Page 8 of Heart of the Summer Queen

While I dearly hope the king isn’t as merciless as I fear, I can’t deny that was how he punished my father, whose sole crime was trying to free his daughter from a murderous tyrant.

When the king and Merlys visit, they bring with them food and water and leave both on the counter beside my bed. My throat is parched and my stomach is hollow, but I refuse to eat or drink. He needs me alive, or else he would have already driven a sword through my chest—a fitting retribution for what I did to him on our wedding night.

I have nothing left to bargain with. Except for my life. If he wishes for me to stay alive, then he will be forced to release me.

Unless he decides to replace me. To find another Summer Queen who is immune to his power.

But dying is a risk I’m willing to take. I’d much rather die in a gamble for my freedom than stay trapped in this icy cage for the rest of my life.

Soon I lose track of how many days pass.

How long can the human body withstand dehydration? A few days maybe? A week if I’m lucky?

I grow increasingly less aware of my surroundings, and then even rolling onto my side becomes impossible. My body feels chained to the bed.

Still, servants do not burst into my chambers and carry me to my freedom. The king does not order my release.

It seems I have overestimated my usefulness to him.

He’s willing to let me die.

I should feel panicked by my imminent death. I should drag my body to my bedside counter and drink from the goblet Merlys left there. Not that it would save me. Though I’ve grown numb to the passing of time, I’m certain it was hours since they last visited. The goblet of water will be long frozen.

The greatest comfort I find in my approaching death is my absolution of guilt. All this time, the king pretended to care for me. His feelings were an act, luring me in to marry him. If he truly cared, he would release me from this prison and spare my suffering.

Driving my dagger into his chest was the right choice, and my only regret is that I failed to slay him.

Somewhere amid the haziness of my deliria, I hear Merlys’s voice. I didn’t notice either of them entering my chambers, and I’m unsure how long they’ve been present. I must have slipped out of consciousness when they arrived.

“The goblet is still untouched.” Vaguely, I sense Merlys’s shadow looming over me, blotting out the sunlight filtering through the window. “She will die if this continues much longer, Your Majesty.”

I’m not sure whether the king responds or whether my mind slips away again. Then I feel the distant sensation of being pulled upward. My head lolls over, as if weighed down by an anchor. Gently, it’s tugged up. Merlys’s blurred face comes into view. My eyes struggle to see anything past her.

Something metallic presses against my mouth. The goblet.

Merlys pries apart my lips. I resist. But I lack strength, and my body betrays me. I grit my teeth, but even staying conscious is a great effort.

Merlys tips back the goblet. Cool water washes over my tongue, slides down my throat. I try to cough it up so she will fear my choking and relent, but my selfish body forgets my pledge and cares only for self-preservation.

Merlys releases me, and I collapse onto my furs, staring at the foggy ceiling.

I’ve failed again. Failed to win this battle of wills.

I should feel the damning weight of despair, and yet I do not. My emotions are too dulled for me to care.

I’m unsure precisely how much Merlys forced me to drink, but sense slowly returns to my mind. An overwhelming wave of bitterness slams into me.

The Winter King will never let me go. He will keep me imprisoned here forever.

At least ordering Merlys to force me to drink shows he needs me. Bargaining with my life has failed. Now I can only bargain with whatever he wants from me. Though he could very well wish to sacrifice me to further his power, and that may cost my life all the same.

Later that evening, the king arrives alone. My body instinctively tenses. Has he come without Merlys so there’s no one to witness whatever he intends to do to me?

He sits beside me on my bed. I don’t move. Don’t let myself twitch.

“Adara,” he says, and I wish deliria still consumed my mind so I’m not forced to listen to him. “You haven’t eaten or drunk anything for days.”

“Release me,” I rasp, the words scratching the back of my throat like a serrated blade.

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