Page 10 of King of Flames and Shadows

His lip curls as he locks the chains in place with a series of quick, sharp clicks. The chain is short, too short, forcing me to take small, careful steps.

“You’ll find these are cursed,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost mocking. “You try to leave the bounds of this castle, and they’ll weigh you down until you can’t move an inch. It would take the power of a thousand mages to break.”

I swallow hard, the weight of the chains already dragging at my legs. Every movement feels slow and cumbersome. Is this what his plan is? Chain me like a bird in a cage? Restrict my movement until I can no longer walk?

My heart sinks, but I force myself to lift my chin, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

“Is that all?” I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

The guard’s smile is a thin, cruel slash across his face.

“That’s all, my lady,” he says mockingly. “Dinner with the king will commence shortly. You’ll be escorted from your chambers by armed guards.”

I nod. Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room—myroom.

The door slams shut behind him with a heavy thud, and I flinch at the sound. The silence that follows feels like it could kill me. It’s so final. Like a death knell for the rest of my life. For everything I wanted.

I take a shaky step forward, the chains rattling softly with each movement. The room around me seems almost to shimmer under the cold light. It’s small and sparsely furnished, with a narrow bed pushed against one wall, a single wooden chair, and a barred window low to the floor. The walls are bare stone, cold and unwelcoming.

Beyond the barred window, I can deduce that this wing of the castle is a wide, winding tower over the water. In its shadow in the black waters below, I can see that it stretches far higher than my quarters. Who else lives in this wing? How might I use them to escape?

I take a deep breath, my gaze drifting back to the mirror.

For a moment, I let myself really look at the girl staring back at me.

Beneath the finery, she looks fragile. There is woundedness etched into her every inch. Pale and bruised, with shadows smudged beneath her eyes and a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, she isn’t beautiful. Her dark hair offers her a mournful, lonely look. No king would ever want her.

No king but this king.

I reach up, brushing my fingers against the cool glass of the mirror.

“I will not break,” I whisper, the words a vow, a promise. “Not for him. Not for anyone.”

Tears well up in my eyes, hot and unwelcome. I squeeze them shut, fighting the sob that threatens to break free.

I won’t cry. Not now. Not after everything.

But like all disastrous things, the tears come anyway, spilling down my cheeks in silent, shaking sobs. I sink down onto the narrow bed, curling in on myself as the weight of everything I’ve been through in the past week crashes down on me all at once. The burning of my home. The long, painful journey by wagon to the capital city, miles from where I grew up. The mockery of the soldiers who brought me here, their unkind hands and words. The cruelty of the king. The promise that I will never again be free.

I cry for the girl I used to be. I cry for the safety I’ve lost. I cry for the life that’s been ripped away from me.

But I only allow myself a few moments—just enough to release the worst of the pain—before I force myself to straighten, wiping my tears with the backs of my hands.

“I won’t come quietly,” I warn, though I don’t know who I’m telling. The girl in the mirror. The monster who wants me to submit. Every ear listening through the walls of this awful place.

My tears have dislodged some of the makeup on my face. I scrub furiously at my skin with my hands until my scars are again visible, the harsh slashes down my cheek, the gouges through my temple. Twin lines traveling downward.

I will not be beautiful for him. I will never be what he wants of me.

***

“… Your defiance is adorable, little sparrow, but it is beginning to wear thin.”

The king’s voice cuts through me like I’m made of paper. I have to fight not to shudder.

The chamber is almost too dark to make out the details of the walls. Over our heads, candles burn, suspended from the ceiling, but at the outskirts of our space, guards linger in pools of shadow, weapons holstered, heads low.

Arvoren’s black eyes fix on me from across the long, lavishly set dining table, glinting with a mix of dark amusement and something colder. His features are so sharp that they could have been carved of marble, his jaw tight, his dark hair swept back from his face. The shoulder plates of his royal dress are forged of darkest iron, embossed with fields of flame. In the flickering glow of the candles above and between us, his sharp eyes and sharper teeth glint menacingly.

---