A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(31)

For once, I felt no inclination to heal.

The king crouched over him and spoke so quietly, it was almost a whisper—a sinister sigh alongside the night’s fog. “You disgusting piece of filth—a festering blemish in my army and among men. You will regret every single step that led you to this moment. You will pray for death.”

Bert just groaned, and then fell back into the grass, unconscious. The King stood up, brushed some mud from his knees, and turned to face me. His expression was a careful mask of calm, as if he knew that if he either softened toward me, or revealed the depths of his rage, I might fall into hysterics.

And he would be right. I was mortified and sick with fear. I couldn’t form a single coherent thought around the resounding roar of betrayal whirring through my ears.

A handful of soldiers had clearly heard the commotion. They rushed out of their tents, some with glinting metal swords at the ready, others sleep-addled and still pulling on pants—but each one bowed when they saw their king.

“Take this sack of shit to the dungeons,” he said to them. “And tell Commander Griffin,” King Ravenwood nodded toward Bert’s mangled face, “I want him to suffer.”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate, picking Bert up from the muddy ground and carrying him off toward the castle.

The rest of them stood by, ready for further orders from their king.

Their king.

“As you were,” he spat, sending the men scattering back into their tents and leaving us alone beneath the shining night sky. Horror swirled in my gut like blood in water as I regarded King Ravenwood myself.

He took a tentative step forward and offered me his hand. His eyes still burned like ice.

I stared at his palm before pushing myself up off the grass without his help.

My breathing had gone so shallow. None of my thoughts were coherent, and I was shaking in awkward, jarring spasms. I didn’t want to be touched by anyone at this moment, least of all him.

The King flexed his outstretched hand and pocketed it as if he didn’t know what else to do with the appendage. “Are you all right?”

Was I all right?

“No.” I wiped the cool, drying tears from my face.

King Ravenwood looked physically pained as his eyes followed my hands on my cheeks. “I swear he will not live to touch another woman.”

Emotions warred inside my heart. Shame at how I had so easily been played for a fool, fury at his betrayal and toward his twisted lieutenant—how close he had come to hurting me… and terror. Such terror of the wicked king of legend who stood before me, I thought I might faint.

Fury—the easiest to grasp and harness in my mind—won out, and I glared at him.

He rubbed a hand down his face like a long-suffering children’s teacher.

“Arwen—”

I made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. I had to get out of here.

Right now.

But Jaem was long gone, so my feet began to carry me back toward the castle. The gorgeous, threatening deceiver followed me closely.

He looped in front of me, and I stopped short. Our chests were a single breath apart.

I cowered back from his broad form. From the wicked, predatory power that seeped from him.

“I was going to tell you.” He surveyed me from head to toe, seemingly checking for injury.

What would he do to me now? Now that I had tried to escape?

He must have seen the horror on my face because a bitter smile replaced his frown. “I’m not going to torture you for your failed attempt to run, though that would be fitting of the merciless king you think I am.”

“Thank you,” I whispered dumbly.

King Ravenwood pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I need to know if you’re all right,” he said firmly. “Did he hurt you?”

It was like the words were blades in his mouth.

“Why were you chained up in your own dungeon?” I asked. It was all I could force out.

His jaw clenched. “I had to talk to someone down there. And not as…myself.”

I remembered the hushed argument that first night. The husk of a man that had been brought back to his cell this evening.

“Are. You. Hurt?” His words punched through clenched teeth.

“No,” I said, low and quiet. Lower than a whisper.

He nodded, eyes softening with relief.

“Why… continue to lie to me in the infirmary?”

His brows furrowed. “Maybe you wouldn’t have healed me if you knew who I was. All I had taken from you.”

It wasn’t true, but I wondered if he knew that. Or if this was another one of his many lies.

I didn’t know why I even bothered to ask—it wasn’t like I could trust a word he said. Alongside my fear, searing humiliation funneled through me. I had allowed a monster to lie to me, deceive me, and coax some of my deepest truths from my lips. It had all been a nasty, dirty trick. The red haze of anger that veiled my vision intensified.

I was weak and stupid—first with Bert, and now with King Ravenwood.

“Are you really going to kill him?” I asked.

The King’s jaw tightened. “Yes. I am going to kill him,” he said measuredly.

“Of course,” I looked down, but my tone had conveyed my disgust.

“You are impossible. I just saved you from a fucking rapist. Now you judge me for how I wish to punish him for hurting you?”