Page 95 of The Chains You Defy

But we wouldn’t have to beat him. We’d only have to avoid being caught in his web.

After I’d secured the knot of my lacing, I approached the agitated prince and engulfed him in a hug, confirming my support once more, and for a brief moment, his tension eased a fraction.

“Let’s go.” My voice had been a mere whisper, but the fae male understood me perfectly.

Blood shot into my cheeks as he pressed his lips to my forehead, hand entangled in my hair. His devastatingly beautiful face, once he’d withdrawn from me, morphedinto the aloof mask I already despised. But I schooled my expression as well and donned the resigned disguise I’d claimed as my own.

We were ready to face the fae king again. And I swore to myself, for every bit of pain he’d cause Dion, he had to answer to me one day.

How?

Time alone could tell.

“Ah, finally. For a moment, I believed I would have to send my guards to retrieve you.”

Cold shivers ran down my back when we entered the throne room, and Galrach’s voice cut through the air. Like yesterday, I trailed half a step behind Dion, and as he bowed, I sank into a deep curtsy as well. That I yearned to claw out the king’s face with my nails or kick and bite him without restraint didn’t matter—for now, there was only room for the docile human who was only tolerated because she represented a concept promising power.

“Your summons arrived while I was taking a bath, Your Royal Majesty.”

“And you took the time to dry your hair.”

My legs trembled from holding the reverent pose that Galrach hadn’t released me from yet. Still, I observed Dion, who simply shrugged.

“You dislike tardiness of all kinds. Between wet hair or arriving a few minutes too late, I picked my poison.”

“What do I loathe the most, Scriosta?”

“Me?”

Instead of an immediate answer, Galrach narrowed his eyes and examined Dion before his gaze slid over to me. My skin crawled under the High King’s observation, a slimy residue staying behind on every inch he scrutinized. My stomach flipped, then tightened as nervous energy penetrated my system, originating from the prince, so thick I was surprised the waves he radiated weren’t visible. All I could do was silently pray that Dion would keep himself together.

“When you behave like a petulant faeling like you did in the last months, then yes.” Galrach rose from his throne and, with measured steps, approached Dion. “You never answered me to my satisfaction yesterday. Why did you think that it was acceptable to inform me in a letter about how you’d accompany my brother, of all people, to our fucking enemy’s lands when your sole purpose in life lies in being at my disposal?”

“Traveling with Antas sounded like fun, and I was bored.”

“Fun? Bored?”

In my opinion, this would be the right time for Dion to apologize to the High King, maybe grovel or even plead, but instead, he antagonized Galrach further, and for the love of the gods, I couldn’t fathom why.

“Yes. Galanta has become extremely dull, and Alaiann is the epitome of boredom.”

“Noted. If that is how little you appreciate the freedom I have so generously bestowed on you, I will make sure that such an oversight will never happen again.” Galrach paused before his tone turned even sharper. “Do not dare roll your eyes at me.”

My legs were burning from the deep curtsy I was still holding, and much to my embarrassment, I could feelmy muscles twitching, as well as my breath picking up. If I weren’t allowed to straighten soon, I’d just keel over. I’d love to say this weakness was a result of the recent torture I’d endured, but that would be a lie—I was simply untrained and physically impaired. Always had been.

“Was that all? I have some important things to attend to. You know, someone replaced my drapes in my absence, and I still have to find out who the culprit was.” Dion glanced at his fingernails, inspecting them with an expression of indifference, his other hand hidden in the pocket of his tunic. From the outside, he was all apathy and disinterest, but I knew him well enough to notice the little tells that gave him away—the slight flutter in his jaw, the vein pulsing in his neck, the tension radiating off him in waves. If Galrach were able to read him as well as I could, we would be royally fucked.

At least one problem solved itself in the aftermath of Dion’s rather provocative contribution when Galrach stormed across the remaining distance between him and his heir. With a sickening strike, the prince was flung to the side, crashing into me, sending us both toppling to the ground.

This was how being hit by an avalanche or swept away by a flood must feel.

When the giant wall of muscle impacted with me and the prince did nothing to soften the blow—hopefully to keep our cover and not because Galrach had surprised him that much—I whimpered under the heavy frame covering me before I could swallow the noise.

Dion tensed at my sound but, without a word, picked himself up. “Stay down.” His order to me contained an angry note so real that I wondered if he’d snapped at me as part of his act or if he was using me as an outlet for thefury burning in his eyes. Before I could react in any way, though, the High King’s voice cut through the room like a butcher’s knife across the cattle’s throat.

“No. As you have proven with your petty attempts at rebellion, you still have not learned your lesson. Follow me and bring that pathetic thing with you.”

“You heard His Royal Majesty.” Dion’s hand clamped around my biceps, and he hauled me up. The motion was a lot gentler than I’d expected, and his amethyst eyes met mine for a moment. Murder was clearly written in them, and the low growl vibrating in his chest emphasized the expression, but the way his thumb was secretly brushing over my arm confirmed that all his rage was reserved for Galrach.