Page 14 of A War of Three Kings

I glance back to the crumpled, sleeping form of Hawthorne in his armchair and my blood runs cold.

“Are other fae planning to cross into this realm after you, to kidnap consorts for themselves? Is there a fae army planning an invasion?” Edmund’s eyes don’t break from mine. The roar and crackle of the fireplace intensifies as the flames flare up, bathing half his profile in red light and giving him a ghoulish cast. He has fire magic. I file that fact away in the back of my mind.

“There are no other fae coming. They wouldn’t dare,” I say very slowly, as though speaking to an idiot.

“But you did.” Edmund points a finger at me. “How many should we expect?”

“There is NO ONE coming for me, Edmund!” I yell, losing my temper.

He turns away. “Mother, have the guards drag young Hawthorne out of here and explain what they are going to do to him.” Edmund’s eyes flick back to me. “This is on you, Aldrin. You can stop this at any time.”

The High Priestess stalks around the table and out into the corridor. My heart hammers painfully as two guards enter the room. They grab Hawthorne, pull him from his seat and violently shake him awake.

“What are you going to do to him?” Panic ripples through me. “STOP! Whatever it is, do it to me instead!”

Hawthorne’s wide eyes dart from me to Edmund and back. There is a plea within them—as if I can do anything to save him.

I try to rise from my chair and fight against the bindings with physical strength. I call on the trickles of my magic to dispel Edmund’s air wield, not caring if I show my hand, but it is no use. He is too strong.

I thrash against my restraints as they drag Hawthorne out of the room, causing him to fall and stumble on leaden legs. When he disappears, he starts screaming. The hoarse desperation of it absolutely shatters me.

“NO! NO! NO! You can’t. Aldrin! No! Aldrin!”

I can’t get to him, despite how I hammer and claw at my bindings.

The slapping sound of a fist beating flesh hits my ears, followed by choking coughs. A stomach blow. I flinch. Guards grunt and call out to each other as Hawthorne resists them.

Horror churns through me. My sheer impotent helplessness threatens to undo me, here in front of this man. I was supposed to protect Hawthorne. To protect all my people.

“What are you going to do to him?” I growl at Edmund, reaching for a plate to throw at him right as he leans forward and drags it away. I grab his wrist and squeeze it in a bruising vise, bringing our faces close, but not close enough for me to strike him. “What the FUCK are you going to do to my man?”

Hawthorne continues to yell and beg, but his voice grows distant. He calls my name again and again. It makes my heart stop.

Edmund rips his hand back, then reclines in his chair. Satisfaction fills me at the red ring my grip left on his wrist.

He examines me, tapping a finger on his cheek, but there are cracks in his cool facade. “We’re going to torture your people one by one until you give us the information we need to safeguard our realm from the fae. Real torture, with hot irons and scalpels.”

The room tilts on its axis as the blood drains from my head. Nothing feels real. My whole body shakes as waves of shock crash over me again and again.

This cannot be happening.

There is absolutely nothing I can do to save my people. I cannot even lie, because it would be discovered soon enough. Sickening dread fills me, and I think I will vomit.

“I have told you nothing but truths!” I protest.

“Shame,” Edmund says. “Maybe you’ll feel differently when we show you the ruined husk of that boy tomorrow and pick another fae to work on. Maybe the pretty woman with purple hair?”

“I will kill you for this, Edmund! The gods save me, I will do it!” I scream at him, thrashing forward in my bindings like a wild animal, and he recoils. My scalp prickles where the tips of my crown of horns materializes through my flesh, and my fingernails become blackened claws.

“I will peel your skin from your flesh and grind your bones in the same way you do to my people! I will sell your damned corpse to whatever fae wants to eat it. You will not get away with this.” My clawed fingers run gashes through the top of his desk as though the wood is warm butter. “IknowKeira, no matter what the fuck you say. She will never forgive you.”

Guards rush in, so many that they crowd the room. Edmund’s magic wraps around me with ropes of air, attempting to pin my arms to my sides and bind my legs.

Before I am rendered useless, I manage to punch one man in the face, and blood sprays from his broken nose. As he staggers backward, another guard attempts to lift me from the seat and I headbutt him.

I turn savage, snarling with my lips peeled back from my teeth.

I can’t get twin images out of my head: one of Hawthorne being dragged from this room with fear painted across his features, and another of him being sliced open while still alive.

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