Page 8 of King Elijah (The Zemiran Chronicles 2)

“I’m not hungry,” she finally said, “if that is what you’re here for.” Her eyes turned to the half-eaten biscuit in his hand.

The pallor of her face was gone—the part of her that appeared fragile was a façade. However, it was clear she was hungry, starving even.

Elijah tilted his head to the side, studying her.

“Eventually, you will need to eat,” he said. “I need you alive so you can share all your dirty secrets with me.” He bit into his biscuit, swallowing a bite. “And this is mine, by the way.”

One more bite finished the biscuit off, and Elijah brushed his palms together, the tiny crumbs hitting the floor.

“If you think intimidation will work, Elijah,” she said, not addressing him as King, “you’ll have to work much harder than that. You see, I am perfectly fine with dying. I’m fine staying down here for months as you starve me to death.”

His upper lip twitched before he stomped forward, pressing his forehead against the bars of the cell.

“I’m willing to negotiate your freedom, little elf,” he said, watching her huff out a laugh while holding her smug expression. “If we can come to an amicable agreement about what I need to know, that is.” The lack of control of his wrath stirred his magic inside his bones, threatening to escape.“We can end this ridiculous feud and stop whatever war your leader is trying to create by having me dead. I don’t want to hurt you.” He lifted his chin, taking a tiny step back. “Tell me what I need to know, and then I will consider releasing you from this cell.”

She cocked her head, her dry lips turning down into a frown, but her silence seemed like she was considering his deal.

“Is this about politics?” he asked, waiting once again for her to answer.

“Politics?” she repeated as if the word were poison on her tongue.

Elijah narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s always about politics. There are nine other kingdoms in our world, and we are not alike. Most of my assassination attempts were from my own people. I would have noticed you in the streets.” He flashed her a crooked smile. “So, that only tells me that you come from somewhere else.”Elijah paused again before asking, “Who sent you?”

The corners of her mouth tugged upward, her eyes daring to challenge him. “Like I said . . .” She stretched out her legs and bent her elbows, placing her hands behind her head as she leaned against the back cell wall. “I’m fine right here”—she paused for a long moment—“until I die.”

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be a fool!” His voice came out harsh and venomous. “You being a woman does not save you from my punishments. I will treat you like any other prisoner I’ve kept down here.”

She pursed her lips. “Can’t wait,” she sneered.

As Elijah studied her, she shifted under his gaze. His presence made her uncomfortable, he could tell. The elf was trying once again to appear brave.

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “You don’t fear death?” he asked. “To be tortured so ruthlessly that you beg for it all to stop?”

She remained silent for a moment, time seeming to slow down around them. The elf then stood up, moving toward Elijah slowly and deliberately, reaching the bars of her cell and gripping them with long, feminine fingers. Her gaze was unwavering and intense, and Elijah forced himself to tear his eyes away for a second.

When he glanced back, something had changed. The elf’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Her expression was still firm, but he could see the effort to control whatever wave of emotion the woman had been struck with. He hadn’t realized how close they were standing until he felt her shaky breath ghost across his face. Elijah took a deep, steadying breath, but then he caught her scent, which did nothing but make him unsteady. She smelled like something profound and natural, like an ocean breeze pulling off the water and through the trees. Elijah felt his lips part on instinct as he leaned even closer to her. He brought his own hands up to rest on the bars. Their fingers now touched, but neither seemed willing to move away.

He searched her deep, blue eyes and saw a woman who never belonged in a cage. She was a warrior, through and through, and her need to roam the land was the most fundamental building block of her existence.

“My name is Janelle,” she said surprisingly but with a baleful stare.

Her giving her name was a bit of a shock. Elijah truly believed he would have had to torture the name out of her.

“I tell you this,” she continued, taking another step closer to the cell bars until her forehead pressed against them, “because I want you to think about my name when you inflict whatever pain you have planned to get the answers that I will never tell.” Her head tilted to the side, continuing to bait him. “And then when you eventually kill me, because you will, I hope you hear that name in your dreams until it haunts you for the rest of your pathetic existence.” The elf’s face twisted in disgust.

Elijah slammed his fist against the iron bars, causing her to jump back, her body freezing in place like a statue, arms raised in a defensive position.

But before he could reply, he regained his composure, allowing a smile to tug at his lips.

“You think if I kill you, I will have trouble sleeping at night?” he said in a flat tone but found his fingers curling into a fist again at his side, his own doubts laid loosely on his tongue.

She shrugged a shoulder, finally relaxing, and lifted her chin again in defiance.

“You don’t think my people prepared me for this?” she asked. “My being caught?” Her lips flattened to a grimace. “If you believe that because you have me locked in a cell, that you’re suddenly safe, well then, you have no idea what is still coming for you.”

Elijah pondered. If she worked for someone, they would, without a doubt, send another if she failed. Whoever sent her wanted the King of Zemira dead, and no bars in a dungeon would stop that from happening.

The king stepped back and looked her over. The only information he had was that she was Elven, her name was Janelle, and she had a Newick gem in her possession.

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