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What? I never claimed to be a Silverfrost.I sat up hurriedly, my gaze snapping toward Nerissa and Preston. Nerissa ignored me, leaning back in her seat with her wineglass carelessly dangling from her fingers, while Garrick perched on the arm of her chair. She trailed lazy fingers up his bicep in a lustful way that had my stomach lurching. As if I had any right to feel possessive or jealous or hurt regarding anything that traitor did or didn’t do.
But Preston’s eyes were locked on mine, those red irises twinkling in the flickering light. He was silently laughing at me. Mocking me.
I curled my fingers into fists, my words trapped in my throat. When Garrick had shared the story about the avalanche I’d unleashed, what else had he told Nerissa and Preston? When he’d said he’d known my father, had he been speaking of one of the dead Silverfrosts? Or was this all some awful trick contrived as an excuse to torment me?
I couldn’t scream, couldn’t protest. What good would it do? It was clear the king and queen had prepared some awful test for me, and resistance would only make it worse.
Wouldn’t it?
“Florentia Cantwell,” King Preston drawled, standing from the table and circling toward me.
“Ren,” I whispered. As if he heard. As if he cared.
He paused, towering over me and smirking, delighting in my frozen expression. “I’ll do you the honor of escorting you to the arena myself.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Preston grasped my upper arm so tightly that it throbbed as we swept from the invitingly warm room, away from the piercing stares of countless fae. A winged woman bared her fangs at me as I walked past, reminding me of the man who’d tried to kill me not too long ago. I wondered if she was his family, and if she blamed me for his death.
She would just be one more enemy on my increasingly large list of those who wanted to use or murder me.
As King Preston led me through a door I hadn’t noticed, hidden in a shadowy alcove, and dragged me down a winding set of stone steps, I finally found my words. “I never claimed to be a Silverfrost,” I protested, my words echoing off the windowless walls. Torches flickered around us, their orange light dancing in Preston’s bloody eyes.
Pausing on the steps, the king turned to face me. His grin was slow, malicious. “And yet, the people believe you did. We must honor our tradition and test your strength to see if the claim is true. We couldn’t let someone with royal blood go unrecognized.”
“But fae cannot lie.”
“All it takes is a bit of clever phrasing to avoid an outright lie.” Preston turned, yanking me further down the staircase. “When one is immortal, one has infinite time to expand one’s wisdom and excel at deceit.”
Desperation clawed through me, cold and hard like the ice I’d wielded. As intense as the avalanche I’d unleashed. But now, when I hoped for my magic to respond to my despair and terror, there was nothing. It was lost to me, even though I was outside of my room. Had the royal siblings used spells elsewhere within the castle, created with my blood? “What do you plan to do with me?”
“You’ll fight in the arena to show off your strength of body, mind, and magic. Surely a Silverfrost on her own land in the height of winter would be most connected to her power now.” He arched an eyebrow at me, his sidelong glance wicked. HeknewI couldn’t access my magic. He and his sister had planned this moment, all to send me to my execution in a very public display.
My stomach churned as we paused before a dark corridor where even the torchlight lining its walls seemed to barely touch the blackness writhing through the air. I caught a whiff of earth and blood and filth, like the passage dove deep into the bowels of the earth where unspeakable things took place. As if to punctuate my thought, a distant shriek split the air, echoing deep below us.
Gooseflesh rose on my arms.
“The dungeons,” Preston said. “But that is not your fate, not today.” He steered me away, toward a barred metal door flanked by two bored-looking guards.
“Your Majesty,” one said, while each dipped low in respect.
The female guard on my left, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent and eyes and hair the shade of snow, stepped forward, eyeing me with disinterest.
Preston shoved me at her. “No weapons,” he proclaimed.
