Page 123 of Song of the Heart Scale
Not yet.
And if Thorne thought locking me up in silk sheets and gold furniture would make me a puppet queen—he had no idea the hell I was about to unleash on his ass.
The knockat the chamber door came too politely to be anything other than sinister.
Maeve flinched and her hand tightened around the cup of tea she’d just brought me. I slowly sat up, the ache nestled deep in my bones like a second heartbeat, dull and constant. My skin itched where Jacinda's magic had threaded through torn flesh, but at least I wasn’t bleeding anymore. That was progress.
A servant entered, his spine stick-straight and bowing so low I thought his head might touch the carpet. “His Majesty requests your presence for dinner, Lady Arya.”
My first instinct was to throw the tea at him.
Instead, I smiled sweetly and said, “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep dear Thorne waiting.”
Maeve helped me dress. Layers of silk and brocade wrapped around me like chains, each fold a reminder of the cage I was in. My limbs moved sluggishly, each step eliciting a twinge, but I refused to let it show. I would not limp into that dining room.
She did my hair and make-up and begged me to remove the permanent grimace that seemed to be etched on my face. I happily declined.
When dinner time came, we were picked up and directed by a group of servants and guards who looked like they could be working for the Secret Service.
The grand hall they led us to glittered like the inside of a gemstone. Candlelight danced off crystal goblets and golden plates. A long mahogany table stretched between us like a battlefield, and at the other end, Thorne sat dressed in imperial crimson, a lion draped in velvet.
“Arya,” he purred as I entered. “You’re looking... marginally less like death.”
“Wow. You really know how to charm a girl,” I muttered as I approached the table. “Did you read that inTyrants Weekly,or is it just a natural gift?”
He didn’t answer. He had never appreciated my humor. Which, honestly, was half the fun.
A chair was pulled back for me and I sat without thanking the servant. Small mercies. I had to conserve all my gratitude for not strangling Thorne with my napkin.
“You must be hungry,” he said, slicing into a succulent piece of lamb with the care of a surgeon.
I watched the juice seep out like blood. “Starving. Being tortured really works up an appetite.”
His knife stilled. “We did what was necessary. Order had to be restored.”
I raised an eyebrow. “By beating the citizens of Elaria half to death?”
“By punishing rebellion.”
I let his sentence hang in the air.
He smiled faintly. “You always did have a bleeding heart.”
Actually, if he knew therealArya, he’d know she didn’t even have a damn heart.
I shrugged one silk-clad shoulder. “You know what they say… empathy's the new black.”
Thorne poured wine into a goblet and slid it across the table. I didn’t touch it, due to the fact that me and alcohol didn’t mix well.
We ate in near silence, the tension between us sharp as broken glass. Then, halfway through the meal, he asked it.
“Do you know what your people call you now?”
I raised a brow.
“The Dragon's Whore.”
I blinked slowly. “That’s catchy. Do they put that on flags now, or is it just for the posters?”
