Page 67 of Of Rime and Ruin
Finally, he breaks his stare, watching as she exits through the service door at the back of the room.
Silence settles in her absence. I can’t decide which version of him I like least—the restless, angry pacing king from the throne room or this frozen, quiet one.
The silence stretches another minute. I trace the wood grains in the table, following the sweeping curves and knots with my fingernail. What I’d give to get insidehismind, if only for some noise.
I can’t bear it any longer. “I like her,” I say, nodding toward the door.
He lifts his eyebrow, a perfect arch of white hair. “Most do.”
“She’s nice.”Unlike you.
Silence falls again, and I internally curse myself for making it awkward. My ears burn under his gaze.
The king leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His forearms flex, a thick vein rising. “You have trouble following the rules,” he says.
“Rules are meant to be broken, don’t you know?”
“No, Princess.” He turns his face, and the candlelight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the plane of his cheek. From this angle, he looks almost beastly. Powerful. “Rules keep you safe.”
His voice drops in timbre, deep as thunder.
My heart quickens its pace.
I’ve read the royal directory before. In his entry, there’s not much there. A few sentences at most. King Aethan Nastrond is known for his cold demeanor, with a personality to match the rugged terrain. Ascended to the throne while he was young. Then one word:secretive. No physical description.
The king is hiding something. Something he doesn’t want the rest of us to know.
I flick through the options, considering each one: fertility issues, perhaps, or a sex dungeon. A hoard of the undead penned in the backyard.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I got out of my cage?” I whisper.
His jaw unhinges, dropping an inch before he snaps it shut again. “Tell me, how did you summon the clawbeast?”
That’s what he wants to know? Not how I managed not to starve or freeze to death? “None of your business, Blizzard Balls.”
He bristles, shoulders rolling, jaw clenching. “I’m the king. Everything is my business here.”
“Not me. You’re not my king.”
I glare at him, hoping he can feel every ounce of my hatred.Motherfucker. Land-dwelling King of the Assholes.But theseinsults never reach his ears. I’m nearing the line, and one more wrong word from my mouth and it’s back to the ice cage for me.
The king folds his arms on the table and leans forward. “Especially you, Sunshine.”
I narrow my eyes. That word, from his lips. It almost sounded likeSunfish.
He smiles, white teeth glinting in the candlelight. Round, white teeth.
I shake my head, clearing my suspicion. I’m exhausted, and a week in freezing water hasn’t done my brain any favors.
His big dark secret is probably just a sex dungeon, nothing more. I’m letting my imagination get away from me.
At that moment, Deirdre returns, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl. She sets it before the king and sweeps her assessing gaze over me. Pleased, she nods.
“Ready for bed, love? I’ll get you settled in the East Wing.”
The king dips his spoon into the porridge. “The queen’s quarters?” he protests.
“Yes, Sire. Unless you’d rather give heryourbed, it’s the only room halfway decent these days.”
