Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The summons arrived during breakfast.
Not the usual polite knock from Mira, who’d become something close to a friend over the past week. This was a sharp rap—harsh and impatient—followed by a guard’s hard voice.
“Dr. Monroe. The High King requires your presence. Immediately.”
Thea’s stomach dropped. She set down her tea with hands that trembled only slightly. Across from her, Khorrek had already risen, his entire body tense and alert.
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” she said, pleased her voice remained steady.
“Now, Dr. Monroe. Not shortly.”
Damn.
She stood, smoothing down her skirts with deliberate care, assuming the armor of civility and the pretense of calm even though panic clawed at her throat.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Khorrek immediately moved to her side. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel his heat. Anchoring her with his presence.
The guard who’d summoned her—a lean man with cold eyes and a permanent sneer—looked between them with poorly concealed disdain.
“The High King wishes to speak with the translator. Alone.”
“I am her guard,” Khorrek said flatly. “Where she goes, I go.”
“The High King—”
“You serve at the High King’s pleasure. As do I.” Khorrek’s voice dropped to a growl that made the guard step back involuntarily. “And the High King ordered me to guard her. So I will be there.”
The guard swallowed, then nodded.
Smart man.
They walked through the corridors she was beginning to recognize, though she still couldn’t have navigated them alone. The Obsidian Keep was designed to confuse—to keep outsiders disoriented and dependent. It was another form of control.
She focused on her breathing, and on keeping her steps measured and calm.
Don’t show fear.
Predators could smell fear, and Lasseran was the apex predator in this world.
The throne room doors opened with theatrical slowness. Inside, the High King sat on his throne—an ostentatious thing of carved wood and precious metals that somehow looked both magnificent and grotesque.
Like the man himself.
Lasseran didn’t stand. He didn’t even smile his usual silk-and-poison smile. Just watched her approach with those pale eyes that held no warmth. No humanity.
She stopped at what felt like an appropriate distance. Close enough to hear him speak. Far enough to—what? Run?
There was nowhere to run.
“Dr. Monroe,” he said smoothly. “How delightful to see you again.”
Poison dripped from every word.
“Your Majesty.” She managed a credible curtsy, despite having never performed one in her life. “Thank you for granting me an audience.”
“Granting.” Lasseran’s smile was a knife’s edge. “How polite. As if you had a choice.”
“I am at your service, of course.”
“Are you?” He leaned forward slightly. “Because I find myself wondering, Dr. Monroe, whether you are truly committed to the task I set you.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I assure you—”
“It has been over a week since I gave you access to the finest library in the Five Kingdoms. A week of comfort. Of leisure. Of my considerable hospitality.” His tone never changed.
Still smooth. Still pleasant. “And yet I have received no reports of progress. No updates on the translation. No indication that you are any closer to unlocking the secrets of the Beast Curse.”
“These things take time, Your Majesty. The text is fragmentary and the language archaic. I’m having to cross-reference multiple sources just to—”
“Excuses.”
The word cracked through the room like a whip, and she flinched despite herself.
Lasseran rose from his throne with liquid grace, and descended the steps with the controlled power of a predator.
“I did not bring you across worlds to hear excuses, Dr. Monroe. I brought you because you were supposed to possess unique capabilities. Insights no other scholar could provide.” He circled her slowly, and she fought the urge to turn with him. “Tell me—was I mistaken in my assessment?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then perhaps you are deliberately delaying the translation? Hoping for some miraculous rescue? Some intervention from the gods themselves?”
“I’m working as quickly as I can—”
“Not. Quickly. Enough.” Each word was punctuated with a step closer. “I am not a patient man, Dr. Monroe. And I find my tolerance for incompetence has its limits.”
She could see Khorrek’s rigid body behind Lasseran, his eyes blazing with fury.
One wrong word from her, and he’d do something stupid. Something that would get him killed. She couldn’t let that happen.
“With respect, Your Majesty.” She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet those terrible eyes. “You yourself told me that I was the one who would find the key. That my particular expertise was essential to this task.”
Lasseran went very still.
“Are you quoting my own words back to me?”
“I’m reminding you why you brought me here. Because if it were easy—if anyone could do it—you wouldn’t have needed me at all.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that precedes storms.
Lasseran’s perfect facade cracked. Just for a moment. Just enough to show the monster underneath.
His hand was suddenly in front of her throat, not quite touching her but close enough she could feel the coldness emanating from it.
But she saw Khorrek start to move but she caught his eye.
Don’t. Please don’t.
If he interfered, Lasseran would take him away, punish him, possibly even kill him.
She couldn’t lose him.
Not for this.
He froze, and she braced herself for Lasseran’s hand to close around her neck. It didn’t. It only hovered there for a moment before he slowly lowered it.
His mask slipped back into place, terrifying in its sudden civility.
“You have courage, Dr. Monroe. I’ll grant you that.” His voice was almost admiring. Almost. “Foolish courage, perhaps. But courage nonetheless.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t trust her voice.
“However.” Lasseran stepped back, deliberately putting distance between them. “Courage does not translate pages. Bravery does not decode ancient texts. And your defiance—while entertaining—is not producing the results I require.”
“I need more time.”
“Then I shall give it to you. Three days.”
Her stomach dropped. “Your Majesty, that’s not—”
“Three days,” Lasseran repeated. “To show me tangible progress. To prove you are worth the resources I’ve invested in you.”
“And if I can’t—”
“If you cannot?” His smile returned, as bright and cold as winter sun on ice. “Then I will be forced to provide additional motivation.”
“What kind of motivation?” she whispered.
“Your maid is quite devoted to you from what I hear.” He examined his nails with feigned disinterest. “It would be a shame if something unfortunate were to happen to one so young.”
Ice flooded her veins.
“She’s innocent. She has nothing to do with—”
“Precisely. Which makes her an excellent motivator, don’t you think?” Lasseran’s eyes gleamed. “Every day you fail to make progress, I will harm someone you care about. Starting with dear Mira. Then perhaps Master Vorlag. That elderly priest seems fond of you.”
Monster.
The word screamed through her mind, but she locked it behind her teeth.
“You can’t—”
“I can do whatever I wish, Dr. Monroe. I am the High King. My will is absolute.” He moved closer again, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper.
“And you would do well to remember that your value to me is entirely contingent on your usefulness. The moment you cease to be useful, you become disposable. As does everyone around you.”
Her hands clenched in her skirts, her nails biting into her palms.
Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
“Three days,” she said. Her voice came out surprisingly steady. “I’ll have progress for you in three days.”
“Excellent.” Lasseran’s smile widened. “I knew you’d see reason. You’re dismissed, Dr. Monroe. Do give Mira my regards when next you see her. Assuming, of course, that you do see her again.”
The threat hung in the air like poison.
She turned to leave, forcing herself to walk—not run—towards the doors.
Khorrek fell into step beside her. Silent. Radiating fury.
They made it halfway back to her rooms before her legs began to shake. Three-quarters before her breathing went ragged. By the time they reached them, she was trembling so hard her teeth chattered.
Khorrek closed the door behind and locked it with deliberate precision.
Then he just stood there, massive and furious and utterly still.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was barely above a growl.
“No. He didn’t—he stopped.” She sank onto the couch, her knees giving out. “He stopped.”
“Because you signaled me not to interfere.”
“If you’d interfered, he would have killed you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care!” The words burst out of her, sharp with fear and frustration. “I care, Khorrek. I care if you live or die. I care if he punishes you for defending me. I care—” Her voice broke.
She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.
Not now. Don’t break now. You can’t afford to break.
But her body didn’t listen. The terror she’d suppressed in Lasseran’s presence came flooding back, overwhelming every defense.
She’d seen her death in his eyes.
And worse—she’d put Mira in danger. Vorlag. Everyone who’d shown her any kindness in this terrible place.
All because she couldn’t decode a text fast enough.
“Thea.” Khorrek said gently. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re hyperventilating. Slow down.”
He was right. Her breaths were coming too fast, too shallow. The classic symptoms of a panic attack. But knowing it and controlling it were different things.
She tried to slow her breathing and failed. Tried again. Khorrek knelt in front of her, not quite touching her.
“Match my breathing,” he said. “In. Out. In. Out.”
She focused on his voice. On the steady rhythm he established.
Slowly—painfully slowly—her breathing began to even out.
The panic receded enough for her to think again. To process.