Page 67 of King of Storms and Feathers

“You’re drunk,” I said as realization hit me. His lazy smirk, the unsteady swagger and slightly unfocused, mocking silver gaze were evidence that the Storm King was smashed on fae wine.

“Still tempting fate?” he asked.

Damn. He was right. Tonight of all nights, I was in no position to criticize him.

He stepped closer, looming over me as he ran a fingertip down my cheek, neck, shoulder, all the way to my wrist. “Look what you’ve done to yourself, marred your lovely skin.”

“A small price to pay if it meant I might not be a prisoner anymore.”

Shut up, I told my unruly tongue. Please, just shut up.

A sigh parted his lips. “Why are you so determined to leave? I don’t beat you or make you scrub my floors and wash my walls until your back breaks.”

“Sometimes I think I’d prefer it if you did.”

Resting his hands on his hips, he chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t, foolish human,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You could let me go.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

He slid the gold strap off my shoulder. “You don’t even know where this mythical home is. Could be anywhere.”

“I would find it.”

“Yes, you probably would, if you didn’t get fucked and mutilated by half the fae in the land before one of them decided to shut your belligerent mouth up for good.”

“Are you any different from these men who plague me?”

“Of course,” he said huskily, silver eyes flashing in the darkness. Then he stilled. “Are you saying someone’s taken you against your will before?”

I nodded. “He didn’t rape me, but he would have if he hadn’t been stopped.”

“A man from your old life?”

“No. In the Underfloor cell. Another slave.”

Before I could blink, he jerked me close, cruel fingers biting into the flesh under my chin, forcing me to meet his steely gaze. What I saw burning in those silver orbs terrified me. Why did I open my big mouth?

“Who?” His fingers dug deeper. “Tell me who did this.”

A shudder rolled down my spine, the urge to flee following in its wake. “You saw your guards attack me that night.”

“Liar. That didn’t happen Underfloor. Give me a name or by the gold, I’ll find every male slave still alive that was in that cell with you and rend their bodies apart piece by piece, guilty or not.”

My mind raced. I couldn’t bear the thought of Arrow stealing my revenge from me, but worse was the thought of blameless souls paying for one man’s despicable act.

“His name was Davy,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Last name?”

“I don’t know it.”

“But he was sent to the mines?”

“Yes.”

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