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Some of the tension eases from my body—for a heartbeat—because the next, the Crow King gets to his feet, strolling toward me on silent feet, and my muscles remember what it feels like to fight. My hand shoots up in front of me, pointing the knife at the male who stops just out of reach, eyes dark as the night beyond the tall windows and feathers shimmering in the candlelight.
Twelve
I can’t tellif I’m breathing, but my chest hurts from the pressure in my lungs and my ribs from the way my heart keeps throwing itself against them in an attempt to escape.
“Oh, Wolayna,” he says with a sigh, fingers curling in the air, and a whole new set of candles flickers to life on the desk in the corner, illuminating his pale features and painting shadows under his eyes. “You’ve got much to learn.”
I wait for him to attack, wait for him to say something more than those cryptic words that don’t fit the image of the cruel king I’ve been readying myself to fight.
His mouth opens as if he is about to say something, but he exhales a shuddering breath instead, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment that would give me every opportunity to attack.
One leap and I’d have the blade in his heart. I’ve done it before. Done it multiple times on the loots with Ludelle and the crew of the Wild Ray. However, the moment is gone, and King Myron has locked me in place with his gaze once more.
“Take the bed. You look like you’re about to pass out.” The way he scans me with wary eyes gives me pause.
Since the day I arrived at this palace, all this male has done is order me around and threaten me. He might not be forcing himself on me right now, but he has forced my hand in marriage. No one has asked me what I think about it. Not even considered it. And now?—
“I’m not sleeping in your bed.” I keep my knife raised, trying to calm my shaking hand. “I’m not even sleeping in the same room with you.”Monster.I don’t need to say it, the way he averts his eyes tells me he heard me loud and clear. But before I can wonder if there is more to him than the monster he has proven he is over and over again, his features shift into those of a crow, beak and feathers and all, and I shrink a few steps away until my back hits the door. He follows me until the tip of my knife sits on his chest, slicing into the fabric of his vest.
“I’ll say this once and only once, Wolayna.” The words are hisses and caws, and my heart doesn’t beat as he braces one hand on the wood beside my head, fingertips turning into black talons. It’s the most birdlike I’ve seen him and the most terrifying. “I don’t care if you think I’m a monster. I don’t care what anybody thinks. If you leave this room, you’ll die, and I have become rather used to your presence in my halls. So, do us both a favor, and play the good little bride for a few more hours so this marriage is officially sealed and my people stop trying to kill the human bride half of them deem unnecessary.”
I don’t think to ask what the Crows have against a human woman as a bride if their customs seem to demand a bride from a different kingdom each year. The Crow King’s face is so close I can see the blue and purple shimmer on the feathers covering his head instead of hair, and I wish the door would give so I could bring some distance between us. My arm has bent, shoved back by his unrelenting chest. I could easily stick the knife in between his ribs; all I need to do is to shove my hand forward, but I can’t move, pinned in place by the horror of his true face. By the fearsome creature that has forced one hundred brides to marry him.
“You’re debating killing me.” It isn’t a question. He doesn’t even need to glance down to know I have murder on my mind. So fast I can’t see exactly how it happens, the feathers disappear, leaving strands of silken black hair framing his face where his beak retracts, replaced by his slightly hooked nose and full mouth. He gives me a grim smile. “You wouldn’t be the first to try. You wouldn’t even be the first to actually get a blade lodged between my ribs.” He leans in so close I can smell his scent of wind and pine as if he just returned from a flight above his forest. “Do not try, Wolayna. You will not like the consequences.”
I don’t dare ask what the consequences are. The fact that he’s standing here, alive and breathing after being stabbed in the chest before—multiple times if I interpret his words correctly—is enough to make me shudder with fear.
It is when our eyes meet that I remember the other thing he said. “Why are they trying to kill me?” And more importantly. “Why do you care if they succeed?”
King Myron stares me down for a long, silent moment that has my body draining of all warmth, even when he braces his second hand on the other side of my head, leaning in so close I can feel the pressure on the blade. A drop of warm liquid hits my fingers, and I can’t help my flinch as I realize my knife cut through his skin.
His features twist as if in pain as he opens his mouth to speak then bites down on his lower lip, nose scrunching as he inhales a sharp breath.
“Let that be my concern,” he eventually says, pushing away from the door so hard the wood groans.
My legs are shaking as I watch him stalk toward the couch, where he settles down, picking up a leather-bound book from the low table and directing his gaze to the yellowed pages. The cut on his chest is hidden by the fabric of his vest, but that is definitely blood on my knife.Hisblood.
“You should rest while you can.” He gestures at his bed without lifting his gaze from the book. “They’ll be checking in with refreshments in an hour.” If his wound is hurting, he doesn’t show. “They’ll be expecting you to be draped in my covers, rosy-cheeked and out of breath.”
When my hand tightens around my knife, he glances up, a dark laugh escaping his mouth, and he tilts his head. “How many times do I have to repeat I’m not going to hurt you. I haven’t hurt you once since you arrived at my home, have I?” One of his brows arches as he waits for me to respond.
Now that I think about it, he is right. Not once has he hurt me. Even when he pulled me along the hallway to his room, he didn’t actually hurt me. Not physically.
“You had me brought here and forced me to marry you. That’s its own brand of torture,” I inform him, and I could swear he flinches. Then, it could have been the flicker of the candle flame.
“You were sentenced to die.” He holds my gaze, features smooth and devoid of all emotion. “This is a much better option than to be butchered by a random Tavrasian soldier on a second-rate pirate ship on the Quiet Sea.”
Again… The way he knows so much about my past gives me pause. I swallow the surprise, the fear that comes with realizing how much he truly knows about me while I know nothing. Not even about his people apart from the stories that inspire children’s nightmares. It’s a challenge in itself to straighten my spine and push away from the door while my legs are shaking and my heart is galloping out of my chest, but I will confidence into my posture, cunning into my expression, and take a step forward.
“How do you know I wouldn’t have rather died?” Because with everything I’ve done, I’d deserve it. All the people who are dead because of me…
The look he gives me is impossible to read, so I take another step forward. “Anything would be better than being here in a forest full of monsters.”
This time, he doesn’t flinch. He merely holds my gaze as I approach one step at a time. Even when he has been enigmatic and terrifying, the Crow King hasn’t lifted a finger against me. No, he has told me twice now that he wants me to survive. Perhaps it is that thought making me bold; perhaps it is the knowledge I have nothing left to lose as I cross the room and sit on the brocade footstool on the other side of the low table, facing the Crow King through a seven-armed candelabra. Shadows dance on his features, reflecting in his eyes like the fires behind Eroth’s Veil. But his face yields nothing.
“And you are right to be afraid of them.” He lowers his book to his lap, leaning forward an inch as his gaze slides down my feathered dress, snagging on the precarious straps on my shoulders. “You’ve seen what they are capable of last night by the pools. It would be a shame to lose another bride.”
There, again. “Why is it so important I don’t die? You don’t seem to particularly mourn the ninety-nine other brides,” I challenge him, his lack of wrath encouraging me to push harder.
