Chapter 5
HELENA
“A gift for you, King Theron.”
I stare at the largest fae male I’ve ever seen.
The one seated on the throne. I notice his eyes first, glacial blue and utterly merciless, set beneath black, curving horns that mark him as something dangerous and inhuman.
His shoulders are impossibly broad, his arms thick with muscle.
His skin, like most Winter fae, holds a gray-blue glimmer.
The sharp neckline of his billowing tunic reveals a hint of a sculpted chest, and as he leans forward on the throne, my gaze drops to his massive legs, barely contained by leather.
Built of pure, lethal muscle, he radiates cold, commanding authority.
Breathing becomes difficult. So does standing. It takes all my strength to remain on my feet.
But he’s the Winter King.
Am I expected to kneel or bow?
If I don’t make the right choice, will he kill me where I stand?
The king stares at me as he remains seated on the throne. His eyes penetrate straight to my soul, and I’m certain he’s able to glimpse my deepest, darkest secrets. I feel stripped naked before him, vulnerable and completely defenseless.
Then I notice the frozen, decapitated heads.
Oh, my gods.
A gasp almost escapes me. Almost. My mouth goes dry, and disbelief coils in my gut. I feel on the verge of sickness.
On the dais all around the Winter King, numerous heads are mounted on stakes. Though they’re frozen solid and covered in frost, one of them looks familiar. King Geoff, I quickly realize, the former ruler of Braemar.
Gods, please help me.
My trembling increases, and I wrap my arms around myself and try to steady my breaths as my gaze moves back to the fae king.
King Theron remains seated, though he taps his right foot lightly, and each time his foot hits the floor, the patch of frost beneath the throne becomes larger. I get the sense that he’s trying to decide what to do with me. My fear deepens.
As I replay the events that led to this moment, I recall that the king’s brother seemed preoccupied with my hair and mentioned something about my resemblance to… someone. Someone the king knows?
Your hair is so smooth and black, and your eyes so very blue. And your facial features… gods, the similarity is uncanny. The king will be so pleased.
The king will like you very, very much.
I daresay you will be his new favorite possession… for however long he allows you to live.
Oh, gods. What’s going to happen to me?
Tears sting my eyes, and my throat burns as Prince Alaric’s other comments echo in my mind:
Oh, you beg so prettily, and the tears really are a nice touch.
My brother will like it when you cry and plead for mercy.
“This human female is a gift for me?” the king finally says. “How thoughtful of you, Prince Alaric. You are my favorite brother by far.” This comment elicits a chorus of laughter from the tables in the banquet hall, though I don’t understand why it’s so funny.
At last, King Theron rises from his throne.
He walks in my direction.
My knees finally buckle, and I sink onto the stone floor. When my hands touch something sticky and cold, I glance down and gasp at the sight. Blood. I’m kneeling in a splatter of blood. Someone died here recently. Right in this very spot. Perhaps I’m next.
Fierce trembles make my teeth chatter. I watch as the king steps down from the dais and comes even closer. I can’t stop glancing at the blood. Eventually, the king’s boots enter my line of vision.
He’s standing so very close.
Am I about to die?
I think of Harry. Sweet, gentle Harry. Maybe I’ll see him in the afterlife sooner than I ever expected. I close my eyes and wait… for death.
But it never comes. I sense the king is still standing there, staring down at me. Is he contemplating how he wants to kill me? Will he make it quick, or will he torment me first? Gods, please let it be fast and painless.
My eyes flutter open. I stare at his boots again, terrible anticipation sweeping through me. I feel even sicker to my stomach than when I first saw the frozen heads. And scared. Honest to gods, I think I’m on the verge of shock.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t quite believe I’m here in the fae-occupied Braemar Castle with the Winter King looming over me. A part of me that’s certain this can’t be real.
I’m not really here and this isn’t really happening…
It’s the same sort of dissociation I felt after Mama and Harry died, bouts of confused detachment in between the longer, more painful moments of clarity.
King Theron takes one step closer, and I catch a hint of smoky wood, pine, and peppermint, along with the crisp, cold scent of snow. Spices, too. Cinnamon, cloves, and a few others I can’t name.
His scent helps ground me in reality, bringing me back from the brink of my mind’s disconnection.
Frost spreads beneath his boots, causing the blood I’m kneeling in to become even colder. Eventually, it freezes.
He truly is the embodiment of winter.
And he’s more powerful than I ever imagined a highborn fae might be. I’m doomed.
“What’s your name, human girl?” The king’s deep voice vibrates through me, as cold and commanding as I expected.
“My name is Helena.” I don’t dare glance up.
“Look at me, Helena.” He places a finger beneath my chin, forcing my gaze upward.
Our eyes meet, and a gasp catches in my throat.
His hand is cold on my chin, but not uncomfortably so.
I stare into his eyes, captivated by their otherworldly blue, unable to look away, even as his gaze swirls with dark fury.
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale.
For the briefest moment, there’s a flicker of pleasure in his eyes.
Oh, gods.
If he doesn’t kill me now, will he keep me in the dungeon?
I think he wants to hurt me. Anger radiates off his massive form, and his grip on my chin suddenly tightens, though not to the point of pain.
“Thank you, dear brother, for the lovely gift,” he says, though his glacial gaze remains locked on me as he speaks.
“You’re so very welcome, my king. I hope you enjoy her. I daresay the rest of us will enjoy hearing her screams and smelling her blood.” Prince Alaric laughs, and then I hear the retreat of his footsteps.
Hearing her screams…
Smelling her blood…
A tear cascades down my cheek. Before it can freeze, King Theron wipes it away with a cold finger.
The banquet hall is eerily silent. Everyone is watching. And waiting. Another tear escapes, then another. The king doesn’t catch the newest ones, but he studies my cheeks, observing as they freeze. I expect pleasure to flare in his eyes, but it doesn’t. Instead, he looks… troubled.
He clears his throat and straightens a bit, and his visage quickly returns to normal.
Cold, calculating, and filled with anger.
He drops his hand from my chin, but I don’t look down.
I can’t seem to tear my gaze from his. The frozen blood beneath my palms feels colder.
A chill, an actual chill too cold even for my liking, reverberates through my body, causing my teeth to chatter.
The king reaches down, grasps me by my upper arms, and hauls me to my feet. My breath hitches. He leans down, invading my space, until his face is but an inch or two from mine. His cold, peppermint breath fans against my frozen, tear-stained cheeks.
“You smell delicious, darling human.” He inhales deeply, and this time the pleasure flaring in his eyes is too obvious to miss.
I tremble anew. If he weren’t holding me up, I would surely fall back down on the bloodied floor.
Though his grip isn’t tight, I can’t help but wince under the pain of it because he’s holding me right where Peter grabbed me earlier.
He frowns, leans back a bit, and looks me up and down.
To my utter shock, his grip on my arms loosens a little.
Not enough to allow me to fall, but enough to help ease the pain somewhat.
Without warning, he suddenly sweeps me into his arms. I yelp and push at his chest. Even though I know it’s pointless, because what chance do I have against the all-powerful Winter King, I still struggle in his hold.
“Settle down, Helena.” Though his voice is a soft whisper in my ear, it’s full of so much command that I go instantly still in his arms.
A shiver rushes down my spine.
“Good girl. I’m so glad you can be obedient. You’ll live longer.” He shifts me closer to his chest and peers down at me.
A few chuckles sound from the banquet tables, reminding me that we have a captive audience.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t hurt me.”
More laughter erupts in the banquet hall.
A growl vibrates from his throat, and he spins on his heel and starts carrying me away. My stomach flips. I suspect he’s taking me to the dungeon. Maybe he’ll keep me in chains and torture me whenever it suits him until finally one day claiming my life.
But to my shock, he carries me up a set of wide, stone steps. Up. He’s taking me to an upper level of the castle rather than the dungeon. My heart races faster, and I swallow hard. I tremble in his arms. His cold pine and peppermint scent fills my lungs with each shaky breath I take.
He carries me down a long corridor lined with dozens of doors, low-burning sconces, and thick, embroidered tapestries.
Occasionally, we pass a small window with a view of the courtyard.
I also catch glimpses of human servants, or slaves, scurrying by, all pale with terror as they give us a wide berth.
The king reaches a massive oak door near the end of the corridor and pauses outside for just a moment. Then a quick but chilled breeze rushes past us, and the door opens without him having to touch the handle.
His fae magic. His winter magic.
He’s highborn. All fae royals are. And he’s the Winter King. I suppose he’s probably the most powerful male in all the Winter Court.
A quiet sob bursts from my throat as he carries me into an ornately decorated bedchamber. Tears escape my eyes, only to immediately freeze on my face. I should’ve realized sooner why he didn’t carry me directly to the dungeon. Because he wants to have his cruel way with me first.
“Shh, darling human. You needn’t cry,” he says in a strangely gentle tone that catches me off guard. He carries me deeper into the room and the door closes behind us.
“Please please please,” I whisper. I can’t seem to stop begging. I also keep sending silent prayers to the gods, desperate pleas for rescue.
But deep in my heart, I know no one is coming to save me.
I’m alone with the Winter King, and I’m all his to do with as he pleases.