Page 25 of King of Storms and Feathers

Dark eyes frowned down at me. “On first name terms with the king, are you?”

I ignored his question and asked my own. “Will he kill me tonight?”

The thud of Raiden’s boots on the steps was my only answer.

“Come on. Give me a clue. Should I prepare for torture? A slow death, where he’ll slice a piece off my body every day until I’m nothing but a heart beating in a pile of gore?”

“And to think humans call us fae gruesome minded. Be quiet or I’ll begin the king’s work myself and cut your tongue out.”

I supposed that answered my question. I clamped my lips together firmly.

As we climbed alternating stairs of solid gold and white marble, Raiden set a gentle pace. Perhaps in consideration of my bruises, or perhaps not. Then we arrived at a foyer on the bottom level of the king’s apartment.

Arrow’s home ranged over three circular levels of black-and-white marble, braced by soaring gold columns. Carvings and etchings of tiny palm leaves and the king’s beloved feathers decorated most surfaces. I shook off Raiden’s hand and spun on my heel, taking it all in.

The night breeze fluttered gauzy material in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. From this great height, I could see the lights of Coridon and the desert beyond sparkling in every direction I turned. There were barely any walls to speak of, and as a result, moonlight bathed the apartment in a wash of cool silver tones.

The bottom floor contained a river that flowed along a deep, winding channel in the marble. Palm trees, rocks, and groupings of low couches and tables surrounded it, creating the feeling of a luxurious retreat. Arrow’s sanctuary, away from the chaos of the court.

The king’s elevator, decorated in swirls of gold, stood opposite the stairs that swept up to the second level. And, of course, several auron kanara cages gleamed between archways in what looked like a sitting room above.

“Incredible,” I said, walking along the river edge. I followed it to the end, where the water fell through a window before cascading into a large rectangular pool that ran along an external wall of the palace.

Leaning my palms on the sill, I stuck my head out of the window and let the water cool my skin as it rushed past me, sparkling like liquid stars.

“I wouldn’t recommend jumping,” said Raiden behind me. “You’d die before you splattered on the pavement.”

“Most likely,” I agreed, then pushed my weight off the column that braced the window and turned to face him. “This is beautiful.”

“Enjoy it while you can. I doubt you’ll spend much time in the river room.” He seized my arm and led me up another flight of stairs.

Comfortable lounging furniture covered in jewel-toned cushions and rugs decorated the second-floor sitting room. Everything that could be gilded had been and flashed now in the moonlight, set in ideal places to enjoy the views through gigantic arched windows.

“These are the quarters that should interest you.” Raiden gestured toward a narrow, wall-less stone bridge that connected an outdoor platform to the far side of the sitting room.

More soaring gold columns held up the platform’s vaulted, domed ceiling. And all sides of the circular room dropped away to the gruesome death Raiden had taken pleasure in describing.

Perched high above the city, it appeared to be an elaborate gilded cage—a beautiful death trap from which there was only one way to escape. Through the Storm King’s chambers and past his guards.

As Raiden walked me toward the pavilion, I noticed a long gold chain screwed to the center of its tiled floor. This pretty cage was about to become my new residence. But whether I should hope for a long or a short-term stay, I couldn’t decide.

My limbs shook from both exhaustion and building terror as Raiden guided me along the narrow walkway onto the pavilion. With a palm on my shoulder, he pressed me to sit on the floor, wrapped thin, gold shackles around my ankles, and locked me in place.

I took slow breaths to settle my racing heart and stared up at him. “Does your friend do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Chain slaves in his chamber.”

“Only the annoying ones.” Crinkles appeared at the edges of his brown eyes, a flash of dry humor.

I shook the chain between my ankles. “I figured Arrow found everyone annoying. I’m surprised it’s not more populated in here.”

“You should see it on a Saturday night,” he replied, stepping back and tucking dark hair behind his ears. Like all fae, his face was unnaturally handsome and his smirk etched with conceit. He chewed on the corner of his lip and seemed to consider his next words carefully.

“The old king had this pavilion built for unpleasant purposes and used it frequently. His son has more refined tastes and quite a different temperament. Behave yourself, Leaf, and you may survive.”

“That’s not my name.”

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