Page 103 of Wrath of the Fae

‘Well,’ I reply quietly, attempting to match Rhea’s tone as best as possible.

‘I will soon demand a public disrobing of you, my dear. Your bloodline is one in a million. I will not let it pass on by.’

I remain silent.

‘Married two years, and that worthless piece of vermin has yet to impregnate you. If he does not soon, and if he refuses to perform before the court to publicly claim you, another will.’ His hand tightens on me, and I lift my gaze to meet his.

‘I would like to see any man try,’ I reply, freeing my arm.

His grin broadens. ‘There’s that fire. I wondered when you would come out and play with me.’

‘You wouldn’t like it if I did play with you,my king.’

‘Admittedly, the last time was a little more painful than I anticipated it would be. Especially when I thought I would be the one impaling you. But if you take a moment to look, Rhea, there are no forks here to stab me with today.

I fill with pride, imagining Rhea stabbing this fucker.

‘What a shame.’

‘Careful. You don’t want any more bruises, do you? If only you behaved.’

He steps aside, revealing the group of First Kingdom soldiers still huddled in the corner.

‘How far the mighty have fallen. He was once so feared and respected. Whatever happened to him over in the human world has made him pathetic. I would feel sorry for you being stuck with him if it wasn't so funny. But seeing a princess so far fallen is too enjoyable-’

I barge past him as I see who they are surrounding. I slip past the king's attempts to grab me and ignore his furious growl as I run across the room and push aside a soldier whose back is to me.

Cyrus is sat in a chair, held down with a knife to his throat. His face is bruised and bloody from a beating, but he doesn’t struggle. There’s a human girl on her knees before him, trembling all over.

I sag as a heavy arm is thrown over my shoulder.

‘What are they doing?’ I demand.

‘Cyrus doesn’t leave this room until he’s been satisfied,’ The King says in my ear. ‘It’s the least we can do, seeing as you are so unwilling to perform your wifely duties.’

The men surrounding Cyrus slap the woman and demand she undoes his trousers, or they will hurt her more.

Cyrus stares at nothing and no one, keeping his eyes down and a look of undiluted hatred on his face as he avoids looking at the girl.

I feel him roiling beneath, fighting to remain silent and calm. If he fights back, he and the girl, perhaps even me, will be punished. If he refuses the girl, the same. So he sits there as the human girl shakily undoes the buttons on his trousers. They all jeer and mock seeing him unresponsive to her.

When the girl takes him in her hands, no amount of self-control will ever be enough to hold me back. Not only is she being forced, but he is too.

I barge past the King and toss her away from him, sending her body skidding across the marble floors before I straddle him in that chair.

His eyes shoot up as soon as my hands touch him.

‘Mine.’

The word comes out as a low snarl. One I didn’t even know I could make. One I had no control over. The word just… came out!

I grab his face and kiss him hard, my tongue seeking out his with possessive need.

And he meets me instantly with just as much want and desire. I’m filled with primal rage. How dare another touch what’s mine. How dare these pathetic little men corner him.

His hands pull free from those holding him down and find my hips. My back. My neck. My hair.

Hurt twinges in my heart.

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