Page 45 of Golden Star

His sword flashes again, striking the fallen fae’s arm with brutal precision.

The crack of breaking bone echoes through the throne room. And even though the man’s arm hangs limply at his side, blood pooling beneath him, he suppresses any cries of pain.

Zoey’s breath catches. Her face is pale, her eyes wide, and I know she’s struggling to hold herself together just like I am.

The woman who’s crying turns her head away.

I want to scream, to run, to do anything but stand here and watch this madness unfold. As it is, I can’t tear my eyes away. All I can do is grab Zoey’s hand to stop my body from going completely numb with fear, and from collapsing because of all the exhaustion and hunger from the past few days.

The man writhes on the ground, clutching his arm, his face twisted in agony.

“Do you see now?” The king circles the fallen fae like a predator, his sword dripping with blood, his eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “This is what awaits you, Summer Fae and human companion. This is what I do to trespassers who threaten my land.”

I glance to Riven, as if he’ll do something to help us.

He’s as frozen as the icy walls.

“We didn’t threaten anything,” I say, even though anything I say might cause the king to attack.

It seems like he’s going to attack anyway, so I’m not sure I have much to lose.

“Quiet.” He glares at me over his raised sword, frost crawling over the blade. “Or you might miss your show.”

I swallow.

This man is crazy. Totally, batshit crazy.

Unsure what to do, I glance at Riven again.

He’s looking at me.

And, is it just me, or does he seem… concerned?

His eyes move from mine before I have time to properly analyze. Still, hope flutters through my chest at the possibility that he might help. Because despite everything, he made sure the king didn’t kill us the first time we were presented to him in this room. He got us out of the tower. He brought me home that first night.

Maybe he has a plan.

One thatwon’tinvolve Zoey and I bleeding out onto the floor for the entire Winter Court to see.

As it is now, the room’s so quiet that all I can hear are the crystals in the chandelier clinking against each other, and the movements of the fae knight as his body mends itself back together.

The king’s focus returns to his man on the ground, who’s starting to push himself up.

“Stay down,” he snaps, and he slices the man’s other knee, stopping him from standing. “Now, where were we?”

The knight’s blood spreads out like a dark halo around him, and the king’s smile deepens, relishing in the torment.

“Ah, yes.” The king runs a finger along the sharp end of his blade, cutting it and watching hungrily as hisblood drips down his hand, down to his wrist. “The final touch.”

With a final, brutal motion, the king plunges the sword into the knight’s chest.

His body jerks as blood spills from the wound, pooling around him.

After a few painfully long seconds, his body slumps lifeless to the floor.

I do my best to breathe through the weakness hollowing my bones. Air into my lungs, air out of my lungs.

Miraculously, it does help a bit.

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