Page 6 of Heart of the Summer Queen

He sighs.

Magic seizes my wrists, shackling them to the wall. My ankles too.

I writhe and hiss, but none of it forces my chains apart. While I can prevent his power from claiming any item or person, my touch does not spare that which is already frozen. I cannot melt these manacles.

The ice encases me, forming a globe, and I plummet to the ground. Snow blankets the fall, but my cage shatters.

I’m left lying on my back, staring up at the wispy clouds drifting through the sky. Seething, I grab a fistful of snow. It just annoys me more. Though I squeeze it with all my might, I cannot melt it.

The king approaches. I could spring to my feet and attack him, but what would be the point? He’ll see it coming.

It’s better to wait to strike. Though I can’t do much damage when all I have on my body is my chemise. And sadly, I doubt it’llprove a useful weapon. Unless I tear it off and use it to strangle him.

Now there’s an interesting thought . . .

He comes to a stop, his face peering down at me, all the unyielding angles of his jawline. And that damned crown.

How I long to shove my fist into the side of his cheek, hard enough his crown tumbles off.

I glare up at him. He returns my stare with a glacial expression. For a long while, neither of us say anything, flakes dancing around us.

He straightens a crease out of his tunic, breaking our stare. “You must realize how this looks?”

I exhale so hard my nostrils flare.

“Adara,” he tries again, “you are making matters very difficult.”

“Good,” I seethe.

Damn him. Damn his reputation. I hope all the guards report home what they’ve seen today, how desperate I was to escape the Crystal Palace. I want evidence of the king’s tyranny to push the kingdom over the edge. Already there are cracks from his cruel tradition of stealing a bride every summer.

He doesn’t flinch at the venom in my voice. “If you refuse to be reasonable, I’ll be forced to resort to other measures.”

I bark out a hysterical laugh. “Other measures? Like what? Locking me in your dungeons like you did to my father?”

He doesn’t reply. His expression grows colder. Harder.

“I thought I was your queen,” I snarl, “not your prisoner.”

“I thought you were my queen,” he says, “not my assassin.”

My lip curls. “If you wanted a docile wife, you chose the wrong woman.”

He extends his hand. “Come, Adara. Let us return to the palace.”

I hesitate, glancing between him and his hand. As if I’ll ever accept it.

Instead, I grab his ankle and pull as hard as I can, arm straining with the effort.

It was a futile attempt, but to my surprise, he tumbles over. Unfortunately, his crown doesn’t budge even when he smacks into the ground.

If I were thinking reasonably, I’d use these precious seconds to race through the gardens and find somewhere to hide but right now, I’m not thinking reasonably. My thoughts are consumed by my hatred for this man, by the fact I have lain with him and all the complicated emotions which accompany that, fanning the flames of my fury to far greater heights.

I drag myself upright and lunge toward him, fist swinging for his face.

He turns his head. The blow skims his cheek, so close his skin brushes mine, and my fist collides with the ground. The force ricochets up my arm. I bite my cheek to keep from yelping in pain, to stop him from receiving that satisfaction.

While I’m distracted, he grips my wrists and flips me over and pins me down. I struggle in his grasp, but it’s no use.

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