Chapter 7
HELENA
King Theron’s shocking words echo in my head.
I’m not going to kill you.
Nor will I force myself upon you.
Is he telling the truth? He sounded so earnest as he spoke, yet how can I be certain? I stare into his glacial eyes, trying to determine whether he’s lying.
Maybe he’s so evil that he wants to lull me into a false sense of safety… only to strike when I’m least expecting it.
Oh, how I wish the stories about the fae’s inability to lie were true, but Mama once told me it was only a myth.
“How… how can I be sure you’re telling the truth?
” I finally ask, and I hate that more tears are rapidly filling my eyes.
I don’t normally cry so much, but everything about him and this entire situation terrifies me.
I just want to return home. To the safety of my little room above Sinclair’s Bakery.
“I’m not in the habit of lying.” His voice is cold and clipped, and his visage hardens.
I don’t offer an immediate response.
He’s totally fine with attacking a human city, killing thousands, and allowing his soldiers to terrorize the residents of Braemar, but apparently lying is where he draws the line.
I think about the splatter of blood in front of the throne.
Did he kill someone in the banquet hall today while his soldiers watched?
“So, you’re not planning to kill me or… force yourself on me…” My voice trails off as I try to gather my thoughts. “What are your plans for me then? Am I to be a servant or a slave in the castle?”
“I will admit that I’m still figuring that out myself,” he says, finally releasing my chin.
Despite my continued fear of him, part of me mourns the abrupt loss of his touch. The cool tingle of his fingers on my flesh was strangely pleasant, and he’s handled me rather gently thus far.
“You could free me,” I implore. “I-I would prefer freedom.”
“Freedom?” He chuckles. “You are bold to ask such a thing of me, darling human.” His eyes sparkle, and he displays a sudden smile, revealing his sharp, pointed teeth.
Handsome, I think. He’s disarmingly handsome… in a deadly, I really hope he doesn’t decide to eat me, sort of way.
Mama used to warn me to never leave the protective walls of Braemar and venture into the forest. According to her, wandering fae males loved nothing more than to rip out the throats of unsuspecting maidens. She also claimed they had a taste for human hearts.
What would my mother think if she knew where I was now?
Would she have any advice to give? Any pointers to help me stay alive?
Yes, King Theron promised not to kill me, but I’m in a castle filled with dangerous fae soldiers from the Winter Court.
If the king himself doesn’t hurt me, eventually one of his soldiers might.
His smile gradually fades, and he leans back on the sofa.
“You were a gift to me from my brother,” he says in a contemplative tone.
“I cannot set you free or give you to another. Particularly since Prince Alaric gifted you to me in front of many witnesses. It would be considered a grave insult if I set you free or gave you away. So, I must keep you. That really is all there is to it.”
My heart sinks. Will he truly never let me go?
A thought comes to mind. A rather devious plan that I’m a little proud of. I straighten in my chair and look at him. Gods, he’s so huge and muscular. Though I’ve heard plenty of stories about the fae, I never realized just how big they could be.
I clear my throat. “Um, what if you set me free and just told everyone, your brother included, that you’d killed me?
I promise if you release me, I’ll keep my head down and do whatever I must to avoid the fae patrols.
Your brother will never see me again. I’ll make sure of it.
I also won’t breathe a word of what happened today to anyone. ”
“No,” he says immediately, and my heart sinks again. “I don’t like deceptions, and as I already told you, I’m not in the habit of telling lies.”
“So… you’re keeping me?”
“Yes. You belong to me, Helena. Unless I perish and you manage to escape my people, a very unlikely scenario, I can assure you of that, you will remain my captive indefinitely.”
The tears start returning to my eyes, and he frowns at me as though he doesn’t approve of them.
How strange. His brother had said that he would like my tears and my pleas for mercy.
Yet the king doesn’t seem to like the display of emotion I can’t prevent.
He’s looking at me as though he’s disturbed by my sadness, but surely that can’t be true.
He’s the King of the Winter Court.
Cold and cruel.
As brutal as the winter winds he commands.
He presses a hand to his chest and grimaces like he’s in pain. Then he rises to his feet, still holding the bottle of whiskey. He walks to the sideboard and sets the bottle down. His expression is troubled.
“Fucking Alaric,” he murmurs before turning to face me.
My breath catches in my throat at the intense look he’s directed my way. I’m no fool. I know desire when I see it, and it’s right there, a blazing spark of lust that sends a jolt of fear through me.
I quickly remind myself of his promise not to violate me, as well as his aversion to lies. I watch him carefully for any sign that he plans to go back on his word, but he simply stands there, staring at me with lust in his eyes.
“You are the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen,” he blurts. He appears mildly startled the moment he stops speaking, as though he didn’t quite mean to say it aloud.
My heart thunders in my chest.
“Thank you, King Theron,” I eventually murmur, my mind still reeling from his shocking words, the compliment he didn’t mean to say aloud. I twist my fingers together in my lap, fidgeting awkwardly, uncertain what to do with my nervous energy.
He pushes away from the sideboard and comes closer.
I lean back in my chair, trying to put as much distance between us as possible without actually fleeing to the other side of the room. If I’m going to belong to him forever, I must get used to being close to him.
To my utter surprise, he steps directly in front of me and cups my face in one large, cold hand. I shiver, though not from the cold. The coldness he emanates doesn’t bother me, just like the cold weather rarely bothers me. I shiver because oh, my god, he’s touching me again.
“Say it again, Helena.” His deep voice vibrates through me, prompting a rapid spasm of heat between my thighs.
Oh no. Surely that didn’t just happen. Surely, I’m mistaken. There is absolutely no way I could feel any sort of attraction to the fierce and cruel Winter King, to a male who is responsible for the deaths of thousands of my people.
“Thank you, King Theron,” I murmur again, instinctively putting an emphasis on his name, because I think that’s what he truly wants. He wants to hear me say his name again.
A low growl resounds from his chest, a noise that’s otherworldly and animalistic. It shudders through me, hot and cold and tingling, a sensation that nearly causes me to squirm in my seat. Oh, dear gods, what is happening to me? Is he… glamouring me? Is he purposely trying to make me desire him?
He’d promised not to force himself on me, but he’d said nothing about glamours. Warning bells peal in my head. Mama always said the fae could be devious. She always said never to trust them.
I stiffen and try to focus on King Theron’s wickedness. His cruelty and his disregard for human life. He’d enjoyed the battle. He’d liked killing humans, and he’d savored the scent of human blood. He’d admitted as much to me earlier.
Thankfully, the aching in my core starts to abate.
But he’s still cupping my face, and he’s still standing so very close, staring down at me with a strangely affectionate look that I don’t understand.
Doesn’t he have a mate? Or a concubine? One would think the Winter King would have a female already waiting for him somewhere.
Or perhaps a whole harem of women. What could he possibly want with me?
“I must return to the banquet hall.” He lets go of my face, steps back, and summons what can only be described as his cruel Winter King face. “I will return in a few hours.”
I nod, unable to find my voice.
He gives me one last look, then spins on his heel and strides toward the door.
But he pauses halfway and turns back around.
My heart races as I consider why he stopped.
Maybe… maybe he wants to torment me for a while before he leaves.
Despite the king’s promises, his brother’s words come back to taunt me.
I hope you enjoy her. I daresay the rest of us will enjoy hearing her screams and smelling her blood.
But to my surprise, King Theron approaches the hearth, then kneels to stack wood and kindling inside.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing? I hold my breath, still stunned by his actions, as he strikes a match and carefully lights the kindling.
Using a metal rod, he prods the fire until the flames grow larger, finally catching on the wood.
He rises to his feet and meets my eye. “For your comfort, darling human.”
Then he turns before I can offer a response. He strides for the door again, and it opens under a quick blast of wind. It promptly blows shut behind him.
The moment I’m alone, I release a long breath and brush away a few fresh tears. This time, my tears are borne of relief rather than fear or anguish. I’m simply so stunned and relieved that I’m still alive. Not only that, but the Winter King didn’t harm a hair on my head.
I rise to my feet and head for the door. I can’t help myself. I have to try it. Just to see if I’m locked inside.
To my dismay, the handle won’t turn at all, and every time I touch it, frost creeps up my fingers.
Magic, I realize with a quickening pulse.
King Theron used magic to keep his door locked.