A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

“I—” Whatever Landell was about to say ended in a gurgle as Casteel’s right arm thrust forward.

“And I will not be able to forgive you.” Casteel jerked his arm back, throwing something to the floor. It landed with a fleshy smack.

My lips slowly parted as I realized what the lumpy, red mass was. Oh, my gods. A heart. It was an actual heart.

Letting go of the wolven, Casteel stepped back, watching Landell slide down the wall, the wolven’s head lolling to the side. He turned to face the table, his right hand stained with blood and gore. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?”

Chapter 2

A chorus of denials echoed through the banquet hall, but none of the men had so much as twitched in their seats. Some of them were even chuckling, and I…I stared at the red coursing down the length of Casteel’s fingers, dripping onto the floor.

Casteel leaned forward, plucking up Landell’s napkin. Strolling back to his chair, he idly wiped his hand clean.

I watched him sit, my heart thumping as he turned to me, his gaze sheltered by a fringe of heavy lashes.

“You probably think that was excessive,” he said, dropping the crumpled, blood-stained napkin onto his plate. “It wasn’t. No one speaks of you or to you like that and lives.”

I stared at him.

He sat back. “At least, I gave him a quick death. There is some dignity in that.”

I had no idea what to say.

I had no clue what to feel. All I could think was, oh my gods, he just ripped a wolven’s heart from his chest with his bare hand.

The men who stood by the doors were picking up Landell when one of the men at the table asked, “So, when is the wedding?”

Laughter greeted the question, and there was a hint of a smile on Casteel’s lips as he leaned toward me. “There is no side of you that is not as beautiful as the other half. Not a single inch isn’t stunning.” His lashes lifted, and the intensity in his stare held me captive. “That was true the first time I said it to you, and it is still the truth today and tomorrow.”

My lips parted on a sharp inhale. I almost reached for my face again but stopped myself. Somehow, in the process of getting used to being seen without the veil of the Maiden, I’d forgotten about my scars—something I’d never thought possible. I wasn’t ashamed of them, hadn’t been for years. They were proof of my strength, of the horrific attack I had survived. But when I was unveiled in front of Casteel for the first time, I’d feared he would agree with what Duke Teerman had always said. What I knew most thought if they saw me unveiled or looked upon me now.

That half of my face was a masterpiece, while the other was a nightmare.

But when Hawke—Casteel—had seen the pale pink, jagged streak of skin that started below my hairline and sliced across the temple, ending at my nose, and the other that was shorter and higher, cutting across my forehead through my eyebrow, he had said that both halves were as beautiful as the whole.

I’d believed him then. And I’d felt beautiful for the first time in my life, something that had also been forbidden to me.

And gods help me, but I still believed him.

“What he said was more than an insult. It was a threat that I will not tolerate,” Casteel finished, sitting back as he picked up his chalice with the same hand that had torn a heart free from its cage moments before.

My gaze fell to where the dagger still lay on Landell’s plate. What the wolven would’ve attempted to do with that dagger shouldn’t have come as a shock. It wasn’t like I didn’t know that many of those at this table would rather see me sliced into pieces. I knew I wasn’t safe here, but all of them had seen the hall outside this room. They had to know what would happen if they disobeyed Casteel.

Some unconscious part of me still underestimated their hatred of anything that reminded them of the Ascended. And that was me, even if I hadn’t done anything to them other than defend myself.

Conversation picked back up around the table. Quiet discussions. Louder ones. Laughter. It was like nothing had happened, and that rattled me. But what left me wholly unsettled was what I couldn’t admit, even to myself.

Kieran cleared his throat. “Would you like to return to your room, Penellaphe?”

Pulled from my thoughts, it took me a moment to respond. “You mean my cell?”

“It’s far more comfortable and not nearly as drafty as the dungeon,” he replied.

“A cell is a cell, no matter how comfortable it is,” I told him.

“I’m fairly certain this is the same conversation we had earlier,” Casteel commented.

My gaze swiveled back to Casteel. “I’m fairly certain I don’t care.”

“I’m also sure that we came to the conclusion that you have never been free, Princess,” Casteel tacked on. The truth of those words was still as brutal as it was when they had first been spoken. “I don’t believe you would even recognize freedom if it were ever offered to you.”

“I know enough to recognize that’s not what you’re offering,” I shot back, fury returning in a hot, welcoming wave, warming my too-cold skin.

A faint smile appeared on Casteel’s mouth, though it wasn’t his tight, calculating one. My anger gave way to confusion. Was he purposely baiting me?

More than a little agitated, I focused on the wolven. “I would like to return to my more comfortable, not-nearly-as-drafty cell. I assume I won’t be allowed to walk there myself?”

Kieran’s lips twitched, but his expression smoothed out pretty quickly, proving that he had the common sense not to smile or laugh. “You would assume correctly.”

Without waiting for His Highness to give permission, I pushed back my chair. The legs screeched across the stone floor. Internally, I sighed. My motions weren’t as dignified as I wished, but I kept my head high as I started to turn.

One of the men who’d been at the door and had retrieved Landell’s corpse stalked across the banquet hall, headed straight for the Prince. He bent low, whispering in Casteel’s ear as Kieran rose. Without waiting for Kieran, nor looking at the smear of blood across the wall, I took a step.

Suddenly, Casteel was at my side, his hand on my arm. Not having heard him rise, I swallowed a gasp of surprise and moved to pull my arm free as the man who’d spoken to Casteel stepped away.

“Don’t,” Casteel whispered, holding onto my arm. Something about his tone in that one word stopped me. I looked up at him. “We’re about to have company. Fight me all you want later. I’ll probably enjoy it. But do not fight me in front of him.”

My eyes met his as knots formed in my stomach. Again, his tone struck a chord of unease within me as I looked at the door. Who was coming? His father? The King?

Casteel shifted so that he stood partially in front of me as a group of men filled the doorway. The sandy-haired man who walked in the center, tall and broad of shoulder, snagged my attention. I inherently knew that this was who Casteel had spoken of.

The man, his wealth of blond hair brushing a square, hard jaw, appeared much older than Casteel. If he was mortal, which I doubted, I would’ve pegged him for someone on the verge of approaching mid-life. I didn’t think this man was Casteel’s father. He looked nothing like him, but I supposed that didn’t mean much.

He strode toward us. The heavy cloak he wore, dusted with melting snow, parted, revealing a black tunic with two gold lines overlapping across his chest. As he drew closer, I somehow managed not to gasp. It wasn’t the pale blue eyes I associated with the wolven. It was the deep groove in the center of his forehead as if someone had attempted to slice open his head. I, of all people, knew better than to be surprised by scars. Shame crept up my throat as I averted my gaze. It wasn’t that the injury was ugly. The man was handsome in a rugged way that reminded me of a lion. It was just a shock to see someone, a possible wolven, scarred. Vaguely, I became aware of Kieran coming to stand at my back.

“What in the gods’ teeth is happening here?” the man demanded.

The breath I had taken got stuck as my gaze flew back to the man. His voice…it sounded so familiar to me.

“Or do I even want to know?” he continued, his brows lifting as he saw the blood on the wall. The others who’d traveled with them moved among those at the table, all except one. He was shorter than Casteel and more compact. His hair was a reddish-brown mop of waves, and his eyes were a brilliant gold like Casteel’s. This one remained close to the man, and his gaze seemed to track every breath I took.

“I’ve just been doing a little redecorating,” Casteel replied, and the wolven chuckled as the two males clasped hands.

I felt a catch in my chest again, a tug at my heart. His laugh…it was raspy and rough as if his throat weren’t sure what to do with the emotion. Like Vikter’s. My heart squeezed. That was why his voice and laugh sounded familiar to me.

“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon, Alastir,” Casteel said.

“We rode hard to get ahead of the storm headed this way.” Alastir’s gaze slid past the Prince to me. Curiosity marked his features, though not the flush of anger or the coldness of distaste. “So, this is her.”

“It is.”

Every muscle in my body tensed as Alastir’s gaze lowered. His head tilted, and it took me a moment to realize that he was staring at my neck—

The damn bite!

My braid had slipped over my shoulder, revealing my throat.

The skin around Alastir’s mouth tightened as his gaze shifted back to Casteel. “I feel like things have occurred since we last spoke.”

Had Alastir been with Casteel’s father when he left New Haven to speak with him? If so, where was the King?

“Many things have changed,” Casteel answered. “Including my relationship with Penellaphe.”

“Penellaphe?” Alastir repeated in surprise, one eyebrow arching. “Named after the Goddess of Wisdom, Loyalty, and Duty?”

Since I very well couldn’t stand there and ignore him, I nodded.     PrevNextTip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.

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