Page 42 of King Elijah (The Zemiran Chronicles 2)

Nineteen

THE MAGICAL ROPEburned against Janelle’s wrist, but she resisted the urge to wince at the pain. She wouldn’t show Elijah any weakness. Not anymore. She had already shown him too much of herself; it made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Instead of worrying about the king and his vacillating ethical integrity, she needed to focus on getting out of the restraints. It was time to escape and find her brother on her own.

If she showed herself outside the gates of Kieran’s property with King Elijah standing next to her—alive—Kieran wouldn’t kill her. That would be too kind. Instead, she would become his property, more profoundly than she already was. She would become nothing but a prized broodmare, locked away—her only purpose: to be bred and birth more hybrid elves for their coven.

The man was wicked, fundamentally cruel, and unforgiving. Janelle wouldn’t subject herself to a life as his puppet. She would rather die than let him touch her.

She wanted to marry for love.

That wasn’t love.

After a few hours of traveling north, the coolness of the air dipped further. She shivered as the wind picked up—they were only a few miles from Whitestone Mountain. It was so dark they could barely see the path in front of them.

Once they reached the terrain, the snow was thick, at least eight inches high, and though they were on a horse, the breeze blew against the direction of their path, making it harder to move through.

“Do you need another blanket?” Elijah asked, leaning over Janelle’s shoulder. His face was so close to her cheek that she felt his lips graze against her skin.

Her stomach did an involuntary flip before she looked away.

She didn’t want to need anything from him.

“No, I’m fine,” she said stubbornly. She would rather pretend to be unaffected by the bitter cold than give Elijah one more ounce of control over her.

He leaned back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, pointing to a tiny stream ahead. “We can at least get some fresh water.”

The stream wasn’t frozen over yet. Elijah and Janelle dismounted and opened the saddlebags. Elijah grabbed two canisters from his bag, walked to the stream, and filled each bottle. The metal containers felt ice cold against her fingers when he handed one off to her. She drank it slowly, feeling the coolness down her throat. Elijah reached down and untied the magically infused rope that bound her to him. Janelle subtly scratched the patch of skin around her wrist and sighed.

“Thank you,” she said, not looking up to meet his eyes.

They both sat on a thick stump above the snowbank facing the brook. The moonlight peaked through the trees and cast light on the stream, the water rolling over each rock in its path with the heavy current.

Elijah reached for one of the bags and pulled out a blanket, covering her shoulders despite her earlier refusal. She tensed at first, her brain doing rapid-fire calculations to determine if this was an acceptable amount of weakness to show or not. Ultimately Janelle was too cold to come to a decision. The part that always wanted to fight went slack, and she pulled the blanket tight around her body. She could allow herself just a little comfort. As she lifted her head to the skies, a tiny snowflake hit her nose.

“Do you even like being king?” she asked, turning back to him. “You don’t come off as someone who would do well behind closed gates.”

He threw his head back, a hearty laugh escaping him.

Janelle frowned at him, not sure what to make of this response.

“You’re telling me you enjoy staying in one place your entire life? Having people constantly waiting on you?”

“As opposed to what?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know. Traveling from kingdom to kingdom. Meeting new people who aren’t ogling over who you are?”

“Ogling?” he repeated with a small laugh.

She mirrored his smile. “I would hate the attention. And I most certainly wouldn’t want the responsibility.”

“Like making sure assassins don’t break into your kingdom and slaughter your people?”

She scrunched up her face. “I think ‘slaughter’ is a little dramatic. But still, I’m sorry about that.”

“I know,” he said, turning to the water. “But if we don’t start being civil to each other, fighting Kieran may be impossible, and then you will be just as much a prisoner as I am, I guess.”

She shook her head. “I will kill myself before that happens.” She regretted the words the moment she said them. Despite her bleak future and her love of hyperbole, she truly believed that life was always better than surrender. Thinking of Kieran as her husband caused her stomach to churn; she knew that life would be a fate worse than death.

Elijah reached out, startling her, and took her small hand in his. Despite the chill in the air, his skin was warm, and she didn’t object as he gently moved her hand to face palm up.

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