Page 32 of The Crowned Fae Queen
Pressure builds in my chest. Then I laugh. “If you’re the best, then I needn't worry about my life, should I?”
Chains rattle loudly as the assassin lunges forward, baring her teeth like a rabid dog. I catch her face in one hand, pressing my thumb and pointer finger into her cheeks.
“How did you get mixed up in the business of death?” Despite how messy her face is, I can see her youth when I’m this close. The perfect skin of a newborn baby still stretched tight across her face, the vibrancy of adolescence, but the one thing that hides her age the best is the lack of innocence in her eyes.
Her brown, near black, gaze has seen things someone her age should not have. The mourning of her innocence hits me like lightning. With a huff, I let her face go. Iri hovers near, ready to jump between us.
“Relax. I didn’t wear this nice gown to come down here and ruin it by fighting with her.” I take two steps back until I’m behind Iri. “I’m just curious.”
“It’s never a good thing when you’re curious.” Iri shakes his head, pacing between us.
I turn my attention back to the girl, trying to ignore the musty, damp smell of her prison cell. “Who hired you?”
Martina smiles with missing teeth and a bleeding lip. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“I just want to know who sent you.” My annoyance bleeds into the words. “You see, time is ticking, my dear. Every second I waste trying to pry information out of you, more and more of the people out there on the streets,” I point out the tiny barred window. “Die. They don’t die a fast death given to them by ‘the best of the best’ assassins. No, they die slowly and painfully. So,” I clear my throat and straighten my posture. “I’ll ask again. Who sent you?”
Martina just laughs. “You think you can manipulate me into feeling sympathy because I’m young? That alone would be enough to get me to talk? You stupid water fae. I don’t even have feelings.”
“Take her chains off.” I shrug.
“What?” Mathis stutters.
“What?” Martina echoes.
“I’m sorry, did I not speak clearly enough? Take her fucking chains off. Give her a bath; she reeks. Also, feed her. A proper meal, not what we would normally give a criminal.” A small part of me knows what I say is wrong. We don’t just let criminals, especially well-trained ones, get treated like guests. The chances of her escaping would increase with the amount of time we let her view the workings of the castle.
But the assassin, no matter her skill, is simply a child. She was hired because she’s young and disposable but she may also have been hired because, she’s someone who can be pitied. And I do pity her. I’m not about to take the life of a child or let her go hungry. Not now. I mean, I was going to, but let’s just call that a lapse in judgment.
I turn swiftly on my toes, waiting only for the briefest of moments for a guard to open the cell door. The doors whine on the hinges.
“Buttering me up won't do you any good either.”
Forcing myself forward, I refuse to look back. “You’re right. It won't. But it will do you some good.”
Iri’s strong presence follows behind me. Together, we leave behind the sound of the keys twisting inside of locks and chains falling to the ground. I lift my dress over each step as we clamber out of the dungeons and out into the lantern-lit hall.
You’re going to let her go.
A statement and not a question.
Why?
Oh, wait, there it is.
“She’s practically still a babe in her mother’s womb, she is so young.” I wring my hands together, knowing I am likely making the wrong decision.
“I can’t let that happen,” Iri says.
“What?” I whisper, closing the space between us.
“Syren, she tried to kill you. She isn’t leaving the castle grounds. This fine meal you’ve suddenly provided will be her last.” He leans closer to me. “There are consequences to our actions. Young or old.”
“I am the Queen. This is a partnership.” The tip of my finger brushes his silky dress top as I gesture between us.
“And yet I still find myself the King,” Iri says with a cocky smirk. “I think that still means I’m in charge.”
I’m going to kick him right in the nads.
