Page 22 of King of Storms and Feathers

“No, not that. I want her to serve the dessert you neglected to bring.”

“To serve you?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, me. Who else does she belong to?”

“Now?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But she has shown herself to be dangerous.”

I rubbed my face, hiding a grin. “You doubt my ability to best her?”

“No, My King.”

“Don't my king me. Just see it done. Bring the girl to me. And hurry, if you will.”

“Yes, King Arrowyn.” Ari bowed, then hurried away.

“You’re not usually so merciful when your energy is low,” said Raiden, absently scraping food around his plate.

“And you usually divert me over dinner with amusing stories of your father’s knife juggling obsession.”

Raiden glanced at Stormur and snorted. “Point taken. I’ll watch the human closely in case she tries to plunge a spoon into your eye while serving your pudding.”

“I’d prefer you were busy somewhere else. Go and ask Ari about her recent correspondence from the mines. I’m interested to hear the latest news from her people. But don’t leave the hall in case you’re needed.”

At the mention of the Sayeeda’s name, Raiden bolted onto his feet, dishes rattling on the table as he bowed before rushing toward the kitchen. I hid my grin behind my wine cup and took another sip.

My oldest friend didn’t realize his infatuation with my bonded gold reaver elf was clear to every single being in the court but him—the very fae consumed by it.

Tapping my fingers on the table, I mulled over Ari’s suggestion to throw the nameless girl into the fires. For the misfortune of being born human, this was the fate she deserved.

I hated her species with a passion. Most were gold chasers, serum-addicted fools, fated to be enslaved in my service or die in the great fires of the Gates of Amon.

If not for human greed and addiction, my family would be alive, and I would be Prince Arrowyn, not a bitter king of twenty-seven years of age, bound to a gilded throne of pain that should have belonged to my dead brother, Karln.

This human girl had dishonored her vow to my Sayeeda and threatened an envoy from another Star Realm Court. She should already be dead, but I couldn’t give up the pleasure of seeing my own inner demons reflected in her luminous gaze. Not yet, anyway.

She deserved punishment—ample pain and torture to justify the hatred of fae kind, hatred of me, that blared from the depths of her rebellious eyes.

My glyphs tingled, and I looked up as the girl weaved along the edges of the hall, her steps unhurried, and her forest-green gaze fixed on the bowl she carried. Those eyes were a soothing color of respite—the very opposite of this slave’s nature.

“What took you so long?” I asked as she placed the steaming bowl on the table, her hands steady.

“Sorry,” she said, ignoring my question and stepping back to leave.

I seized her wrist, tugging her until her torso hovered over my lap, her weight balanced on one leg. “What do they call you Underfloor?”

“Green, my lord, as you heard the Sayeeda call me last night in the kitchen.”

Even now, her words were a subtle reprimand, as if I should have paid more attention and remembered her name.

“I’m King Arrowyn to you.”

“Yes, King Arrowyn,” she repeated in a dull voice.

The serum affected her and doused the defiance in her eyes, which was unfortunate. It turned the servants into golem-like creatures. Lifeless lumps of clay fashioned into humanoid shapes and brought to life by dark magic to serve their masters’ whims. I bit back a grin, realizing that in her case, that master would be me—and I would prefer her clear-headed and able to defy me.

---