Page 4 of Brutal Fae King (Dark Faevea King #1)

She clearly knows more than she is willing to say.

Of course. The fated usurper would be crafty. She would know to keep her cards close to her chest. It will take a lot more than I am used to in order to get that information from her, I’m sure. Torture is often not very effective in getting information out of people, I find; they will say almost anything to stop the pain before long, so I need to do something else.

Something more psychological would do better.

I pace back and forth in my war room as I think.

Well, I at least have her in my grasp. That’s better than her being loose in Faevea…

There is much I could do. She is a pitiful peasant woman after all—surely it won’t take much to break her now she’s mine.

There is a gentle knock on my door.

“Enter!” I bark.

One of my war counselors walks in and bows his head lightly.

“Sire,” he says. “The magical assault on the Northern arena is being built by the court mages. They should have formed a spell large enough to destroy the Naga army by sundown.”

“Good,” I grunt.

“They… um… they would like to clarify that you don’t want to send the message to our soldiers in the Northern Murbyn Bridge territories until a few hours before.”

Anger courses through me—I twitch and glare at the war counselor. He recoils, staring at the floor like a kicked dog. His wings give a shiver of fear.

“You would question me?” I snarl quietly.

“N-no, Sire!” he adds. “I-I am just the messenger!”

I grunt.

“Yes,” I tell them. “I want them to send a message to our soldiers a few hours before. If the mages are ready with their spell by sundown, then send the message now.”

“Very well,” the war counselor murmurs. “We shall ready the steeds to send the message now, Sire.”

He bows and starts to leave. An idea hits me:

“Hold!”

He flinches and turns slowly.

“S-Sire?” he asks.

“What needs doing to get the horses ready to ride?” I ask.

“Um… much,” he replies nervously. “We had not expected to ride so early, Sire—we shall prepare our fastest horse.”

I think for a second.

“So there are no horses prepared?” I ask

“No, Sire. B-but we shall set many men on the task! It shall be done momentarily!”

“No,” I answer. “There is a woman in solitary confinement in the dungeons. Have her clean the stables and prepare our horses—starting with our fastest for the messenger, and then continue until every stable is spotless and every horse is groomed and shod.”

“Every horse?” he asks. “One woman?”

I can hear the bemusement badly hidden in his voice. I crack a smile.

“Yes., one woman.”

***

After several hours, I visit the stables. There she is, the usurper, on her knees, scrubbing the floor of the stables with a thick, bristled brush and a bucket of dirty water.

I can begrudgingly admit that a decent job has been done. In the morning, these stables were covered in hay, combined with some horse defecation, and now it has been restored to what it looked like when it was first built.

I wave my guards away and walk toward her.

“Impressive job,” I say to her. “Have you cleaned horse shit before?”

The usurper doesn’t answer. Instead, she just turns and looks at me. Her face is smeared in streaks of dirt, yet somehow, it does nothing to dull her beauty.

She is enchanting. I’ll give her that. That’s what makes her so dangerous.

Her green eyes are just as flinty as they were before. She says nothing, but her defiant gaze speaks for her.

“If you are finished, then there are some more tasks for you,” I say. “Unless you’d rather share a meal and conversation with me ? ”

The woman’s nose pinches up. She stands and sweeps her hands over her dress to clean them off. Then she walks up, almost chest to chest with me.

“What’s your next task for me?” she spits at me.

Feisty woman… I chuckle lightly. Then I reach my toe out and tip over the bucket with my foot.

“You don’t seem to have finished yet,” I tell her. “Come find the guards when you are.”

She growls a little under her breath, then sinks back down to her knees.

***

A few days later, the damn woman still hasn’t broken. It doesn’t seem like there’s any task she can be given that will be too much for her. She takes even the nastiest tasks in stride and refuses any semblance of conversation. She receives low-quality gruel—and not that much of it—for every meal and is never tempted by rare meats and wine. She is kept isolated for hours at a time, with every person forbidden to speak to her, and yet she still does not want to speak to me.

Her resilience is another thing to be begrudgingly admired, but I am beginning to wonder what can be done to make her talk. Torture is not effective, and the witch has indeed clarified that she must not be killed. Perhaps a few guards should be sent back to her village—something there could help… persuade her. I remember they said something about a sister, but they did not take her because she was on her deathbed… If the sister is alive still…

A knock lands on my door.

“Sire?” It’s my lord-in-waiting.

“Come in, Bruamin,” I answer.

Bruamin walks into my quarters. It feels like every time I lay eyes on him, I remember the young man from my childhood, not the elderly man he is now. He bows lightly, and now I see the strain on his back.

“It is getting late, Sire,” he says.

“It is…” I murmur.

And then it hits me; I have given this woman every humiliating task to think of to make her finally tell me her secrets. Except for that…

“Sire?” my lord-in-waiting asks.

“Bruamin, you may go fetch the usurper and then retire for the evening,” I tell him.

“The usurper?” he asks. “Are you sure, Sire?”

“I am,” I reply.

“Are you going to be safe, having that dangerous woman up here?” Bruamin asks.

I look over to him. Then I smile.

“I’ll be fine. She’s not practiced enough with her powers yet,” I assure him.

My lord-in-waiting gives me a worried look. He bows his head to me and then turns and leaves the room.

It takes a long time, but eventually, a demure little knock hits my door.

“Enter,” I order.

The usurper walks in. with her gaze down but her chin proudly up. Her dress is the same one she was wearing when doing all the chores, so it still carries its stains. Again, it does nothing to hide her beauty at all.

When she walks into my room, she breaks into a sneer.

“What?” she growls.

Her audacity is stunning, but again, I can’t help but laugh; it’s been years since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a way.

“I need you to undress me,” I tell her.

For once, her stoic expression changes. Her eyes widen a little bit. Her soft, rose lips part just a little. I smirk.

“ Or you can tell me what you know,” I say. “Your choice.”

She just stares at me for a moment.

Yes. She’ll talk now.

Then, she closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath. Her face returns to her usual position, mostly neutral but with just the smallest touch of disgust.

“Fine,” she says.

That gives me pause.

I… didn’t expect her to agree. But I can’t back out now; it’ll make me look weak.

She approaches me. She sucks in a deep breath, and she reaches toward me. She keeps her gaze low as her hands move under the hem of my shirt. Her fingers graze my skin, and a tremor crackles through me like electricity.

Is she using her lightning powers on me?!

The backs of her fingers touch my stomach.There’s a hot streak across my skin as she lifts my shirt up. I stare at her face as she does. She’s averting her gaze, a deep red inching across her cheeks. After a second, the shirt won’t go any further. We pause, and she looks up at me. Her eyes are so very green, and her brown hair is so very glossy… It looks soft. Looking up at me like that… she looks… sweet.

“I-I need you to lift your arms.” She tries to sound strong, but there’s a wobble in her voice.

I give a little grunt and lift my arms up. Her hands continue crawling up my body, pulling the shirt up and over my head. I’m getting hotter and hotter as her hands move over me.

Is she… casting her spell?

When the shirt comes up over my head and I can see again, she’s so close to me… I can feel her chest almost resting on mine, she’s standing so close. Her nose almost brushes mine as she turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are so deep. She looks at me for a long moment. Then she backs away a little and walks around to where the shirt has gotten caught on my wings.

Once she’s behind me, she slowly starts to peel the shirt off my back.

“Your wings…” She murmurs.

A prickle runs over my skin. My wings start to fold down, but I fight it so she can take the shirt off.

“I know. It was a long time ago,” I answer before I can stop myself.

I feel her continue to take the shirt off. Most people don’t notice the scars my step-brother left there until they’re up close.

She brushes the shirt off my wings, and a deep shiver runs through me.

What is this woman doing to me?

She walks around to my front again, my shirt in her hand. Her eyes are still looking down, but this time, she’s not averting her eyes from me. She’s looking at me. Directly at me.

I watch her scan her eyes up and down my body, as much as she may try to hide it.

And I like it.

I watch her look over me for a moment—and then her eyes snap up to me again when she realizes I’m watching. A little intimidation passes over her face as she meets my gaze again. She keeps looking at me for a moment and then glances down.

There’s only one more thing left. She looks down and then meets my eyes again. Then, the usurper steps forward, reaches her hands out, and takes hold of the top of my waistband.

A jolt runs through me—more powerful than before.

“That’s enough!” I snap. “You… you don’t have to do anymore. You’re dismissed.”

She sighs a little, but her cheeks are still flushed and she hides her face as she hastily exits my room.

Once she’s gone, I sigh in relief.

It's been a long time since I got even that close to losing control…

What did she do to me? Is she a witch after all…?

Either way, that was supposed to coax the answers out of her, but it did nothing. Nothing but…

I can never allow anything like that to happen ever again.