Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
ASHLAND
Storming down the corridor, I’m barely paying attention when the hushed voices give me pause.
I recognize old Agatha, the head cook, speaking with a maid in a low tone.
“The poor dear refused him again; she did. Locked away in that awful cell, and still, she tells him nay.” The aroma of a savory stew seeps from the kitchens.
The maid tsks under her breath. “He won’t like that, not one bit. Nobody refuses the Witch-King.”
I become the shadows, invisible to their eyes.
“She’s stubborn,” Agatha replies. “Got fire in her spirit, it seems.”
“Fire or no, she best be careful. The king’s temper has been foul as of late, made even worse by trying to keep her presence a secret from the commanders.”
Since I imprisoned the woman, my mood swings wildly from rage to restless distraction, and the more she resists, the worse my inner turmoil grows.
You can break her, the voice inside me tempts. Make her yield to you—I force those thoughts away.
“Mark my words, she’s playing a dangerous game,” Agatha whispers.