Page 82 of A Dance With Fire
And he looked meaner, if that were somehow even possible, his expression graver than Valerio’s could ever be.
His black eyes flicked along the line of Fae males, who suddenly stood as rigidly as soldiers.
Valerio took a step forward first and bowed low to the waist. “Welcome back, Your Majesty.”
“Rise.” His voice was deep and as grave as his expression.
Valerio rose and met his father’s gaze.
“How many lost?” the king asked.
“Only two.”
The king’s lips pressed together. “Prisoners?”
“One.”
“Good.” Then he turned and stared right at Shula.
She felt her whole body go rigid. It was like staring at a legend come to life and she had no idea how to react. She’d heard stories of Emperor Laurel of Illyk, but the King of Seelie had been little more than a myth until she met this group of Fae. She had no stories to base her assumption of him on. Was he cruel or kind? She had no idea. He cut a cruel and imposing figure, and it made a sliver of unease slide down her back.
“Shula Azzarh, I presume?” She swore she heard amusement in his voice.
“Yes.”
She heard one of the Fae growl, though she couldn’t be sure which one.
The king’s brows pulled together, and his lips pressed into the thinnest of lines. “I may be a king without a crown or a throne, but I would think even you would know that I deserve a modicum of respect.”
Her face heated.
Of course. He wanted her to bow to him. The thing was, Shula didn’t want to. Why should she?
“All due respect, you were little more than a myth until a few weeks ago, so forgive me if I’m reluctant in your presence.”
Why should she bow to someone who had done nothing for her? She harbored as much respect to him as she did the human royals, and she knew it showed in her disdainful features.
She had no respect for those who condoned the kidnapping of innocents. And if it would be the death of her, then so be it. After all, she wasn’t safe anywhere.
For a moment, the only sounds that could be heard was the whistling of the wind and her own thumping heartbeat. She wondered what was running through the king’s mind as he looked down at her with his cutting gaze.
He grunted. “Quite right.” Then he turned away, dismissing her easily enough. “Let us feast in the war room. I’d have a word with you and yours, Valerio.” And then the king was walking towards the castle, his entourage following behind him, save one.
Golden eyes stared at her intently, and the Fae man remained unmoving. He appeared to be paralyzed; his chest didn’t even seem to be rising and falling with inhalations. His attention made Shula uncomfortable. Like he could see something inside of her that the others couldn’t.
“Weylyn, this is Shula.” Clay slapped a hand of the Fae’s—Weylyn’s—shoulder. The Fae didn’t move.
He was tall, like most Fae males seemed to be in this group, but not muscular like them. He was lithe with brown skin and even darker hair that was in a long, loose braid hanging over his shoulder, revealing a single pierced ear with a gold hoop. Stubble darkened in a goatee around his mouth that was set in an unexpressive line.
“Um…” Shula felt his golden eyes piercing her soul. “Hello?”
Clay’s eyes rolled. “Greaaaat…”
“Is he okay?” Shula asked. He still hadn’t moved, and it was starting to make tingles to slide over her skin.
“Fine, just being an asshole.” Clay grabbed his arm. “Come on, the king wants to talk to us.” He tugged, hard, and that seemed to pull Weylyn out of his stupor. His eyes rolled, he blinked, and shook his head back and forth.
“You good?” Clay asked him with what seemed like amusement, but it also tasted a bit like a warning, though Shula didn’t understand it.
