Page 63 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen
“Sometimes, Floki,” Vidar said smoothly, raising his glinting red eyes at his general, “you are too comfortable when speaking.”
“Oh, come now, Your Highness. You must have some interesting news to share.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said that, and Kolfinna wasn’t sure what she was more shocked or confused by—the strange title, the interesting news, or the uncertainty of whether or not he was jesting or truthful.
“You already know.” Vidar pinned him with an unreadable look, before shifting his attention to Kolfinna. “All right, sinceFloki insists on it, do you know someone by the name of Hilda Helgadottir?”
A shiver ran down Kolfinna’s spine at the mention of Hilda and she forgot to breathe. She lowered her spoon, her stomach curdling as she remembered the cruel woman who had tortured her, beat her, and almost killed her. She could still remember the feel of the whip cracking the air and splitting her flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring.
She hadn’t meant to have such a visceral reaction, but her body instinctively went back to that windowless room where her screams had gone unheard. Breathing through the trauma, she stared at Vidar’s hard expression, and nodded.
She could feel everyone staring at her. Taking in her response.
Vidar ate a slice of meat, and then washed it down with a drink. The entire time, he continued to watch her. “She sent those assassins to your tower. I don’t know how she realized where you were located, but I have to assume that she infiltrated this fortress with her men.”
“Do you want me to kill her?” Floki was smiling gently when he looked at Kolfinna. The sincerity in his voice shocked her to her core—at how easily he spoke of murder.
“She is incredibly powerful,” Kolfinna said, stirring her stew to keep from trembling. “She has always hated me.”
She didn’t know why she’d supplied that small tidbit of information, but Rakel seemed to hook into it. She leaned forward, her white braids shifting as she canted her head. “Why does she hate you so much?”
“She is the head of the Hunter Association.” She clamped her mouth shut. Was it unwise to say more? But then again, she didn’t want to protect Hilda. That wicked woman would always make life harder for the fae. Her hesitation dissolved when she remembered the way Hilda had almost killed her and how her elfmagic had manifested. “She has always hated the fae. She once … she once captured me and?—”
She peered down at her stew, no longer wishing to talk more about it.
Vidar appraised her for a moment. “You were tortured, I assume?”
Kolfinna flinched.
“And youstilllike the humans?” Rakel lifted her white eyebrows.
Kolfinna ate her stew silently. The salty, brothy taste momentarily staved off the bitterness of Rakel’s words and the memory of her time with Hilda. It was best to forget it all, even if she sometimes still had nightmares about the helplessness she had felt, the terror that had gripped her so tightly. If it wasn’t for her elf powers, she would have died.
“The metal bars in your bedroom window were broken,” Vidar said carefully, and she could feel his eyes on her.
Blár had broken the bars, but he wouldn’t have expected Hilda’s assassins to use that to their advantage. She ate another spoonful of her food and raised her eyes to meet his. “Why do you always keep your wings out?”
He clearly didn’t expect that question, by the way he lowered his spoon. His dangerous black wings twitched, as if they knew they were the center of her question. The firelight in the room seemed to dance over the planes of his face. “Because I am half-elf,” he said slowly. “Most halflings are unable to dematerialize their wings.”
“It’s not for show?” She had truly thought he did it to appear more ominous, but now she felt silly for even asking. She didn’t really know much about the fae after all.
“Not all halflings have wings,” Rakel added. “If you do, and you have more fae than elf blood, most likely you will be able todematerialize your wings. But if you are more elf than fae, you likely won’t even have wings.”
Agnarr tore a piece of fluffy, fresh bread with his hands, and steam rose from the soft inside of it. “If you focus your healing powers on your wings, you could grow them back,” he answered between bites of bread. “Or you can have Commander Alfaer heal them. We can teach you how to dematerialize yours.”
“That’s unexpectedly kind of you,” Freyja said with a raised eyebrow.
He flashed her a smirk. “ByweI meant you or Floki.”
“There it is,” Freyja said with an eyeroll.
Kolfinna wasn’t sure what to feel about that. On one hand, she was curious, and terrified, to know what it would feel like to fly through the sky with her own wings. On the other hand, she didn’t welcomeanotherchange to her body.
The conversation drifted to another topic—Freyja and Agnarr arguing about the validity of having a unit of soldiers solely for aerial attacks—when Kolfinna got the strange, prickling sensation of someone staring at her. She shifted in her seat and glanced at the generals and Vidar, who joined in the discussion and made a few talking points about different units in the past who were successful, and then looked at the guards lining the wall. All the guards were either staring straight ahead, bored, or blankly at the floor. Except one.
The masked guard was staring straight at her. His dark hair was neatly slicked back, pulling more focus to his arctic eyes, framed by thick lashes. A jolt ran through her body at the darkening desire pooling in that familiar gaze.
Blár.
What was he doing here?
