Page 14 of The Curse of a Kingdom
He halted, but his hand jerked her around, as if trying to get her to look up.
Fael’s words echoed in her mind, not to look the king in his eyes unless he addressed her. Keeping her gaze low was imperative. If the king was the man covered in shadows, it would be hard to tell where his eyes were to avoid them.
“Why would magical humans be so bold as to come to my home without an invitation?” His crisp voice commanded answers, and she felt a spike of magic trailing down her skin, an icy caress that made her want to speak truths.
“The king asked a question.” Fael’s voice shook her out of her trance, and she lifted her head to the fae, and then her gaze trailed up, as if called by something larger. A prickle of recognition lit behind her panic state, a familiar warmth that extended through her body.
Her eyes came to the throne chairs. The polished wood was stained black. Then she studied a set of booted feet, pants black like a starless night. Her gaze went up and up; her heart stumbled in her chest when she met the eyes of forest and moss.
Arkimedes sat on the throne like it was made for him, wearing a black silk tunic that hugged his broad shoulders and skimmed down his chest and narrow waist. They’d adorned the fabric with gold embroidery of a design she couldn’t place from this far.
A copper crown, made of thorns and twisted branches, lay on top of his thick brown hair. He looked different from the night before, but it was the same man who’d been kissing her lips.
He stared back at her and his forehead twisted into a frown. Anger, she realized, burned in the pit of her stomach, but it wasn’t hers anymore.
Had it been his anger driving her short mood this whole time? No, if she looked deep within herself, she could feel her own braiding itself with his. The fire driving her was his and hers.
His intense green gaze stayed with her for a while longer as the silence stretched. Her skin went cold and clammy all at once, confusion and horror settling in the pit of her stomach.
Why was Arkimedes sitting on the throne, wearing a goddamn crown that looked made for him? Why were his eyes so distant? What was going on?
“Arkimedes.” The words left her lips with a gasp.
“No shit.” Devon’s voice was a whisper or maybe it was drowned by the loud drumming inside her ears.
Arkimedes looked down at her without any recognition in sight. She knew he was a master at masking his emotions, but he had never done so with her, not even when they hadn’t known each other well. Much less now that they’d bonded and she could feel his powerful emotions, as if he were shouting them down their connection.
“Release them at once,” Arkimedes growled. His features remained impassive. The only sign that he was as affected as she was the whitening in his knuckles against the arm of his chair.
The king’s shadow twitched, and his voice bloomed with curiosity. “Do as he says.” He waved a hand in dismissal, but she could feel the hot coals of his eyes burning her skin.
Herous’s fingers dug deeper into her arm, and she gasped from the pain. The sudden movement was a shock to her system. “But, sir, this witch—” the man next to her started, but no other words came out, just a gurgling sound low in his throat.
She turned to him, and even though she couldn’t see his face behind his helmet, the skin of his neck turned purple and blue.
The hand that held her twitched and dropped, and she skittered away. Her soulmate was now standing from his throne. His hand reached out toward them. Shadows enveloped him like a storm; wispy arms flared from him as his aura deepened to the color of slate.
Plumes of smoke emanated like waves, and the air around the throne room became musty with the scent of magic. Another gurgling sound and the guard fell to his knees. Other than his choking noises, silence descended upon the room.
No one moved a muscle to help or said anything.
“I said, release them.” Arkimedes’s voice was icy, unlike she’d ever heard it before. A shiver ran down her spine as the man next to her fell to the ground into an unmoving pile.
The king’s hand grasped Arkimedes. The love of her life stepped back and sat on the throne once again, as if nothing had happened. His eyes avoided hers entirely. “Pick him up and take him to the infirmary,” the king said to his soldiers.
Two men from the back rushed to pick Herous from the ground and dragged him out of the way.
The king stood from his throne, the shadows that enveloped him dissipating momentarily. His lips were full and youthful, as though he couldn’t be older than thirty. Straight nose, thick black brows that framed cerulean eyes. His hair fell past his shoulders, silver, the color of starlight. He looked too much like Arkimedes.
She swallowed and looked away, hoping her curiosity didn’t mean he would kill her now.
His frown deepened. “I must admit I’m curious as to why my heir has spared you two.”
Heir, as in . . . Arkimedes was a goddamn prince?
CHAPTERSIX
NAVA
