Page 41 of A Bride for the Winter King
Magic or no magic, I’m still in charge. The gods can choke on their well-laid plans, because I’m not going to give in to their rather rude, beastly demands. I won’t lose my head because of one kiss. Instead, I’m going to figure out exactly how Lori managed to mimic Iris’s looks and why Seth hired her, and everything will be right again. Sara and Paul follow me to the entrance of the hall of mirrors, Seth quick on their heels.
“No one comes in until I come out.” I turn to Paul. “Make sure Seth gets comfortable in his room for a few hours. I want him to stay there until I say so.”
He nods and doubles back to block Seth’s path. The prince becomes quite agitated as Paul and the guards escort him off to the Snowhaven Inn, but I don’t spare him another thought, turning away from his vehement demands.
Sara lowers her voice. “Are you going to kill her?”
I consider her question for a moment. “I don’t know, yet.” With that, I grip the handle and jump into the carnival wagon.
Darkness shrouds the hall of mirrors, and my little spider slips from one shadow to the next, intangible as smoke. A normal Winter King would be powerless against that type of magic, but I’ve been raised in the chasm between light and dark. I know how to catch a beautiful shadow and crush it under the sun.
I call forth a spark of sunshine and bounce it off my knuckles. The gesture feels as natural as breathing, but also stiff and unrehearsed. Rusted from years and years of disuse. I almost never summon this light I once believed to be my birthright, the memories cradled inside its soft glow too painful to bear. But all self-made rules have exceptions.
With a loose grin, I let what little light is left inside the wagon pierce through me, becoming invisible, too.
The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout.
Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
Chapter 17
Itsy Bitsy Spider
LORI
The only place I could think of to escape was the hall of mirrors. Mirrors are my friends. Each of them is a way home, but not without my mask, and the silver key in my pocket is a very poor replacement for it. Elio is here with me. His bite of power drums through the wagon in lush, drugging waves, but for some reason, I can’t see him.
“I want to talk.” I say quietly enough not to reveal my exact position.
“You’re not a Spring seed, are you?”
The way his voice raises at the end feels forced. He already knows, and he’s trying to catch me in a lie.
“I’m a shadow,” I admit, trying to pinpoint his location. In the space between light and dark—where shadows flourish, I should have an advantage. It’s my home, but he eludes me.
“Looks like Seth hired himself an assassin. Is that why you look like her? I knew it had to be a glamor—” He scoffs, mostly to himself. “Were you hoping to get me alone? Slice my throat? Don’t bother because it wouldn’t work.”
“I’m no assassin, and I was born this way—no glamor needed.”
“Prove it.”
Spears of ice shoot out of the wagon’s floor, and a blinding sunshine blares through the claustrophobic space. Two bright halos brand my retinas, and I rush between the shiny shards, disoriented. My grip tightens over the hilts of my daggers, but they’re fractionated and incomplete.Shit.
Elio extinguishes my shadows one by one with his light, leaving me without a shield or weapons to defend myself. I dash toward the closest pane of glass, about ready to risk it all and enter the sceawere without my mask, but frost covers the mirrors. The thin film of ice blurs my reflection and makes it impervious to my magic, blocking my escape.
I collide with the mirror face-first.
Elio cages me in between the smooth glass and the hard planes of his chest—one I had explored and prodded at with hungry fingers mere minutes ago. “I’ve got you, now.”
Colors fly behind my closed lids, his body crushing me like a wall of ice. His hands are locked on my shoulders—the same hands he’d used to caress my back and hold me captive as he’d ruined me with his mouth for the whole kingdom to see. He’s not yet smothering the life out of me, but his confident hold is enough to steal my breath and spells out in no uncertain terms that I still live only because he wishes it to be so.
The icy mirror chafes my cheek as he slides a thigh between my legs and paws at my waist. The lack of restraint—or even the slightest hesitation—in his movements feels blasphemous, Elio acting as though he took ownership of my body with one kiss and is now merely mapping out his rightful property.
“What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” I snarl, the property in question having an entirely inappropriate reaction to his flag-planting antics. The sudden heat in my belly leaves me moreconfused than when I was on the cusp of drowning, and I blush a thousand shades offucked up.
His frosty breath stings the shell of my ear. “Either I check you for active glamors, or I kill you right here and now. Your choice, little spider.”
He looks ready to skewer me on ice if I so much as open my mouth again, and I offer him a tight nod.
