Page 401 of Flirting with Darkness

I snatch my arm out of his grasp. “I told you before, demon. I’m not some dog on a leash here for you to mistreat.”

He stares at me, fire growing in those cruel eyes. “What you want and what is best are different things.” His repeated words resonate deep in his chest, rumbling like a distant storm.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” I counter.

He lets out a long, laborious sigh and brushes the hair from his face before offering me the crook of his arm.

I gape at it like he instead offered me a headless snake.

“Proximity isn’t enough, little bird.” His voice is softer now, gentle even. “My touch is the only thing keeping all the things that stalk this wood from snatching you up. My touch is the signal that you are under the king’s protection. Am I clear?”

I swallow, trying to reconcile the strange jumble of feelings I have at this new information.

“And as I recall, humans have inferior night vision. You’ll need to rely on me to keep you safe, princess. Can you do that?”

His features soften with the question, and I’m tempted to fall into the web he’s weaving. Tempted to trust him.

I resist. I know where his motivations lie. Keeping me alive long enough to exact his revenge.

I give him a false smile and quickly run through my options. I can refuse and try to make it out of here on my own. Odds are excellent that I’ll die on my own in an unfamiliar land populated by creatures I know nothing about. I can stay here in the cave. But then what? With perpetual darkness, what could I hope to accomplish?

So I do the only thing that makes sense and place my fingers on his arm, allowing him to lead me out of the cave and into the dead night of the woods.

We hike in silence for at least two miles.

Two miles of thorns and briars and thick tree roots that somehow don’t bother the king beside me. Don’t cling to his clothes, don’t trip him while seemingly every tree branch and spiny thorn catches the folds of my dress, reaches for me.

It’s another quarter mile before I complain about it.

“Why would you put me in such ridiculous clothes if you knew—”

“Quiet.”

I ball my fist in the folds of my dress, fed up with asking questions and only receiving occasional answers.

Why did you put me in my favorite dress? Was it just to ruin it? Do you enjoy watching me stumble my way through the dark, getting snagged on every briar in the entire realm?

I stare at his profile, waiting for the answer.

I can’t be sure, but the king seems to pale, swallowing a number of times before providing me with one.

Better the dress than your skin. These woods seek all who don’t belong. My presence helps, but you wouldn’t survive the poison-tipped barbs of each spine.

I’m both shocked and angered. Grateful and resentful.Right. Heaven forbid I die in your godsforsaken forest instead of at the hand of your executioner.

It’s the first time I’m putting words to it. First time truly confronting my fate. That I’m walking in my favorite dress and muck boots to my death.

I stare at the side of the king’s face, searching for a hint of remorse. The smallest scrap of clemency.

That’s what it’ll take to get me out of this.

His mercy.

But there’s nothing. No acknowledgment on his features of any kind. Just the steady beat of his pulse in his neck and the strange repetitive swallowing.

And why should there be?

You have every right to be angry about what we did to you. What I did to you,I breathe into his mind.

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