Page 36 of King of Storms and Feathers

But suddenly he was in front of me, a great looming shadow, his hand swooping out to grab me. I flinched and bit my lip so I didn’t scream.

“Little Leaf,” he said as he picked me up by the throat and placed me on my feet. “Are you enjoying your pretty prison?”

Coughing, I tripped over my chain. He lifted me by my shoulders and propped me against a column, his hard body pressing against mine as golden feathers from his breastplate dug into my skin.

Grabbing my jaw, he raised my chin until I stared into sinister silver eyes. “Well? Answer me.”

I hate my prison almost as much as I hate you, I thought, clamping my lips together to suppress the words.

Out loud, I said, “I’m grateful you’ve allowed the Sayeeda to care for me. I’m thankful for the food she serves and that you haven’t harmed me.”

“Yet,” he growled.

I ducked my head to appear timid, but also to hide the anger that seethed inside me.

“You look well,” he said, turning my face to each side for his inspection. “Even by starlight, your eyes glow with good health.” His hand slid down my throat, along my chest and stomach, stopping at my hip. “As yet, you haven’t been punished for your crime in my hall. How shall we remedy that?” he murmured.

My pulse raced, my breath coming out in ragged puffs of terror.

The stone column grated my shoulder as he shifted his weight and plucked a golden feather from his chest plate. I gasped, the sound echoing in the still night air.

He chuckled. “You know what these do?”

I nodded.

“Tell me, then.”

“They’re… poisonous.”

“Yes. One prick and you’d be dead.”

Since the serum had no effect on me, I wondered if that was true. And speaking of pricks, I was looking at the realm’s most obnoxious one—at his face… that is.

The sharp end of the feather ran along my cheek, Arrow’s fingers pressing it into my flesh firmly but not hard enough to draw blood.

His face dipped closer, warm breath ghosting over my lips, and as his weight shifted, his hips ground into me, his hardness a skin-tingling shock of heat against my stomach.

A groan rumbled in his throat, and fire rushed through me, melting my muscles.

Fear, or something like it—perhaps exerting control over a weaker being—seemed to excite the Storm King. And, worse, his excitement had a terrible effect, waking something dark inside me. Something sick that actually enjoyed and craved his touch.

Shaking, I gripped his forearms, and the glyph patterns on his skin came to life beneath my touch. “King Arrowyn.” I breathed out roughly as the poisonous feather skimmed my cheek, my lips, then my throat.

His attention lifted from my mouth to my eyes, checking my response.

“Do it,” I said. “Pierce my flesh. Kill me now. What have I to lose? The butter sauce dumplings your Sayeeda might serve for dinner tomorrow? More bruises from your fists on top of the ones I earned sleeping on the hard tiles? Death doesn’t scare me. And pain? I can probably bear it.”

“You speak rashly,” he said, shifting back a little, the air cool in the space between our bodies.

“No, I speak the truth. It’s the one gift I’m prepared to offer you. Can any of your courtiers do the same?”

His hand dropped to his side, the feather clutched in his fist. “Yes. Ari, Raiden, and Stormur always speak the truth to me. And now you,” he said.

“So, including me, there are only four.”

A sneer twisted his handsome face. “Perhaps you fancy yourself a story crafter? If you’re hoping to barter tales for your life, let me tell you my court is full of talented story weavers. But there is something of value I want from you.”

“What?” I whispered.

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