Page 26 of The Death King

The guards returned to their positions on either side of the door.

I let myself inside, heading straight to the desk in the corner where there was a sheet of parchment along with a quill and a bottle of ink. I stood as I worked, and once the kink in my neck started, I kicked the chair out and sat down, making my notes while they were still fresh in my mind. Ink stained my fingertips because it’d been so long since I’d written anything down, I’d forgotten how to use a quill properly.

Once I was done, I let the parchment rest there, allowing the ink to dry and permanently mark the page for me to stow in my pocket later.

I stood up to head to the bathroom and wash the stains away, but I stilled when I saw him.

King Talon.

He sat on the couch, in nothing but his black trousers, his chest bare.

My heart raced at the intrusion, wondering how long he’d been sitting there, if he’d been there the moment I walked inside. It had been dark in the bedroom because the fire hadn’t been lit, and I’d only turned on the lamp when I’d made it to the desk.

So he’d probably been there the entire time…just watching.

Watching me map out my escape.

One arm rested over the back of the couch, while the other was on the armrest because he sat in the corner. His elbow was bent and propped, his cheek resting against his closed knuckles. The room was cold, but he seemed unaffected by it.

My heart continued to race.

He had a big chest, broad like his shoulders, his pecs perfectly defined like he lifted oxen in his spare time. His stomach was strong and tight even though he seemed completely relaxed. His pants were low on his hips, showing the V that separated the muscles of his torso from his hips. He was strong, but his skin was marred by ugly scars. Old cuts were visible on the surface, one on his side like he’d been stabbed between the ribs. There was another on his chest, right over where his heart rested. “You can read and write. Which means your upbringing isn’t as humble as you claimed it to be.”

“My caretaker was a messenger.”

“Messengers can’t read. That’s why they’re hired to be messengers.” His eyes were authoritative, but his posture was relaxed and indifferent.

I made sure to block the desk with my body so he wouldn’t be able to see the parchment. One look at that would tell him my plans. His eyes were locked on me, so I couldn’t reach behind me and crinkle it in a closed fist. “Do you always lurk in the dark like that?”

Several seconds passed before he answered. “Yes.”

“Can’t you do that in your own chambers?”

He left the couch and walked to the hearth, which was cold and dark. He kneeled down and tossed a couple logs onto the rack, his spine outlined by tight muscles on either side. Every time he moved and reached, a group of muscles shifted under his skin like a team working together. Then he struck a match and tossed it inside.

It smoldered and smoked before the flame burst in a fiery dance.

He placed another log on top, unafraid to touch the fire with his bare hand.

While he was distracted, I grabbed the parchment from the table and crushed it in my closed fist, making it so small it wasn’t visible in the cracks between my fingertips.

He stood to his full height, six-foot-something of hard muscles and even harder bone. “I meant what I said before.” He stared at the flames for a moment before his eyes found mine. “Run and I’ll kill you.”

My heart raced once more, and my fingertips tightened on the parchment balled in my closed fist. “Why are you here?”

“Because it’s my castle, and I can be anywhere I choose.”

“It’s not your castle.” I should hold my tongue, but my loyalty was loud. “It belongs to the king and his predecessors and their ancestors?—”

“All of whom are dead—so it belongs to me.” He stepped toward me but allowed several feet of distance to remain between us. “Regimes rise and fall every day. The kingdom you knew from childhood is long gone, and no amount of stubbornness will bring it back. I’m your king now, and you’ll accept me as your sovereign. You’ll serve me on the front lines and in the sheets.”

I hated every word he spoke, but that last statement sent me over the edge. “Excuse me?”

“You asked why I’m here.” He pierced me with those dark eyes, touching me even at a distance, gripping me by the throat even when his hand was out of reach. “You know the answer.”

A man had forced me to dig. A man had forced me to lie still. But I wouldn’t do it any longer. “No.” It was all I could say, the shortest sentence to get the message across.

His eyes narrowed.

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