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“At last,” he snapped, pacing before the fireplace. I blinked, the cozy atmosphere at odds with the violent tumult I’d last endured when awake. The cushioned armchair I sat in was also more luxurious than the dungeons I would have expected, and my wrists were blissfully bare, as if being shackled had been nothing but a painful nightmare. Even my arm was bandaged, the cuts apparently tended to while I’d been lost to the world. “We need to talk.”
I scanned the room, finding it was unfamiliar, though reminiscent of the inn room I’d occupied back when I’d dreamed of escaping. Back when I’d feared Garrick was my enemy.
Now, I’d killed for him. Again. I searched my heart, recalling the horror and remorse I’d experienced the first time I’d slain enemies in that unexpected avalanche. But I felt none, only the conviction that if Preston, Nerissa, or anyone else hurt him again—if anyone laid another finger on him—I’d kill to defend him.They won’t touch him again,I vowed. Even if I feared their control on my magic with forget-me-nots would hold me back. I had to try. I couldn’t watch Garrick suffer like that.
“Though you defied the rules by bringing a weapon to your test,” Preston went on, jolting me from my thoughts, “your display did prove there is power in your blood.” He paused, his form nothing but a silhouette against the crackling fire as he scanned me. “How powerful magic tolerates residing in your mere mortal vessel is beyond me.”
I folded my hands in my lap, squeezing my fingers together.
“Therefore, despite your disrespect toward our time-honored traditions, there is no denying that one of the Silverfrosts debased themselves by being with a human and producing...you. We can only assume your mother, being utterly insignificant, escaped the slaughter at the castle when the Silverfrosts were killed in order to bear you in the mortal world.”
Hot anger rose up my throat, but I swallowed it down. My memories of Mother were cloudy, but insignificant? Everything my stepfather had taught me about her made it clear she had loved with a fierceness few others had possessed. She’d been anything but insignificant.
Preston droned on, either heedless or—more likely—careless of my building fury. “The fact is, mortals do not rule in Silverfrost. Your kind is beneath us. Unlike other fae kingdoms, we don’t stoop to marrying more fertile human women in hopes of continuing our lines. We don’t mix immortal and mortal blood.” He sniffed, stopping to stare at me as if I’d committed the aforementioned act, which he spoke of as if it were a crime. “But as there is no denying you are the last living being with Silverfrost blood, capable of sealing the underworld’s entrance and dismissing the creatures that have already slipped into our world, it seems we are forced to adapt.”
My stomach churned. I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
His bloody gaze latched onto my hands, where I clasped them tightly in my lap. “We have no choice but to wed.”
I froze, barely breathing.
“We will announce our engagement tomorrow to the public, reassure them that the throne will continue to be occupied by immortals, while we use our magic to the fullest of its abilities. You will be my consort, satisfying what sliver of a claim you have to the crown and the people’s need for a Silverfrost in a position of honor.”
The room spun and spots flashed before my eyes. The anger growing inside me roared and broke free. I stood, meeting Preston’s stare with a steady look. I refused to back down, refused to cower. “Never,” I spat.
If I’d hoped for a reaction, Preston disappointed me. His expression remaining cool, he shrugged. “I expected resistance. Trust me, our union can’t be any more distasteful to you as it is to me. But this is not aproposal,Snowflake. This is an order.” He stepped closer, seizing my chin roughly and tilting my head back so he could glare into my eyes. “I own you. Tomorrow you will smile, you will be agreeable, and you will convince the people we are engaged. And when the time comes, we will wed. If not, I’ll tie you to a chair and force you to watch me carve out that wolf shifter’s heart. Slowly.”
Ice trickled through my veins. Preston released me, and I staggered back, nearly falling into my chair.
Striding carelessly toward the door, Preston snapped his fingers. Guards entered the room, their faces impassive. “Lead us to the dungeons.”
All words were trapped in my tightening chest as I followed Preston and the guards, my temples throbbing while my mind raced. Down a stark hallway lined with torches, we turned toward a heavily barred door. Another set of guards unlatched it for us and stepped aside for us to descend an endless stone staircase. The walls were narrow and the steps steep, giving me a sense that the walls were closing in and a growing fear thatI’d slip and fall into nothingness. Though additional torches lit the way, they seemed to cast more smoke than light, making me cough as we walked down, down, down.
My legs burned. Preston said nothing. He let my own thoughts be my torment.
Eventually, sounds drifted toward us from below. Scraping. Hissing. Whimpering. A scream.
Gooseflesh rose along my arms. That feeling of evil swept over me again, the same dread and wrongness I’d sensed first entering this fortress and again when facing the underworld being.
By the time we struck the bottom, I was trembling. A narrow corridor with scarcely enough light to see more than vague shapes stretched before us. Cells lined either side, though it was too dark for me to make out their occupants. The sounds grew louder. Someone was sobbing.
“When we deal with criminals and disobedient subjects,” Preston murmured at last, shooting me a sidelong look I couldn’t read in the blackness, “this is where most are sent. Some are given to the underworld creatures—might as well make the demons useful and let them torment the worst of us while they’re here.”
I shuddered.
“Others we deal with ourselves.”
My head pounded as Preston turned a corner. This one was brighter, with more torches spitting flames and painting the stonework a warning shade of red. My eyes darted to a cell on my left, where guards gathered around a fae man chained to the wall. He was marred by grime, blood, and scars to the point that he barely looked like a living being, but his cries made it clear he was still alive to suffer. One guard was using a wicked-looking tool to systematically break the man’s fingers. Snap. A shriek. A sob for mercy.
Bile rose to my throat, and I seized Preston’s arm. “Thismakes you no better than the demons you seek to dismiss!” I cried. “You’re a monster—”
Face expressionless, Preston turned, slapping me across the cheek. I reeled back from the force, almost collapsing. One of the guards behind us slammed a fist into my back, shoving me upright. I bit back a groan as Preston clutched my hand and dragged me forward.
“This is who I wanted you to see,” he said, pausing several cells down and gesturing like he was showing off a fine new exhibit.
“Garrick,” I choked out.
Wrists shackled, Garrick hung by his arms from chains extending from the ceiling of his cell, his feet brushing the stained stone floor. His face was beaten and bloody, one of his eyes swollen shut. At his side, Queen Nerissa looked startlingly pristine, her dark hair gleaming in the torchlight as she ran a dagger along his skin. She moved it with such gentleness, it looked deceptively like a caress but for the flash of steel and the trickle of blood leaking from each new cut. She was carefully tracing small incisions into his arms and chest. Not enough to seriously harm him—only enough to hurt him. To draw out his suffering.
