“I told you,” the prince says as he meanders back up the stairs. “She was feisty. Took a swing at Ursulette and gave Rhain a black eye when he tried wrangling her. Not that the man couldn’t afford a little imperfection.”
He reaches for something behind the throne and a moment later pulls out a goblet of gods know what. My imagination doesn’t have to run wild for long. He takes a drink, and when he lowers the golden chalice, his lips are stained red.
“You think you’re impressed with Elison, Father?” Swirling the red liquid around in his chalice, he points it at me. “Just wait until you meether.”
A wave of ice washes over me. My body knows I have to escape to survive, but none of my limbs are working. They’re too cold to move; frozen in place no matter how much I scream at myself to run.
“Elison might’ve been feisty,” the prince continues, pausing to take another drink and walks back down the steps. He stops before me, bright eyes burning into mine. “But this one here? She’s fierce. She means to survive. She means to fight. I could see it in her eyes then as clear as I can see it here now.”
Fuck.
Of course the prince would weigh in on these decisions and give the king insight that he would otherwise not have. What did I think would happen? That he’d take one glance at us and make a random decision based on appearance alone?
Just like that, my chances of eating a full meal for as long as I’m here are ruined.
But that doesn’t mean Elison’s have to be.
Slowly, I exhale away my panic, my fear. I whip my dark hair over my shoulder just to show him how little I care, and how little he intimidates me, no matter how much I have to crane my neck just to glare up into his piercing eyes.
“You thinkshe’sfeisty?” A mocking snort escapes me. “An expectant mother who hasn’t been able to stomach food for weeks? If you ask me, that says more about your incompetence of handling prisoners than it says about her.”
Heat flashes behind those icy eyes, but none of it reaches his carefree tone. “Oh, well my incompetence should most definitely be addressed. And promptly. Please, I implore you. Tell me the ways in which I should have handled my prisoners more to their liking.”
Embarrassment burns through me. Embarrassment, and something else...
“In fact,” he continues, and with the speed of a spider snatching its prey, his hand is tangled in my hair, my head jerked back. His sharp fangs hover over my exposed neck as the hot air of his panting breaths burns my skin. “Perhaps I should practice on you first. Make sure myhandlingis to your liking.”
“That’s enough.” King Tor waves him away as if he’s bored. I’ve never been so relieved by anything he’s ever done in his life, nor will I again. “There will be no sampling of the livestock before the Hunt. I thought I taught you better than that, although it would seem I was wrong.”
The king gestures to the young man with straw hair besides me who began whimpering the moment the prince lunged for me. As if it were his neck on the line.
Begrudgingly the prince releases the back of my skull and tosses me aside. “You can blame Harland for that. He bled two of the prisoners before we arrived.”
“Mmm. Yes,” the king says, wryly. “Because why fault an incompetent leader when we can blame those simply following orders.”
A muscle in the prince’s jaw tightens.
Before whatever vicious words are brewing on his tongue can spew out, the king turns his back to us and makes the short climb up to his throne. His knees tremble with every step, quaking so hard that they almost topple him.
I could be wrong, but he seems to be in worse of a condition than Elison.
I wonder what ails him.
I wonder if it’s terminal.
Once he’s finally settled, one of his hands flicks up to Dunce.
“Give the boy and whoever else was fed upon an extra ration today. Something hearty to replenish what was taken. Beginning tomorrow, he’ll receive one meal daily.”
Like the coward he seems to be, called Dunce nods vigorously, almost appreciatively. My lip curls in disgust.
“For the mother-who-never-will-be,” King Tor continues. “Fatten her up. As much as she’ll eat, and anything she’ll keep down. Our constituents will be ravenous knowing that one of them will have the honor of hunting and feasting upon a woman with two heartbeats and increased blood volume.”
The image he’s painting attempts to take hold of my imagination, but it won’t work. Elison and I will be long gone before the Hunt ever begins, and before any vile monster will be able to sink its teeth into her belly.
I’ve done my job. At least she will be well-fed. Even if they will be treating her like a prized hog.
“Now,” King Tor says, leaning to one side of the chair to prop his face on his palm. “What to do with her?”
