—a wicked creature not of this world—yet I recognized him as who he was. Not from his proud posture, the arrogance on his arched brow, or even the liberties his eyes took as they roamed over me. No, what gave him away as the King of Flesh and Bone was the very air around him, like a chill coming off him in ripples and waves. That, and the twisted curl of disgust tugging on his upper lip.
He tilted his head, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “How did this mortal enter my court?”
Orlaigh scratched Augustine’s rump and gave a one-sided shrug. “Kin tied the lass to the mule.”
The King’s gaze wandered to the leather straps which dug into my skin before his eyes snapped back to mine. “Is this a new trickery? You dare come to this court uninvited? Unwanted?”
My lips parted, mute, each apology drowning in the back of a throat already pooling with blood again. Specks of light and dark flickered around my vision. I needed to wake up.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake—
“Speak!” The King’s shout shattered from the walls before it battered my bones. “You look at me from eyes still burning with a soul, and I demand this answer while you still have your wits about you.” He walked up beside me, the tip of his boot brushing against my waist as he squatted down. “Is this a new trickery of your wicked kind? Tell me now, and I might show mercy by taking you outside before I snap your neck. Or remain silent and learn the damnation of eternal fealty.”
“Now, now,” Orlaigh mumbled, all straightness gone from her spine, “let the lass speak—”
The King silenced her with little more than his hand rising toward her face, eyes still fixed on me. “Shut your mouth before I sew your lips together and let you choke on your own tongue. The one I want silent won’t stop pestering me, and the one I demand answers from won’t speak.” Sinking to his knees, he lowered his lips to my ear, his voice a whisper. “Listen to my words, mortal. You better answer before I find you employment at the Pale Court. If you believe wandering the Earth for all eternity is a dark fate, then let me assure you that serving me is the greater punishment for the wicked crimes of man. Ought I to refuse entry even to the beasts now?”
I swallowed past a lump of blood and fear. “F-forg… ough—”
A violent cough cut through my effort, crimson droplets speckling the King’s loose shirt, the skin of the broad chest behind loose bindings, and even half his cheek.
Orlaigh shook her head, thick brows wrinkled, and a hint of pity hushed over her face. “Lass is drowning in her own blood.”
The King reached for his face, wiping the blood off before he stared at his red-streaked fingers. Fingers he extended toward me, hesitantly, his lips now parted.
He cupped my cheek.
Skin connected with skin.
