Page 7 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

“Yes, my lord.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his hold on her softened slightly. “Once we are done here, you’re going to go upstairs, clean yourself up, and then”—he let out a little sigh that could have been pleasure—“and then you are going to attend tonight’s ceremony at my side, where you belong. But most importantly, Shadow mine, from now on, You. Will. Behave.”

“Don’t I always?”

The sinister twist of his lips into that mockery of a smile told her she must have a death wish. She was well aware now was not the time to bait the bear, but the defiant retort slipped out unbidden. Even though she deserved them, his words chafed. She hated when he spoke to her like she was a child. Or worse, his plaything. She was the realm’s deadliest assassin, and he had the audacity to treat her like some kind of toy.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have found yourself here, would you? But no matter, this time I’m going to ensure you do.”

Merciful stars, she hardly recognized him as he stared down at her. He was every inch her beautiful, dark king, but he wasn’t remotely human in this moment. There was a weight to his stare she’d never noticed before. And the air around him seemed to swell and grow thin all at once, as if he was literally sucking it out of the room and drawing all of it into himself.

Finally he released her, only to run his knuckles down the side of her face with a heavy sigh. “Oh, my precious moonbeam, why must you always make me hurt you?”

CHAPTER3

SHADOW

Erebos was nothing if not a man of his word. As promised, he’d delivered a lesson so thorough, she wasn’t likely to ever forget it.

Two hours later, even after a visit from the palace’s head healer, she was still in agony. Despite slow, ginger movements, every step was torturous. Even breathing felt as though she was being carved from the inside out. It wasn’t that the healer was incompetent, or that there hadn’t been enough time to care for her properly. Quite the opposite.

She hurt because Ereboswantedher to hurt. He’d given the healer explicit instructions.‘Heal only that which will be visible.’Not that he’d been utterly without mercy. He’d also allowed the woman to‘deal with any internal injuries, so long as they’re life-threatening.’

Truly, he was a king among men. Her spleen and punctured lung were in his debt.

“Pain remembers,”he’d hissed when she’d struggled wetly for breath, only just managing to peel one eye open to look up at him from her curled position on the blood-splattered floor.

That it did.

She could recall with perfect clarity how much pressure he’d used snapping her wrist and the exact place where his ring connected when shattering her cheekbone. Luckily for her, those injuries fell under the ‘visible’ category and had been some of the first to be repaired.

The rest of her, however, hadn’t fared as well. Anything currently concealed by fabric was likely also covered in bruises. Her skin—what little she could stand to look at—was a mottled web of purple, red, and black. She was also pretty sure more than one of her ribs was broken and still brushing perilously against her lung, if the wheeze in her breath was any indication.

It wasn’t the first time the High Lord had raised a hand to her, but it was by far the worst. She didn’t blame him. She’d earned each and every beating, and today’s was no exception. After what she’d done—entering the contest against his will, getting all the way to the end, and then losing... Suffice it to say, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have taught her a similar lesson even if shehadwon. The High Lord did not appreciate being made a mockery of, and that’s exactly what she’d done.

Her reasoning didn’t matter. Only the outcome.

Standing beside him now, her mind was oddly at peace. There wasn’t room for much thinking when every waking second was spent holding her body just so. It was a blessing, really. That quiet. It kept her thoughts from drifting. From dreaming.

From hoping.

At least untilhewalked in.

And then there weren’t thoughts as much as an electric current crackling to life in her brain and coursing through her entire body, sending a series of signals to her battered muscles they were helpless to ignore. The reaction was visceral, causing her to jerk involuntarily and forcing a pained hiss to escape through clenched teeth.

“Careful, dearest. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Erebos cautioned.

No. We certainly wouldn’t want that.

Her attention was so consumed by the red-haired warrior, the sarcastic response went unspoken.

She tracked his every movement, drinking in each detail and memorizing them to savor later. The graceful, predatory way he prowled across the room. The perfect cut of his clothes, the way they hugged his muscles, making him appear both powerful and unattainable. The vibrant bruise marring his otherwise perfect face, a tribute to the day’s battles fought and won—a trophy rather than a weakness.

But the detail that stuck with her, the one that wormed its way deep inside her brain, forcing her to acknowledge it, was the way his icy gaze never strayed from his target—Erebos. One would think after the way things were left between them earlier, he’d at least spare her a glance. But he didn’t even look her way. Not once. Not even to acknowledge her presence beside the man he stared down.

You great hulking fool. What in the darkness are you doing?

This was not how a Champion approached his High Lord.

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