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“Eirah?” a voice called from inside her room.
Adair bolted from the balcony, flying up into the sky. Taking a deep swallow, she opened the door to find a tall, middle-aged man there, his dark hair drawn back into a braid. The mortal wasn’t as tall as Morozko, but his body was broader, his arms thick with muscle.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Xezu, His Majesty’s steward.”
Xezu… she remembered the name. “Ulva’s husband?”
“She’s my better half.” He smiled, then sobered. “The king awaits you for supper. I’m here to escort you.”
Eirah’s throat was parched, and her stomach tightened with hunger. She wanted to go just to eat and drink everything in sight, but she wasn’t there to please Morozko and play whatever game this was. “Tell him I’m not coming.”
“Y-you’re what?” Xezu stuttered.
“I’m not going to his supper.”
Xezu’s throat bobbed. “You need to come.”
“No. If he wants my presence, then he’ll have to drag me out of here.”
“Give me a moment,” the steward mumbled before turning to leave the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Eirah knew Morozko wasn’t going to be happy and she most likely wouldn’t get food and drink brought to her room, either. So she would make do. Lifting a roll from the floor, she wiped the specks of dust away and bit into it. Even though it wasn’t soft any longer, the buttery flavoring still ignited her taste buds. It may have been a mistake to eat it because her throat became drier, yearning for a sip ofanything. She set the rest of the roll on the night table when the door to her room burst open.
Morozko stormed in, his nostrils flaring. “Didn’t I say to meet me in the dining hall, little bird?”
“I never said I would go.” She folded her arms over her chest, meeting his icy gaze. “This charade is getting ridiculous. Why are you asking me to dine with you instead of sacrificing me?”
He gestured at the air, continuing to glare at her. “I treat you fairly. Brought you to my palace, gave you a nice room, got you a warm bath, invited you to my table, provided you an elegant dress that you refused to wear—”
“I told you I wasn’t wearingthat, and there is a whole wardrobe of freshly-laundered dresses, you prick. I’m stayinghere.”
Morozko scoffed, and a slow, mirthless smile formed as his tongue swiped along his plump lower lip. “No, I don’t think so, little bird.” Before she realized what he was doing, Morozko wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. “You told Xezu you wouldn’t dine with me unless I dragged you down there, so here we are.”
“Put me down, you bastard!” She kicked and writhed like wildfire, yet he managed to keep a firm hold on her.
“You had the opportunity to walk, and you chose not to. This is the consequence of your poor decision.” He chuckled as he carried her down a few hallways, then descended the stairs while she cursed him over and over. But all her screaming did was allow her to inhale his spicy scent further, and she hated that she took pleasure in that smell, the only thing decent about him.
Eirah’s gaze connected with a blade at his waist, and hope filled her. As she reached down, she grabbed the dagger from its sheath, and he knocked it from her hand. “That was a test,” he purred. “And it seems I can’t trust you.”
“It’s what anyone would do who was being carried against their will!” she screamed.
“If circumstances were different, I may consider bringing you to my court to play the part of a fool. Your dramatics are astounding,” he drawled as he brought her into a circular room decorated with golden wolf sculptures and a glass dining table that could fit at least twenty people. As he sat her in one of the glass chairs, Eirah stood, intending to flee, but he was too fast, placing her back in the seat like a naughty child.
Morozko tutted. “Again, you had your chance.” Glistening blue magic swirled in the air, a wintry scent folding around her, and as she jerked, her wrists remained bound to the arms of the chair.
“Release me,” she seethed.
Morozko ran his hand across his strong jaw, his blue irises locked on hers. “Not yet.” He pulled up a chair so he was directly across from her. “How about we get to know one another?”
Eirah scowled. “You want me dead.”
“Idon’t want you dead,” he said slowly. “Blame your village for this outcome. Also, yourself. You could have sacrificed one of the animals.”
“You—”
“Prick? Surely you’re more creative than that.” He chuckled, relaxing against the back of his chair.
Eirah wanted to tear him apart, thrust a blade through his icy heart, as she’d planned the entire time. But even so, she couldn’t help but stare at the lines of his face, admire how he was sculpted, then be angry at herself because she could never create a carved face so perfectly.
