Page 17 of A War of Three Kings

A silence stretches out between them. My stomach does backflips.

Keira’s entire body ripples with tension.“The highborn prison suites.”

“The highborn prison suites.” Edmund’s voice is low, deflated.

“I want them working on it immediately,” Keira says.

“My condition is that you are never alone withhim,” Edmund cuts in swiftly. “With any of them. You can speak to him during family meetings. That starts from now, Keira.”

An arm reaches into the cell and pulls Keira out by the elbow. She shoots a glance at me over her shoulder. There is so much said in that one look: the longing in her hazel eyes, the shock in her parted lips, the way her body doesn’t want to leave me behind.

The door slams shut, and the impact reverberates through me. It is a symbol for where we currently stand, on either side of a divide that I can’t penetrate on my own.

Food and drink are brought to me as the shadows move across the room, then give way to full darkness. An entire day passes, and I wonder if Edmund has lied to his daughter.

Then the door crashes open and multiple guards stream in, armed to the teeth with swords, axes and daggers.

One tosses a black canvas bag at me. “Put this over your head. We are transporting you.”

I turn it over in my hands and raise an eyebrow at them. The guards part down the middle and Edmund strolls in.

“Didn’t think we’d allow you to map out our fortress, did you? Put it on, or I’m leaving you to rot in here.”

“Are you always this much of a bastard, Edmund?” I say as I put the damn cloth over my head and hope for the best.

Nerves run through me like a fire that erupts from deep in my belly and sparks up my limbs. I have no control over my life, and it is terrifying.

My arms are bound behind my back and the bag is tightened around my neck with a collar. The fabric is suffocating. I cannot see a thing, and the air becomes hot and humid from my breath.

The guards lead me through the corridor, purposely banging me into corners. I ram my elbows into their ribs, eliciting pained grunts. I am not warned when we reach a staircase; my ankles smash into stone. As I pitch forward, the guards laugh and taunt.

I tear the feeble rope from around my wrists, throwing my hands out, but before they collide with the steps, someone grabs the back of my tunic and drags me upright.

“Big fucking men, are you, taking advantage of a blinded and bound fae?” I whip around toward the source of the voices. “I could crush your skulls with my bare hands. Who among you are brave enough to fight me? I’ll even keep the hood on so you have a chance.”

I lunge forward, and multiple bodies back away from me with a hiss of breath and scuffing of boots.

“I didn’t think so. Stop messing with me, or I’ll break your faces.”

“Don’t antagonize him.” Edmund’s voice seems distant, pained. “My daughter is already angry enough with me.”

One man grabs me by the elbow and makes an effort to guide me. These guards respect Keira. They don’t want to upset her. Then I remember she probably rode with many of them into their great hunts of vulnerable, lost fae.

Anger, the bitter sense of betrayal—it all rears up in me in the most sickening way. Righteous indignation is so much easier to hold on to than this vulnerability, and the fear that comes with it.

We reach the top of the long flight of stairs and a warm breeze hits the exposed skin of my lower arms and chest. We are outside. Interesting. Orders are called out, then I am swiftly dragged inside and up more flights of stairs.

We stop and someone pulls the sack off my head. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the warm, flickering light in the room.The humans all stand an arm span back from me, as though I will bite them.

I might.

I glance around to get my bearings. Multiple fire orbs hang high along a ceiling with scalloped architraves and simple chandeliers. The smooth stone walls are either occupied by bookshelves or adorned by tapestries. Red velvet couches and armchairs take up much of the sitting room, with a mahogany table in the center boasting a crystal decanter of wine.

I peer into an adjoining dining area. There is a large, ornately carved table laden with a banquet of food and multiple jugs of wine. It has a dozen chairs around it, and there is a bar along the back wall with a variety of liquors behind glass doors.

All of this is simple compared to my palace, but after the last number of days, it feels like luxury.

I crane my neck to gaze through the other doorways and find multiple bathtubs filled with water, and pallets made up with pillows and quilts.

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