Page 11 of Thorn Season
I faltered—just for a moment. Then I lowered my lashes. Plastered on a brave, wobbling smile. “You read me too well, Your Majesty,though it’s notyourcompany I wish to avoid. I hear you’re hosting a Wielder at court this year.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m hosting anAnsoranat court.”
“Aren’t they mostly Wielders?”
“In this case, it’s of no consequence. It would be against any creature’s interest to lose control within my walls.”
I clenched my jaw behind my smile. Allegedly, a specter’s natural tendency was to extend outside a Wielder’s body—like a plant moving toward light, or a muscle craving to be stretched. It was therefore argued that specters might execute their Wielders’ desires even without conscious intention. That a specter’s free-flowing nature made it uncontrollable.Dangerous.
And that, in being unable to manage such volatile power, Wielders were no better than beasts untethered.
So why, after two centuries of slaughtering Wielders under the Execution Decree, would the kingdom welcome a foreign Wielder now? Ifthiswas of no consequence, why did people like Marge still have to die?
“You mustn’t worry yourself,” Erik said, in true hero fashion. “The creature wouldn’t do you any harm. And if ittried”—he twirled me again, dragged me firmly back—“where else could be safer than right here, beside your king?” His gaze dropped to my lips, heavy with suggestion.
I stilled. Flirtations were a regular part of the script. But the look in his eyes was something new... Something that made my blood spike with the threat of danger.
He gave a slow, curving grin. “I’ve startled you.”
“No, Your Majesty.” My chest fluttered rapidly, still trapped against his. I had to crane to meet his stare. “You could never startle me.”
I already know what you’re capable of.
Erik leaned down, and I fought the instinct to recoil. “My advisors are campaigning for Lady Perla.” His breath rippled against my ear; his fingers splayed across my back. “But I believe they’ve overlooked another, far more pleasing option.”
He pulled away, and I knew what he saw: the color draining from my face like wet paint dripping down a canvas. The young kingwaslooking to reaffirm his power over the kingdom.
Because apparently, he was searching for a bride.
“Tell me, Lady Alissa.” His thumb trailed down my spine. “Did you like the lemon cakes?”
My head emptied. And in the stillness, I finally heard the whispers. Finally saw the wide circle we’d created with our dance—an invisible barrier the other nobles hadn’t crossed, but had pierced with their razor-sharp notice.
Theyhad noticed what this dance had meant. And I hadn’t.
“Your Majesty.” I swallowed, heart racing. “You flatter me, but—”
“But.”Erik clicked his tongue, teasing. “Why must you follow that statement withbut?”
Because I’m not a damsel in need of rescuing. I’m one of the creatures you like to cut down.
I wanted to run, or throw up—or shove my hairpins into his jugular—but just then, the noise in the ballroom abruptly ratcheted. We broke eye contact, faces snapping in opposite directions. Messengers weaved through the crowd, leaving open mouths wherever they passed.
The word bounced toward me, an echo layered in different voices.
Hunters, Hunters, Hunters.
Goose bumps lashed up my skin.
Distracted by the chaos, Erik relaxed his grip, and I used the excuse to feign a stumble. He reached out to steady me too late; the sudden swarm of people created a barrier between us, and I let myself get swept away.
I jostled between the bodies, devouring scraps of conversations, head swiveling to find my father.
“They crashed through the estate.”
“A noble household!”
Oh, gods.
