Page 64 of Thief of Souls
Heart pounding. Breath catching. I bite into my knuckle. It can’t be mere coincidence that Rhea accosted me half a minute before Malechus sought me out. “Did you do this?”
“Do what?” His voice is little more than a roughened purr.
Before I know what I’m doing, I shove him back against the wall, putting my knife to his throat. I can’t remember drawing it. It’s like I’m making jagged leaps forward in time. “Did you send Rhea?”
“Rhea?” Malechus tilts his head back, but he appears completely unconcerned by the threat of the knife. “Oh, I can see why you’ve caught Keir’s attention.” He suddenly fists a handful of my skirts. “Be careful, my lady. If you start such a dangerous game, I will finish it.”
“I’m not playing a fucking game.” That hand. In my skirts. I’m sweating again. Need to get out of here.
But he seems to sense it, because his thumb strokes against my thigh.
“I like games,” he whispers. “That’s the one thing my father taught me—set the board, cast your pieces in play, and see what reckless mayhem ensues. Every fae prince will show his true face when you twist their arms. This entire elaborate scheme is bringing all the secrets to the surface.”
What is he talking about?
“Stop it. Get your hands off me.”
“Is that truly what you want?” He steps forward.
Somehow, my back is the one against the wall. I can’t remember moving. Malechus captures my hand, squeezing it tight around the blade. He turns it, forcing the point against my throat.
Everything within me goes still with liquid anticipation. I want to scream with frustration that my body’s barely obeying me at all.
I need to twist this back on him somehow.
“Your father. The king of the Court of Blood? I thought… you’d be a little careful… about playing games with him.”
Malechus’s smile deepens as he leans closer. “Want to know a little secret, Merisel?”
I shake my head. Desperately.
But his lips graze my jaw, and it’s all I can do not to melt into him.
“In two days’ time, my father will no longer matter.” The knife trails down my throat, pressing against the curve of my breast. “I will finally have the power to destroy him.”
The horn. He has to be speaking of the horn.
“You’re going to overthrow him?” Maybe that’s what this is all about—he wants the power of the horn to wield against his father.
Malechus withdraws, just enough to search my expression. “Why the fascination with my father?”
“He’s the king. He’s the one who rules. You can play these pretty games, but none of them truly matter. He’s more powerful than you will ever be.” I bite my lip, trying to force my brain to think. “Is that why he’s not here? He wasn’t invited? You didn’t want to risk a confrontation with him?”
If I just keep talking, then maybe I can ignore the influence of the drug.
Instead, Malechus slides the tip of the knife down my throat, letting it slice through the thin lace decorating my breast.
Every inch of me goes still.
And he knows it.
“My father isunimportant. Do you know what power is, Merisel?” he whispers.
“What?”
“Truth.” He angles the blade until its point draws a single bead of blood. “So many of the fae lie. They lie with a dozen little truths, all half-twisted. But they don’t know that I can see right through their lies.” The blade presses deeper and I gasp. “Tell me: Why did you—?”
“Merisel?”
