Page 13 of The King has Fallen

He spoke quietly. Menacingly. “Speak truth: What game are you playing?”

I met his gaze flatly. “This is no game. Though your King does appear to think your army is a toy, and the Continent a child’s playground.”

“You disrespect my King, you disrespect me. Keep your thoughts on him to yourself,Fetch.”

I scoffed. “We are alone, you don’t have to maintain the façade with me. The man is an imbecile—”

“One more word against the crown and—”

“You told me to speak the truth! It would be a lie to say otherwise—surely an honorable man like you is not blind to his disgusting, selfish nature?”

He straightened, snarling, ready to launch into me—but then the tent flap twitched and three soldiers appeared, the front one clasping a hand to his chest and bowing his head.

“General,Sir.”

Melek shot me a warning glare, then turned to them. “What is it?”

“A message from the front, Sir.”

Every part of him snapped to focus like a bird of prey. I was forgotten as he trotted towards them, meeting the first soldier at the center of the tent and snatching the parchment the man held out, ripping it open and reading quickly.

“You two, guard the cage, please,” he muttered without looking up while his eyes scanned the paper. “Donotget close enough that she can touch you.” The two behind the first man came to stand near my cage, both leering, but not speaking.

I watched them warily, but kept my attention on Melek.

He seemed to see nothing but the paper. Frowned, then read it again.

Then he glanced at me and I saw a flash in his eyes that made the pit of my stomach drop. Clearly my comrades on the battlefield had done their jobs.

I smiled as sweetly as he had done when he suggested I unclothe in the middle of the camp.

His eyes narrowed, but he turned his back, beckoning the soldier who’d brought the message to come closer so he could speak below my hearing.

I rolled my eyes, but my sight of him was blocked by one of the others shifting into my field of view, his yellow-green eyes sharp as he leered at me.

He and his brother-at-arms, like all the Nephilim warriors, had the sides of their heads cut short over their ears. But instead of the intricate patterns shaved into Melek’s hair, theirs only had stripes that descended to their napes. These two were much younger than Melek. Their fighter’s length—the bunch of hair left uncut at the top and back of their scalps—were thin, loose, and still short enough for the strands to dangle around their ears.

They were inexperienced, then. Probably twenty or so, in human terms. Both were bulls—thick and muscular, tall, though not as tall as Melek. Brutes. Their eyes were sharp, but lacked the keen intelligence of his.

They did not lack the edge of lust so common in the Nephilim.

I shuddered, but didn’t move away, tensing in ways they would not see, preparing to move quickly if either tried to reach me.

I desperately wanted to know what was in that message, but Melek was keeping his voice too low for me to hear, and the second of the two who’d come to stand near me was leaning closer now. When I looked at him, he licked his upper lip.

“I hear she was caught in the King’s tent,” he said to his brother at arms. “And she took him. All of him. That’s why Melek had to bathe her. She wasdrenchedin him.”

The first of the two gave a low growl that raised the hair on the back of my neck. “You’d think he’d split her like a cord of wood.”

“Apparently not. She must be built for it.”

Both of them edged closer as my heart began to beat faster. Surely Melek wouldn’t allow them to actually enter my cage?

My heart lurched as I conjured a vision of being trapped in here by these two who would have to hunch to be inside, but who could overpower me physically without even sweating.

There was no room to throw them, and they were each two or three times my weight. I was good at grappling, but notthatgood.

When the first one’s upper lip curled up in a sneer and he began hissing about wondering how a Fetch tasted, I threw a hasty prayer to God, but didn’t move back.

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