Page 5 of Prize for the King
His eyes don’t bulge. They are symmetrical, wide open, and brimming with sentience. I am confused for a moment, confused and lost. No animal has ever looked at me like that—with sharp,assessing attention.
“Don’t let them fool you. Yes, they can speak. You might even get the impression they think. But the Agnidari are the basest life forms, baser even than beasts of burden.”
His eyes are light gray and lit from within, the irises shimmering like mercury around black, vertical pupils. In a different light, they would be silver.
The moment snaps like a ribbon too tightly strung. My father’s voice breaks through my shock and confusion.
“No, I do not yield!” he roars. “Let go of my prize!”
The Agnidari has his back to the king—a death-worthy offence in this castle—and doesn’t look away from my face. That sharp wit sparkles in his eyes as they narrow. His eyebrows, white like his hair, draw into a thoughtful frown. He ignores my father and speaks to me.
“Now, are you a prized daughter or a whore?”
“Which one will get me a swift, painless death?” I ask breathlessly, too confused, too afraid to think properly. “Because that’s what I am.”
“Eager to die, are you?” he asks with an air of deliberation, hisrhard and rolling, the lilt at the end of the question placed on the wrong syllable.
I nod breathlessly.
“She’s my whore!” my father cries, his voice breaking.
I gasp, shocked by his words, the slimy queasiness in my stomach roiling up and up until I wish to cower away, until I want to vanish. The Tyrant’s frown deepens as he studies me.
“She’s my whore! I fuck her every night! My prized whore!”
I flinch with every word. I can’t help it. He is my father, and to hear those words from his lips, words so vile and treacherous, makes me want to vomit. He’s done things in the past, things that messed with my head, but never did he utter such atrocities before. I don’t understand why he did so right now.
It’s alie.
“Silence him,” the Tyrant says, his voice quieter than my father’s desperate screams, yet somehow carrying over them.
There’s a scuffle that I can’t see, because my eyes squeeze shut, shame and pain filling my chest until it feels like I’ll burst.
But my father is quiet at last. I whine in distress when something warm and gentle touches my cheek. The Tyrant’s finger.
“No,” he decides at length, the throne room silent as everyone waits for his next order. “No, that’s not what you are. You are the king’s prized daughter, aren’t you, pet? A princess.”
There is something restrained in his voice, something hungry and careful. Tension fills the room, and I don’t understand why. Does it matter who I am? He’s going to kill me anyway.
I look up, searching for an explanation in those alien eyes.
“And this,” he continues, gently fingering my diadem, “is the crown of a princess. Why do you wish for death?”
I blink up at him, stupid, weak-kneed, a little mesmerized. He’s just so different from what I was taught, and it keeps me off-kilter. It’s easier to tell him the truth. My thoughts are scattered, all my resources engaged in putting away the tumultuous emotions my father’s words have caused.
“I’d rather die than be raped.”
“Hm.”
He turns away, giving no reply to my half-whispered confession. We stand side by side, my eyes shut again so I don’t have to look at my father. The Tyrant’s hand slides down my forearm as he leans toward me, the hold still tight, and curls around my palm. He pulls my hand higher as he straightens. I suppose he’s so tall, it makes sense, but I don’t understand why he holds my hand like this. As I tug back half-heartedly, trying to get away, he makes a soft, tongue-clicking sound.
“Settle, pet.”
I freeze, a shiver going down my back. He doesn’t sound cruel, or belittling, or anything else I might expect from a person planning to kill me. In fact… It seems almost as if he’s trying to calm me. Like an animal.
“I’m not a horse,” I blurt out.
There’s that bark again, this time softer. A private laugh.
