Page 20 of A Kingdom of Destruction

When she remained quiet, Roran continued with, “Be warned, though, little princess. My brother might seem like your savior now, but he’s even worse than I am. You’ll see.”

“I find it hard to believe,” she muttered under her breath.

Worrying the guard wouldn’t wait for long before slamming the door on her again, she scurried forward but ignored the outstretched hand.

“I can walk on my own, thank you.”

Roran said nothing to either one of them on their long trek up the multiple steps of stairs. Aven’s legs, usually strong, wobbled with every rise.

“How long was I down there?” she asked the guard.

Roran scoffed behind her, making sure to cut off any chance of escape.

“Five days, Princess,” the soldier replied woodenly.

She sucked in a breath and reached out to run her hand along the stone wall, as much for mental support as physical. All those days of torment and near starvation only for them to change their mind now?

Why?What purpose would it serve outside of keeping her unbalanced?

Aven bit down on her lip to keep from saying anything to Roran as the guard and the Prince led her up through the bulk of the palace. The giant front doors were open to the outside, and large windows allowed daylight to fall in warm rays across a floor of seamless marble.

She openly gawked. The trees were in full rich color, flowers in bloom. A gentle breeze ruffled the filthy strands of her hair and brought with it more sweet scents. She drank it in, eager, intoxicated.

“Hurry,” Roran snapped at her back.

The toe of his boot knocked against her heel, and Aven nearly stumbled, her limbs unable to obey her after days of being locked in a cell. The sunlight blinded her, and yet she forced her eyes open wide to take in the sights.

The exits.

King Donal wasn’t dumb. He kept guards at all the entry points of the palace, the ones near the door tucked into discrete shadowy alcoves to disguise their brute strength.

Their weapons gleamed, freshly polished.

“The Princess believes she is being covert in her observations, but I’m intrigued. What do you make of my humble home so far? What do you think about the number of sentries?” Roran asked with false nonchalance on their way up the main staircase.

Real flowers twined along the gleaming golden handrail, their pink petals curled open and yellow stamens standing out in stark attention.

Did magic keep them alive during the winter months here? Or did winter never come to these parts?

She had questions. So many questions, and they brimmed on her tongue just like the nectar. Her stomach chose that moment to growl audibly rather than answering Roran, and the guard in front of her swallowed over a snicker.

“Don’t worry. If food is what it will take to get you to talk, Princess, then you’ll find plenty of it in your new suite.”

“Poisoned, I’m sure,” she quipped.

“And were your meals in our dungeon poisoned?”

“I wouldn’t know. The few crumbs I got were hard as the stone walls. Your hospitality is sorely lacking,Prince.” She said it with the same amount of venom he’d sent her way.

“Perhaps your new accommodations will change your mind.” Roran and the guard paused in front of a solid metal door, gems inlaid in the corners and a design of swirling stars and circles hammered into the exterior.

The guard stepped to the side, and Roran waved a hand, the door opening silently with a pulse of power. Again, the same stormy electric scent filled the air. A charge that seemed to accompany any kind of spell work the fae did.

She hadn’t realized it before, but the circumstances hadn’t been good.

Then she caught sight of her suite and lost what was left of her wits.

8

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