Page 18 of A Kingdom of Destruction

She’d tried her wand, but it was a futile effort—no more than a pathetic display of sad little fireworks that fizzled at its tip before they could ignite anything, only to disappear into nothingness. The magic of Mourningvale dwarfed what her own kingdom could manage. She’d thought the wand would be her ace in the hole, only to find it as useless as a normal stick ofwood. In her desperation, she’d even tried to fit it in the lock, but nothing came of it.

Eventually, fatigue took her whether she wanted to sleep or not, and she drifted off on the bunk with the cheese clutched in her hand. She tossed awake from the fitful sleep, having dropped off in a seated position. The cool stone bit into the sore muscles of her back, and her throat was raw enough from this treatment to feel like someone had run a grater over her insides.

“Sweetheart, although I’ve only just met you, I wonder if you’ve ever looked better. I know these are interesting circumstances, but still.”

A growl ripped out of her at Roran’s arrival. Another day of torment. “Ah, another compliment from the high and mighty Roran,” she replied. “Your lady guests, as frequent as you claim, must tell you all the time. Your head belongs right up your own backside along with your praise. I’m guessing it’s a tight fit. You’ll get better at it with practice.”

Roran clucked his tongue at her again and reached out, lacing pale fingers on the door bars. He leaned heavily against them. “Such a mouth on you. It really is astonishing, and yet something tells me I shouldn’t be surprised. Mortals are known to be delightfully uncouth. You are not the exception to the rule, although toying with you has been a delightful distraction. Like a new toy.”

“Are you charmed yet?” Aven gripped the block of cheese, debating throwing it at his perfect head. Her aim never failed her.

“Spoiled little princess.” This time Roran said it with a hint of amusement despite the insult.

He really was handsome. The longer she stared, the more details stood out to her. Today the high collar of his waistcoat was inlaid with actual gemstones. A playful smirk danced on hislips, adding an enticing allure to his strong features. His brows were thick yet refined.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me,” she murmured.

“Would you like it if I did?” he asked casually. “From one with royal blood to another?”

Her eyes flew open. “What? No.” She offered the word automatically.

“Why not?” The longer he stared at her, the more chance heat had to blossom in her abdomen.

“Because you are a vile creature and you’re keeping me down here in a cell. Why would I want to flirt with you? I would much rather?—”

“Reconsider before you insult me again,” Roran warned. “You’ve already missed the vital piece of information I dropped for you. It wouldn’t do well for you to dig a deeper hole for yourself.”

“Why not?” she challenged. Aven clenched her free hand into a fist. “It’s not like you’re going to let me out of here. I am a creature on display in your menagerie, for you to come and go at will and delight in whatever antics you think are amusing.”

Wait a minute. What had she missed?

Her brain felt too clogged to pick out any one piece of information.

She strained toward him and caught the movement before she’d taken a physical step. Clenching her jaw made no difference, and if she wasn’t careful, her body would respond even further to his subtle flirtations underneath the insults, no matter what her brain said.

No. They could not be flirtations.

She hated him.

This monster was a cog in the wheel which had destroyed her family. Which made Roran, no matter who he was, responsible.

But then it hit her.

The clothes. The confidence. That shade of blue in his eyes.

Everything clicked into place.

She jerked up, staring at his angular face. The pieces were finally making sense. “You said royal blood. Both of us.”

Roran held his arms out to the side and executed a sarcastic bow. He held her gaze with disapproval. “Prince Roran Celestree, at your service. And which one are you, then? Which of the mortal king’s spawn do I have the pleasure of addressing? You’ve failed to give me a name.”

“It’s been days and you don’t know my name?Seriously?” She stared hard at him, through him, and something inside her went cold at the way he held himself so still.

It was all too easy to forget that Roran was fae despite his pointed ears. Sparring with him, the verbal backlashes, it had all become a way for her to make it through her days without cracking.

Aven was too close to falling apart for comfort.

Roran shrugged. “I know you are my father’s captor, and that is enough for me. I know that you are weak despite how you play at being strong. I know beneath the battle suit you wear, you have a woman’s figure. The runes are interesting, by the way.” He glanced at her face, to the bit of skin showing on her arm. What a waste they had been. “Are you willing to work with me to make this easier on yourself? Or are you too spoiled to realize what is actually in your best interest?”

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