6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
I haven’t even managed a sip of tea when a booming crash sounds from the hallway. The following clamor reverberates through the quiet of the dining room, peppered by intermittent bangs and what sounds distinctly like the metal ring of sword against sword.
With an irritable sigh, I take a large gulp of the tea. It’s far too hot and scalds my throat the entire way down, but the herbs are a special mixture Marina steeps to aid my pain, and with the way the morning is proceeding, I doubt I’ll have the opportunity to drink it slowly.
The racket dies down, and a moment later, Sam enters the room looking extremely sweaty and holding a wildly writhing Willa to his chest. Clutching her with one arm, he uses the other to toss what appears to be a metal nail file to the table. It clatters across the length of the ebony wood, sliding to a stop beside my teacup.
“Good morning, sir,” Sam says in a strained voice. His attempt at continuing to adhere to decorum and ignore the feral woman currently trying to escape the straight-jacket of his arms, draws a faint grin to my face. “May I present, Willa…” He trails off awkwardly, as if suddenly realizing he doesn’t yet know Willa’s last name. “Well…here’s Willa. As requested.”
My grin only widens as Sam endeavors to bow, causing Willa to erupt in a screech of frustration. He shoots her a harried look as she thrashes against his iron grip, testily spitting strands of hair from her mouth and clawing at his arms.
I lean back in my chair, taking in the catastrophe of a woman. Her silky hair is in half-dried tangles around her head and her face is positively mutinous, flushed that same furious shade of scarlet as it was last night. My death, which until a moment ago, had been lazing about the air around my head, jumps to attention, each black ribbon as rapt as I am.
I tsk irreverently, and slide my arms crossed over my chest, raking my gaze from Willa’s head to her toes. She bristles beneath my attention as aptly as if she’s raised steel spikes all over her skin.
“That is the second time you’ve attacked Sam. I’m afraid you’re going to start giving the poor lad a complex.”
Willa is unapologetic even as she stills, flicking those ruthless eyes to me. Her upper lip, ever so slightly bigger than her lower, curls over her teeth in a menacing sneer. “If he’d been more acquiescing of my need for a weapon, I would have been more acquiescing of his need to keep his balls intact,” she snaps in a pretentious mockery of my accent.
I press my lips together, choosing not to examine whether it’s amusement or annoyance fluttering in my chest. “Now then, Darling, if you continue to act like a feral animal, I can see that you’re treated like one, if that’s what you so wish.” I bare my own teeth, watching Willa’s delicious rage vibrate through her with relish. My ribbons shudder with the same fervent pleasure as I drawl, “Collared and leashed. ”
Willa’s returning snarl is so savage, I can’t help but laugh, allowing myself a brief moment to enjoy the image of her with a weapon. She showed no hesitation in shooting me last night, nor apparently about stabbing Sam this morning; the thought of her ravening anger behind a blade is wildly intriguing. So little amuses me anymore, Willa’s unpredictability is like a sip of heady wine that goes straight to my head.
I nod to Sam, who deposits Willa into a furiously spitting pile on the chair across from mine. He clutches his hands behind him, stepping back with an apologetic nod. To me or Willa, it’s impossible to tell with Sam.
Her close proximity has my ribbons immediately slithering toward her. Cursing under my breath, I snap them back to me with a violent tug. I grimace, winding them around my arms and trying to ignore the pain now shooting from my fingers up to my shoulders.
“Would you like breakfast?” I ask her through gritted teeth.
Willa glares at me hatefully, pawing at the stray tendrils of hair still stuck to her forehead. “What I would like is to go somewhere I’m not surrounded by a bunch of lunatics who think the middle of the night is the morning and that stars are swimming pools you can fall into.”
I hum noncommittally. “It seems someone lacks imagination.” I take a sip of my tea, watching as every muscle in her body tenses and her brilliant eyes narrow. I’ve hit a nerve, and I smile ruefully, digging in with delight. “Perhaps that’s why the young man fished you out of the sea. He knew what perfect victims those without ingenuity make.”
Willa’s eyes bore into mine and my death shudders so violently, shockwaves race from my limbs to my chest.
“Don’t you talk about him,” she says, her voice quiet and tight. Something about its dangerous sonance curls low in my belly, even as I tilt my head innocently.
“Who? Poor Jamie?” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider them. By all accounts, I should be doing as Sam advised and winning Willa to my side, as it would make the next necessary steps far easier. But her presence rattles me. Has my mouth moving before my brain can catch up. “You hardly knew him. Why do you even care?”
Willa doesn’t answer. She just stares at me with a dead gaze, one I’m all too familiar with. It makes me want to slice it open, to prod until whatever she’s trapped behind that wall explodes out.
“Is it because you feel guilty, Darling? That the boy is dead because he had the misfortune of saving you?” I laugh bitterly, my lip curling in disgust. “Guilt is for the provincial.”
Sam plops down in the chair beside me and clears his throat, a gesture that pointedly means, be civil . I let a sharp breath whistle through my teeth as my irritation rises, whether at him, myself, or the feral creature in front of me, I’m not even sure.
“Allow me to free you from it. The boy would be dead whether you were there or not.”
Sam’s eyes widen before rolling straight to the ceiling, as if I’m the greatest test of his patience.
And indeed, Willa doesn’t seem at all appeased. “Then why?” she demands sharply; like a woman accustomed to having her questions answered. “Why kill him?”
Her stony gaze slips, just a fraction, and I know she’s remembering the way the boy’s face rotted. The way his skin peeled, and his eyes went gelatinous—the grotesque consequences of the infernal magic I hold back daily with blood and agony.
“And why—why…mutilate him like that?”
The ribbons dig into my arms, lashing against my skin in painful strokes as they remember the taste of the boy’s death. They strain for release; for the freedom to chase after more of it and devour it whole. And as sharp pain radiates through me so fully my lungs refuse to expand, a tired part of me wants to let them go entirely. To forgo the struggle and the agony and let them ruin the world.
Until I realize Willa is staring at me expectantly.
“For being on my beach,” I manage to reply in a violent hiss.
It’s the simplest answer—the most honest—but it’s also the one that will pierce through her armor and to the skin beneath. A vicious part of me hopes it might even slice at her heart. For how is it fair that I live in so much pain without sharing at least some of it?
Willa shivers with rage, and the most depraved part of me drinks it in ardently. But rather than giving me what I’m after and attacking, that same deadened wall—made of iron, of ice—slams down over her gaze.
Interesting. I’ve underestimated the woman. She clearly has practice at honing her anger into something useful, which makes her all the more dangerous.
She watches me across the table for a few long moments. “You say I haven’t been kidnapped. If you’re a king—” Her mouth twists uncomfortably on the word, like it physically pains her to say. “—a man of your word, why won’t you allow me to leave?”
“You haven’t been kidnapped, Darling.”
“Willa,” she corrects irritably, which only heightens my amusement.
“Willa Darling,” I drawl so silkily, she shivers. I wonder what else would elicit that same shiver over her warm, tanned skin. What else would part those luscious, pink lips.
My death spears for her at the thought. Clearing my throat decisively, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. If Willa is descended from who I think she is, I need her. Whether that help comes willingly or by force is the only choice she has. Judging by her penchant for violence, I can guess which way it will be, and I can’t say I’m dreading it.
“I’m afraid leaving Letum isn’t as simple a matter as boarding a ship and sailing off into the sunset. You fell through wards…wards so thick with magic and despair, they’ve been impassible for nearly two centuries.”
Willa gnaws at her bottom lip, and it takes everything in me to keep my eyes on hers. Everything in me not to watch the dig of her teeth into the lush flesh.
“ If that’s true—” Her tone indicates she believes me to be mad. Which I more than likely am after so many centuries stuck in this stasis of a world, but not about this. “—then you should still allow me to leave your castle.”
I drum my glove-clad fingers on the dining table. “This is my kingdom, which means your safety is my responsibility. I cannot have you gallivanting alone around an unfamiliar island and getting yourself lost. Or worse. You’ve already nearly drowned. There are hundreds of creatures in Letum that would defy your paltry imagination. How would I live with myself if you wandered into the claws of the wrong sort?”
Her brow lowers at my sardonic tone, and she tilts her head. “Afraid I’ll step onto the wrong beach, and you’ll have to murder me to keep up appearances?”
Before I can respond, Tiernan bustles in from the kitchen, arms laden with plates of steaming food. He hesitates when he notices Willa, his cheeks turning a ridiculous shade of red. At the pointed clearing of my throat, he remembers himself and stumbles forward, arranging the plates at the center of the table. Sam gives him a grateful nod and immediately digs in, piling fluffy eggs and seasoned potatoes onto his plate.
Willa smiles at the boy, and for a moment, I’m struck dumb by the brilliance of it. While her antagonistic nature is darkly enticing, her kindness is something else entirely—something I refuse to examine. The ribbons dig into my hands, straining toward her, and it takes a couple deep inhales and a myriad of silently muttered curses to hold them in place. The smell of the food turns my stomach and as fresh, hot pain washes over me, I work my throat to keep from being sick all over the table.
Is it my want or my death’s? The desire to slide over that luminescent smile? To sweep through its brightness, and stain the edges with destruction? The thought of sullying something so pure, of adorning beauty with pain, races through me like the edge of a blade.
“Thank you,” Willa tells Tiernan sincerely. The tips of Tiernan’s ears turn pink, and he nods mutely. Willa’s brow crinkles with something like concern as she watches the boy disappear back into the kitchen. “Do none of your servants speak?” she asks, her suspicion of the sort of man I am made perfectly clear.
“Perhaps I'll cut out your tongue to match, and keep you from doing the same,” I answer sharply, the pain having rendered me momentarily thoughtless, unable to do more than squeeze my eyes shut.
An exasperated breath shoots out of Sam as he drops his head in his hands. I hardly have time to push my chair back from the table when Willa leaps from her seat, her body so close, I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo as she presses a metal fork into the soft juncture of my throat. Willa Darling is far deadlier than her small appearance indicates, as she’s positioned the tines of one fork directly above my artery, and another at the juncture of my legs. And indeed, her face is lethal as she presses both more firmly into my skin with a satisfied smile.
“Beg,” she spits, my blood heating at her husky tone. In fact, my whole body seems to have been lit on fire as I take in the threads of gold and green spiraling through her light brown eyes; the splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks; the tips of her fingers, just a hairsbreadth away from brushing my bared throat.
As all of her details sink beneath my skin and to the bones beneath, the agonizing pain that radiated through me only a moment before is now buried somewhere beneath the electricity of her nearness. My body sparks with it, and for the first time all morning, I’m able to take a full breath.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t stab you through the throat right now,” she snarls. Her eyes flicker to where the second fork digs into the leather seam of my trousers. “It’s going to have to be a good one, Your Majesty . I doubt those ribbons of yours can restrain me before I skewer your balls.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lower lip as I slowly open my legs, widening my stance. Inviting Willa and her fork closer, practically begging to see what she’ll do with the invitation.
Her mouth twists in fury. “You’re vile!”
I let out a ringing laugh. “I never claimed to be anything else,” I croon. “Did the very wind not whisper a warning to you the moment you stepped foot in Letum?”
Willa’s expression turns from fury to consternation, but she doesn’t move. And I’m grateful she doesn’t, comfortable as I am with her lithe, little body poised over mine. Comfortable beneath the ice and heat of her violent impulses—like the same vicious thing that colors my blood lives inside her, too.
“Death,” I purr. “Decay. Rot.” Willa’s eyes flare. “The Carrion King.”
Keeping perfectly still, I let my eyes rove from Willa’s arm, up to her shoulder and throat. “I’m told it’s painful—to decompose from the inside out.”
Her jaw tightens. “You’ll have to do better than a few shadowy parlor tricks to scare me, King.”
And indeed, there’s no fear in her eyes—or at least, not the kind I’ve come to expect from those that beg on their knees before me. It’s a different sort shining in the depths of her gaze, one I can’t place, but immediately intrigues me. What could this woman possibly fear more than death?
“Well, if dying a horrible death doesn’t scare you, perhaps the idea of being subjected to my presence for the rest of eternity will,” I tell her with a dark laugh. “Just as I am King of Death, I am also King of the entire realm. Including the wards that would lead you back home.”
I lift my chin, giving her better access to my throat. Careful not to touch her skin, just as she’s been careful not to touch mine. Like something in her has warned her away from drawing too close.
“Well, Darling, what’s it going to be? If you’re going to kill me, you might as well be quick about it. Let’s not ruin Sam’s breakfast.”
My friend grunts from behind me, under no apparent compulsion to come to my aid.
I watch the thoughts flit across her face, one after another, until something like acceptance settles there. Willa cannot kill me, or she’ll never find her way out of this forsaken kingdom.
“I want to go home,” she says tightly, digging the fork hard enough into my neck to draw blood. Her eyes drink in my reaction, waiting for a flinch of pain.
She doesn’t get it. What she does receive is a cruel smile at the yelp of horror that escapes her when she finally notices the color of the blood trickling down my throat: Not crimson, but the same abiding black as my eyes.
I run my tongue over my teeth wantonly, drinking in the shocked part of her lips with relish. My death clenches tighter around my wrists, but this time, I barely feel the pain. I only feel her : the radiant warmth of her skin, the soft brush of her hair against my chest. All of it so close.
Close enough to consume me entirely.
I swallow roughly, drawing my gaze away from her mouth and my thoughts toward something far more manageable than Willa’s dizzying nearness—how I can leverage her presence to my advantage.
“What do you know of magic? Of stories and fairy tales?”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes still glued to the small dribble of blood now staining my skin like ink dripped over parchment. I expect to see her disgust, her terror, but I only find a frozen curiosity that has my rot-filled heart lurching in my chest.
“The island, the wards, the magic…they are all anchored to me . So, you see, I am the only one capable of granting your wish to go back to that plague-filled cesspool you call home. If I so pleased, I could keep you in Letum for eternity.”
Willa pales, and her tongue darts out to lick her lips.
“But despite your first impression, I can be a merciful king.” I incline my head as much as I’m able without impaling myself on the fork. “You have my word, the wards will open,” Willa narrows her eyes warily, “ if you help me first.”
“Your word means nothing to me,” she hisses.
I grin in delight. “Good to know you aren’t entirely daft.”
Though her glare is heated, the pressure of the sharp tines at my throat lightens. She stares at me for so long, I’m overcome with the absurd urge to shift beneath her. To hide from a gaze that threatens to see straight through my skin and to the rot beneath.
“Help you,” she repeats dubiously. “What could I possibly help you with?”
I laugh wickedly, staring up at her from beneath my lashes. “Use your imagination, Willa Darling.”
Her nostrils flare at the jab, but she reins herself in with that same iron poise. “Is this the only way your necrotic ass can get laid? Because if that’s your idea of help, I promise…a fork through your balls would be more pleasant.”
“I’m hardly so prosaic as to desire the company of an inelegant urchin in my bedroom, let alone coerce it. The help I require is far more…delicate.” I settle on the word lightly. “Now then…do we have an accord?”
Willa’s face twists in fury, but now she knows her choice in any of this was only ever an illusion. It is only my will that dictates everything in Letum, and she’ll have to play nice if she wants the wards back to her world opened. Though if Willa is who I believe, by the time they are, it’ll be far too late.
She digs her teeth into her lower lip once more, chewing wildly, channeling her frustration into mutilating her flesh. But she manages a strained nod.
“Wonderful!” I bark, pushing my chair back with a loud scrape. Willa stares at me, both forks still suspended in the air. “Eat up. I’ve someone who’s just dying to meet you.”