Page 53 of A Bride for the Winter King
The Storm King has a jackal tattooed on his neck, his white beard and hair clashing with his stormy aura. A thundercloud sticks to his shoulder and blurs the shape of his body.
My throat shrinks, but I hold my head high. I thought we’d have a meal, too—not be paraded around like chattel up for auction.
Elio’s chair creaks as he stands. “Welcome to the Yule brunch, cousins.” He raises his champagne flute in the air. “I thank you for your generous bounty.”
Elio is not related by blood to every monarch of Faerie, but cousinis a word often used by the Fae to address a peer of equal power and not blood relation.
His gaze skids over me, his deep, leveled voice sparking goosebumps on my neck. I don’t have to look down to know my nipples are showing through the damn dress, but the bastard doesn’t spare me a full glance.
“Per tradition, the next challenge will be harsh, but the Frost Peaks have a way of weeding out the weak,” Elio muses.
The royals raise their glasses in the air.
Elio sits back down, and the tensed way he grips the armrests of his chair is the only clue that he saw me at all. I wait for him to slip up and steal a glance at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, hesparks up a conversation with the Red Queen sitting to his right. Nothing in his behavior hints at the secret we share, and my toes curl over sleek hardwood floors.
I’m number sixteen. Nothing more.
If I tricked myself into believing we’d shared a moment back in the hall of mirrors, and that a tiny, minuscule part of him actually didn’t want me to leave, it’s my own damn fault.
Whereas Elio treats me like I’m invisible, the Spring Queen, Freya, drills holes in my skull with her deep brown eyes. I bet she’s wondering why I look so much like her niece. Normally, I’d feel sympathetic, but it’s hard to feel anything but hatred toward the woman who condemned my brother to death.
Damian adjusts his napkin over his lap and utters a few words in her ear. Freya immediately stops staring and shakes her head, fanning herself dramatically.
The brides curtsy, and I imitate them. My court etiquette isn’t quite as polished as theirs, and Damian conceals a smile with his gloved hand.
“Now, follow me,” Sara commands, ready to escort us to the next challenge, no doubt.
Daisy leans closer, walking right behind me. “We have to talk.”
“I need to pee, first,” I lie.
The bathrooms are at the back of the inn, and I quickly make my way toward the ladies’ room. As soon as I’m out of view from the brides, I wrap myself in shadows and wait.
As I expected, Damian had the same idea. He quickly joins me at the end of the corridor, and the shadows around us swell, cloaking us in a darkness so deep, I bet none of the other royals could see through it.
“We can’t speak for long, or someone will notice that I’m gone,” he says.
The Shadow King isn’t wearing his mask, and it’s weird to see him whole. But I have a bone to pick with him and point my index finger at his face. “Why didn’t you tell me about my striking resemblance to Elio’s first wife? You knew her, yes?”
A sad smile curls down his lips, and he looks a little more like the haunted man I used to know. “Yes.”
My brows pull together, my trust in my sovereign and friend shaken. “So, from the first moment you saw me, you knew.”
“I wouldn’t have wished for you two to meet. Ever. Some scars are better left undisturbed.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I did try to figure out how it was possible, but I never found any tangible lead.”
“What really happened to her? Were you there the day she died?” I whisper, even though no one can hear us.
“I wasn’t. By then I was already cursed and avoided social gatherings at all costs.” He frowns, the straight line of his brow interrupted only by a faint scar. “I heard that one of the brides was killed back at the castle.”
“Yes, she turned to solid ice.”
His fists curl and uncurl at his sides. “Damn it, Lori. I’m not in charge here. I can’t protect you.”
“Don’t fret. YourbuddyElio isn’t that dangerous.” I emphasize the word, the sting of his lie by omission still raw.
A heavy sigh whistles out of his lungs. “Don’t say it like that. Elio and I haven’t beenfriendsin a long time. You need to be careful with him.”
Seth barrels down the corridor, his purple gaze searching the space in front of him like he can’t see us but is pretty certain that we’re close. He walks right past us and peeks inside the men’s room, and the women’s. “Are you guys having a secret bathroom meeting without me?”
