Page 136 of The Spark that Ignites
Emmery scowled at his attempt at humour. It hardly seemed appropriate to make jokes like they were old friends. She had no interest in sharing a laugh.
Reaching for the wine, Destonne grasped two glasses in one broad hand. “You really don’t have a sense of humour, do you?”
It was odd watching him serve her, and himself for that matter. Didn’t kings usually have help for that? But from the short table and low lighting this dinner held an intimate note.
Emmery swallowed hard as he handed her the glass, but the fruity aroma enveloped her, and she dared a sip. It was perfect—oaky and fruity and would surely numb the bitter sadness inside her.
“Lighten up, angel,” Destonne drawled, spinning the stem of his goblet between two fingers. “I promised you’re safe here and I keep true to my word. There’s no need to fear.”
Despite his jokes and mind for her safety, Emmery reminded herself who exactly sat across from her. Someone who hadmurdered Vesper’s sister, destroyed the kingdom capital of Ellynne, and killed his own father in cold blood. The man was a psychopath. He had planned this and brought her here against her will for a reason.
He wanted something from her. She just needed to find out what.
“Forgive me, my sense of humour has been stunted by my abduction.” That pulled at his lips and Emmery’s grip tightened on the table. “Clearly you brought me here for a reason. What do you want with me,Your Majesty?” She sprinkled extra condescension on the title.
“Please, call me Dez. No need for formalities. And abduction seems a bit harsh.” The King plucked a strawberry from the plate of fruit and popped it into his mouth. Rolling his eyes, he groaned dramatically. “You have to try these. They’re exquisite.”
Her eyes flicked between his hand, his scarred skin, and the crown. Like Brennen’s spike, it had to be painful. Blood clotted the thorns peeking out from his thick curls.
The drumming of his fingers slowed to a halt and Destonne cleared his throat, effectively snapping her from her trance. “You know,” he said, his tone violently soft, “staring is rude.”
Crossing his arms, his lean muscles strained against his black jacket. With the top few buttons open, she caught a glimpse of his scarred chest. How many times had the thorns torn through to cause that sort of damage? It was a medley of patchworked flesh.
“Sorry. I just—” she muttered and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Why do you have—” she tried and failed again. Oh gods, why was she even still speaking? The questions spilled out and she couldn’t help herself. “What happened to your—”
“The crown? The thorns?” He cocked an eyebrow, a wicked undertone to his words. “I made some bad choices. Trusted someone I shouldn’t have. You know all about that. And theseare the consequences.” He threaded his fingers together. “Shall we get down to business? We have much to discuss.”
“Discuss? This doesn’t feel much like a discussion as it does a kidnapping.” Emmery crossed her arms for emphasis and met his stare, unwilling to back down. Gods, he was intense. “I don’t have anything I wish todiscusswith you, though I’m sure you have demands.”
His dark eyes twinkled in a way that twisted her insides to knots. “And why is that?” he asked, the challenge etched into each word so aggressively Emmery could practically taste it in each syllable.
“You’re a despicable person. A tyrant really. You should be ashamed of yourself.” The words tumbled from her mouth, and she couldn’t help but match his provocation. “I don’t work with villains.”
“You think I’m a villain?” His face was impassable. “What would make you think that?”
“You’re a murderer. You killed Guthrie. You snapped his neck like it was nothing—”
“Did you know the man? Had you ever even spoken with him?”
Emmery frowned. “Well, no, but—”
“Then don’t assume I was in the wrong. You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
Gods, she wassotired of hearing that.
He popped a strawberry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“But you killed Izora. Her blood is onyourhands,” Emmery argued.
Seeming taken aback from her accusation, Destonne stilled, tension bracketing his shoulders for the briefest of moments. “That’s ... different.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “Killing is killing regardless of the intentions.”
He leaned forward on the table, his onyx eyes boring into her. “Tell me, angel,” he drawled, “since you’re so quick to point fingers. How many lives haveyoutaken?”
Emmery pulled her arms tighter. “We’re not talking about me, we—”
“Yes, but”—he sat back, popped another strawberry into his mouth, and watched her with hooded eyes as he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed—“if you’re on some moral tangent about the value of life, you should examine the blood on your own hands first.”
