Page 25 of The Umbra King

She waved her hands over her body. “I need to change first.” There was no way she was seeing the king like this.

Sam glared at her. “You will come now of your own accord, or I will drag you. The choice is yours.”

She huffed, jabbed her feet into a pair of slippers they’d given her, and followed the commander down the dark hall. By the timethey reached the top floor of the palace, her calves were locking up, and she was sweating. “Is this part of the torture?” she asked between pants, never realizing how much herFeystrength helped her until now.

“Come,” was his only reply. She lifted her middle finger to his back and before she could lower her hand, he spun around and grabbed her wrist. “If you do that to the king, you will no longer have a finger to raise.”

She snapped her jaw shut from its unhinged position and nodded dumbly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Sam’s eyes bounced between hers, and she thought the corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “No, you are not.”

He stopped in front of an enormous set of wooden doors and knocked, and Rory couldn’t quell her nerves. Someone who had the infamous Samyaza knocking was someone to be feared.

The doors opened, and shadows retreated across the room. Rory recalled the smooth feel of them against her skin and shivered.

Sitting behind a large, cherry wood desk was the Umbra King. She wasn’t used to seeing people in color, and looking at him was a shock all over again.

His blonde hair was slightly mussed, the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a strong, tanned chest, and one of his elbows rested on the arm of his chair. Despite his light hair, he was the living embodiment of enchanting darkness.

He watched her step into the room, and his eyes traced clinically down the length of her shift before settling on her exposed thighs. Instead of fidgeting under his inspection, she set her jaw and stared him down.

“Miss Raven,” he drawled. His voice was rich and smooth, and she felt his shadows on her back, forcing her to walk. She was tired of that. When she stood in front of him, he leaned forward. “You have been assigned to kitchen duty, and you will help the maids when needed.”

Surprise ricocheted through her. She was certain she would havebeen tasked with mucking the stables or something equally horrible.There are no horses in Vincula,she remembered. Because of the lack of sunlight, the only animals and plants in the realm were nocturnal.

“You will be on the third shift,” he continued. “You are to report at three a.m. sharp.”

Rory’s eyes bulged. She wasn’t certain of the time, but she assumed it was ridiculously late. “I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours.”

His eyes lifted. “That is not my concern.”

He stood, walked to a door on the far side of the room, and disappeared. She stared after him in disbelief. Had he really dragged her halfway across the palace to tell her something that could have been relayed through Sam in one sentence?

She looked around the room for the first time since entering and realized it was his office. Bookcases lined most of the walls, and it was much brighter than the hallways.

Noticing a set of filing cabinets at the back of the room, she pointed at them and turned to Sam. “What are those for?”

His eyes flicked to the cabinets. “Contracts.”

She didn’t understand why they needed paper contracts; their sentencing was bound by magic. “Why do they have paper contracts?” she mused as Sam led her from the room.

He lifted a light brow. “What an odd thing to ask.”

She shrugged. “It’s an odd thing for aRoyalto do.”

“The contract has information on each inmate, their crimes, and their sentencing,” he explained. “The king cannot memorize every inmate, and they are used for reference if needed.”

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

When they arrived at her room, she wiped sweat from her forehead and prayed the kitchens were on the same floor. She knew an inmate’s appearance stayed the same during their time in Vincula, but she hoped her muscles would learn to take the stairs without killing her every time.

They weren’t bad when she went down the first time, but after going up and then back down again,she was dying.

Sam opened her door and said, “Change. Work starts in an hour. I will show you the way.” It was worse than she thought.

Grumbling under her breath, she grabbed one of the hideous uniforms from her dresser and stomped to her washroom. When she emerged, Sam tipped his head to the hallway. “I would prefer to get to sleep at some point tonight,” he informed her.

She glared at him, but quickly schooled her face into one of indifference. He didn’t seem the type to tolerate back talk. Her work boots were by the door, and she pulled them on as quickly as possible before following him down the hallway and into the kitchens.

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