Page 2 of Claws of Death

Royad wipes a hand across his face, fingers tracing the scar running from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

Instantly, I can breathe more easily. Not dead. “No. But he’s been unconscious all this time.”

“We took turns carrying him, too,” Herinor informs me, and I am about to thank him again when he adds, “I left Ayna behind at the palace, Your Majesty.”

Fury like nothing I’ve ever known floods me, and it doesn’t matter that my body is sluggish and my magic locked down from the drug when I launch myself at Herinor with murder on my mind.

Ayna

My skirts swaywith the music as I turn in Erina’s arm, led to spin by his iron hand. I’m sick of the strings and cembalo, sick of the sophisticated demeanor the Tavrasian king puts on display, the bland smile he keeps pinned on his lips as he stares me down with glacial eyes.

How many days have I been dancing? Since the moment I recovered enough of my strength to remain on my feet or sit through an official dinner, I’ve been forced to play the king’s accessory. I’ve danced at his bidding, have curtseyed and smiled, have even worn his ring to appease him and the eager courtiers who’ve been piningover our engagement.

At least, the wedding has been pushed back a month due to myunexpected illness, as Erina called the condition my temporary escape and his drug put me in. All my wounds are healed, courtesy of Ephegos, who never fails to smirk when he studies me with those too-warm brown eyes from the corner of the sepia and gold throne room whenever Erina puts me on display like tonight.

My legs are tired, as is my mind. I have barely eaten, and what little I get down comes up again with the next dose of the drug Ephegos injects me with every few hours. Running didn’t buy me freedom, but it freed the males the King of Tavras held captive in his dungeon. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, or I’ll go insane from fear for their lives. Clio and her mate are out, as is Herinor. An image of Myron’s limp form draped over the Crow’s arms comes back to me, and terror sets in, threatening to devour me whole if it wasn’t for the inked mark on my shoulder through which I can feel my mate like a lifeline.

They made it out. All but Kaira.

I plaster a smile to my features as I spin across the polished floors, out of Erina’s rigid arms and back in, led by his firm grasp, for if I don’t, Kaira will suffer. Erina made that very clear the first day after they returned me to my chambers, demonstrating it with a cut along the part-Flame’s arm, which he left bleeding. The pleas in her eyes as I was forced to stand by and watch are something that will haunt my sleep for a long, long time.

Kaira didn’t escape. How she ended up in captivity when she was supposed to have run with the others, I haven’t hada chance to learn. Every time I get to see her, Ephegos or one of the guards he now commands in Katrijanov’s stead are present, and I won’t give away a single word about the fairies who escaped under their scrutiny. Too much is at risk. If what Ephegos said is true and Erina found a way to replicate the magic-arresting weapon faster, it’s a matter of time until he’ll be ready to invade the fairylands. Kaira and my lives are secondary to what might happen to Eherea if Erina wages war on the fairylands. Askarea will only be the beginning.

I send a prayer to Shaelak that the others made it across the border and have warned the Fairy King.

“You seem distracted, dove.” Erina’s lips twitch in that cruel way he only ever shows when I cringe at his voice. “Is anything the matter?”

The words I have for him aren’t pretty—and they sure as the darkness behind Eroth’s Veil will earn me more pain. And if he abstains from torturing me, Kaira will suffer in my stead; he’s made that pretty clear.

“Nothing.” I twirl under his arm, walking in time with the music the way I learned when I was a child. It’s a traditional Tavrasian dance, the music too light for my mood, and the sickening proximity to my dancing partner no longer avoidable once he hauls me back in. I swallow the anger, the disdain, and inhale a calming breath. I can do this. Ihaveto do this, keep Erina occupied, keep Ephegos’s attention bound so he won’t spend time developing new methods of defeating the immortal creatures I now call my family. Every hour I buy them brings them closer to preventing a surprise attack on the fairylands. Any day I stall increases the chances they’ll survive.

As for me… I am far from giving up. I’m fighting my own war right here, even though my weapons aren’t steel and magic. Those have been taken from me alongside the hopes of escaping the pending wedding. But I can use the time to figure out a way of freeing Kaira. Maybe once I’ve spoken my vows, he’ll let her go.

I’m fully aware it’s a futile thought. There is no way Erina will let his leverage escape. What he doesn’t know is the menace of a Crow he thought was loyal to Ephegos has a soft spot for the part-Flame, and if Herinor decides to come for her, I doubt there is a thing that can stop him—except for Ephegos. The bargain he made with the traitor Crow is the one thing that prevented him from getting me out of the palace.

“I could swear you are plotting my demise behind those gray eyes of yours,” Erina whispers, finally drawing me back to his chest, too close for me not to notice his woodsy scent.

I blow out a breath through my nose, ridding it of the unwelcome sensation. “Perhaps I am.” I’m tired of playing the pliant bride, and perhaps it’s stupid of me to let my temper slip even in the slightest, but Erina has seen the lengths I’m willing to go to save the ones I love—he’s counting on it—so for once, I speak my mind. Yet, that won’t free me of him. I can’t give up the role he’s forced me into: the lost heir of Tavras.

It’s in the courtiers’ eyes when they follow me across the dance floor, in the whispers filling the air when Erina leads me through the palace halls. It’s in every bow and curtsey.

I’m not merely Erina’s bride; I’m a princess in my own right. Despite the fact that the Jelnedyn line has evisceratedmy own bloodline by watering down the Milevishja name so thoroughly it no longer carries weight, the people of Tavras remember now that there is a face to attach it to. A royal Milevishja. One who’s trapped to secure Erina’s own throne.

My gaze slides to the side of the room where Ephegos is conversing with a woman in brass and moss-green robes. She looks old enough to be his mother even when Ephegos is older than any other creature in this room. Sheets of fire-red hair frame her features, piercing dark eyes sparkling as she laughs at something the Crow says. She is unearthly beautiful the way only fairies are, but her hidden ears prevent me from confirming she is one of them.

“Whatever it is you’re planning, remember you’re not the only one with an agenda.” Of course, he finds a way to phrase his threat diplomatically; he’s a king after all.

I don’t bother asking what that agenda is. Instead, I push away from his chest to step around him in a small circle the way the dance demands. At least, it grants me some air to breathe that isn’t laced with his suffocating scent.

The velvet and satin skirts of my bead-encrusted dress sway with the motion, heavy and pompous like the throne room that could have been mine had I been born in a different time. A part of me wonders what it would be like to sit on the throne carved from dark wood atop the dais at the end of the room. The golden, onion-shaped ornamentations finishing the backrest glint in the candle light illuminating the room, and for a moment, I can see myself sitting there, a knife in my hands dripping crimson stains of Erina’s blood.

The satisfaction the image gives me should disgust me, but with everything Erina has done, I can’t bring myself to chastise myself for it. Perhaps it’s the spark of coiling darkness that comes with the Crow slumbering deep inside of me. Perhaps it’s an instinct deriving from the mating bond rooted even deeper.

“We have a public appearance coming up,” Erina informs me the moment I face him again, his lips twitching in that same cruel smirk that makes me want to punch it off his features. Bonus points if he loses a few teeth in the process. “Time to show off my beautiful betrothed to all the nobility of Tavras.”

“All the nobility of Tavras?” It’s a hassle to keep my hands relaxed in his unrelenting grasp when they so desperately want to ball into fists. My gaze darts around the throne room packed with nobles and courtiers. “You mean there is more?” I’m convinced by now each last lord and lady in Tavras has gotten a peek at me.

“Well, of course. What you’ve seen so far is only my loyal court here at Meer.” He moves me through the center of the dance floor without regard for the other dancers scrambling out of our path, and I have a hard time suppressing the urge to apologize to a lady in a sepia silk gown who stumbles as she rushes out of her king’s path. Erina’s guards flank us the moment we leave the parquet, their weapons gleaming at their hips as they escort us to the dais at the front of the room, where Erina seats himself on his throne while I am left to stand at his side like an accessory he can’t be bothered to stow away.

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