Page 134 of The Spark that Ignites
A slew of curses tumbled out of her mouth, followed by, “I don’t know what’s going on or why I’m here but—pleasedon’t hurt me.” She was helpless without her magic. Her hand slowly slid toward the candlestick, but his black eyes darted to the movement, and she froze.
“You just expanded my vocabulary with those filthy words.” He breathed a humourless laugh. “And why would I hurt you, angel?”
“What am I doing here?” She pinched her pyjamas. “Where are my clothes and,damn it—” Bringing her fist down on the quilt, she snarled, “who changed me while I was unconscious?”
His lips twitched. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Like a disgruntled chipmunk.”
The condescending tone only stoked her rage, and her cheeks flamed.
Unclasping his cloak, he tossed it on the chair, his wrinkled black outfit appearing as if he’d just rolled out of bed. “First, I must apologize for bringing you here in such a nasty way. This wasn’t what I had arranged. Though I heard you bit Brennen, which I admit, is quite hilarious.” He chuckled a dark shadowy sound. “I prefer to handle these matters myself.”
Oh gods, what did he mean by ‘handle’? Her breath thinned and she shrank back on the bed. A single trickle of blood trailed the side of his face. Had the crown cut him? He showed no sign of pain or discomfort or that he noticed at all, his ebony gaze wholly focused on her and her alone. Emmery’s heart raced as she tracked the crimson droplet’s slow descent, desperate to look anywhere but directly in his eyes for fear of getting lost in the darkness.
The King cleared his throat. “However, you should know you’re safe. No one will harm you while you’re under my care, Emmery.” Her stomach did a spectacular flip at her name in that accent. It was heavier than Callias’s.
And, of course, he knew her name. Because this was pre-emptive.
He must have known who she was that day in Malheim, and he was toying with her.
Emmery peered past his cold mask, and in his bottomless eyes, flickered a playful spark. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, offset his soft lips and a gentleness lingered under that peeled back layer.
He didn’tlookentirely insane. Or violent.
Maybe he was telling the truth and wouldn’t hurt her.
Her racing heart slowed, and she blurted, “You aren’t how I thought you would be.”
The corners of his mouth twitched again. “How did you imagine me?”
“Well—” she started, not sure how to put it. How had she imagined him? With horns, a curly moustache, perhaps a tail—a ridiculous villainous monster. She supposed the crown was close enough. “I thought you would be ...older.”
His eyes glittered as she choked on her words. “How old do you think I am?” Destonne leaned down, splaying his fingersover the quilt and raised a brow at her silence. For all she knew he could be twenty-five or three hundred if he aged like her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t ... look my age either.”
The blood paused at his temple and pooled at his cheekbone, though he gave no indication he noticed. “I’m the same age as you if that provides any comfort.” Removing a black handkerchief from his sleeve, he dabbed the blood. As he tugged off his gloves, the stream of red trickled down his fingers and settled into the creases of his nails. “You must have questions.”
That was an understatement.
“Some answers would be nice,” she shot back.
“Unfortunately for you, dinner is a requirement for those answers.” He seemed to look right through her, picking her apart and revelling in it. “Please let Talia tend to you and donotattack my help. You put up quite a fight when you got here. Thus, the restraints.”
He nodded at her marked hands and Emmery glowered back.
With a quirk of his brow he added, “I look forward to our dinner.”
And then the King exited the room leaving her gaping like a fool.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Emmery and the wolf watched each other as she waited in the dining room.
Despite her overwhelming desire not to attend dinner, she’d let Talia drag her through the stark white castle with her need for answers outweighing her pride. She hadn’t seen a single soul as the chambermaid led her through a series of cold hallways, the castle shockingly empty.
But as she stepped into the lowlight of the dining room and took her seat at the candlelit table, Emmery’s stomach dropped, and her palms grew sweaty with anticipation. She had no clue what to expect. No idea how mad this king truly was or if she was in horrific danger.
Now Emmery sat on a white chair, at a white square table, in an entirely white room, studying the covered dishes as she waited, her foot bobbing impatiently.
