Page 6 of The King has Fallen (The Kingdom of the Krow #1)

~ YILAN ~

For a moment that chittering terror screamed in my head. But before I could do more than struggle weakly, there was a scrape, a muttered curse, and suddenly I was plonked bodily into a wooden chair sized for a Nephilim—which meant my feet hung in thin air so I could swing them like a child.

In a blink he had two of the weapons straps from the bed and was wrapping first one of my arms, then the other, to the chair’s, from wrist to elbow. He tugged the buckles tight enough to worry me about blood flow.

When I was secured, he took two more straps and spread my legs apart, binding each ankle to one of the chair legs so I was sat awkwardly, limbs spread, tied, and unable to move.

I couldn’t even hope to move the chair if I was left unattended. It was massive, and solid. It had to outweigh me by at least fifty pounds.

Melek backed away slowly, eyeing the bonds as if I might somehow produce a blade and slip through them. Despite his size, he moved easily, without the hulking effort of some of the others—including the King. Whether because of his training, or just sheer strength, the man moved like a cat.

I couldn’t help a passing rush of admiration for his dominance and power, the presence he carried… and I couldn’t help shaking in fear of it, suddenly deeply aware of my vulnerability.

But I kept my head.

The Nephilim were all strong. All physically capable and fierce fighters. But they were not without their vulnerabilities. The primary of which being an apparent lack of discipline and intelligence. Surely this couldn’t be the totality of the creatures that had wreaked havoc on the continent over the past few months? The smart ones must be on the battlefield. And yet…

Melek’s lips twisted like he was considering something. Then, without a word he turned on his heel and stalked out of the tent, leaving me there utterly alone, though I had no doubt there were guards outside the tent. Still…

I waited, growing chilled in my wet clothing and hair, until that tent flap snapped back, and he entered carrying a platter of steaming food bringing with it delicious scents of fatty meats and roasted vegetables and…

I tried to shift my weight, my tailbone already growing uncomfortable on the wooden seat of the chair, but Melek ignored me, pulling a small table over until it was just feet from my chair, and placing the platter on it, then swinging another of those massive chairs by the back and sliding it into place at the table.

He then proceeded to seat himself and with one short glance at me, focused on eating slowly, methodically, savoring the food as the tent filled with the cloud of its scent.

My stomach growled audibly. Melek acted as if he didn’t hear it, but I noticed he ate even more slowly, taking time to lick the fat from his fingers between bites, lips smacking.

I just stared at him the whole time, not pretending I didn’t wish to share the food. What was the point? We both knew this was torture. Which was exactly what he’d intended.

Then, finally, when he’d literally scraped the plate clean, he looked up and met my eyes as he lifted one of the bones that he’d stripped clean, snapped it cleanly between his teeth, and sucked the marrow from it.

“This is what I’ll do to you if you give me any reason. Any at all,” he said quietly, then repeated the process with the other bone.

I didn’t respond.

I also didn’t doubt him.

When there was nothing left for him to consume, he poured himself a large mug of water and downed it, then placed the plate and cup outside of the tent flap before gathering a quill, ink, and parchment from one of the trunks at the side of the tent, and returning to the table.

When he’d settled himself and organized his things on the table, he licked the end of the quill, dipped it carefully in the ink, then finally looked at me again.

“Now,” he said. “Unlike my King I will not grow bored. Start with the Aethereans and their motives for joining the others when it is not even their land, and we’ll move on from there…”

An hour later, still strapped to that chair, I was sweating.

He was right. He was not like his King at all.

Not dull.

Not easily drawn.

Very sharp. Very insightful.

He saw through any of my carefully chosen words and would pursue the question, digging into the details until I was forced to give up every nuance—or admit when I did not know.

For the first time, I questioned the path I’d taken. This man would not be easily manipulated. But as the day wore into night, and night into the early hours of morning, I didn’t flinch. I was committed now. There was little choice but to continue… and possibly fail.

God forgive me.

“Sleeping, Melek? Really?”

The voice was booming and warm with laughter.

I jolted awake, wincing against the crick in my neck and the ache in my tailbone because I was still strapped to that hard chair.

There was a low, rumbling growl, then a graveled, “About fucking time.”

Melek, who’d been asleep in the bed, shoved out of the furs and stalked across the tent to meet the new Nephilim, who was strapped and armored, with temples damp and hair ringed with sweat as if he’d just taken off a helmet. The two clasped arms, clapping each other’s shoulders with the kind of resonant slap that was the only type of affection strong men would allow themselves. Or so I thought.

The new male, sunny and good-humored in his countenance, a bright contrast to Melek’s dark brooding, yanked Melek closer and thumped his back so hard it sounded like drums calling soldiers to war.

But I had a brief glimpse of an unguarded smile from Melek over the man’s shoulder before they parted, and then both turned to look at me.

I tried to straighten. I’d slumped against the bonds in my sleep and now both my hands were numb. But I couldn’t move enough to relieve any of the pain, so I just raised my chin and stared the new man down.

And then I smiled, because the man was smiling at me. And he was quite possibly the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

The light was too dim to be sure of his hair color, but it was clear he was lighter in both hair and complexion than Melek. As he took in the way I’d been bound, he raised one brow and tipped his head.

“I do love a woman who looks good in leather,” he said.

The comment from any of the earlier soldiers would have sickened me with their lusty leering. But this man was different. He was warm and playful in his tone. Not threatening.

“That’s good,” I croaked. “Because I’ve always appreciated a man who was good at knots.”

He affirmed my instinct on his nature by throwing back his head and laughing, then winking at me when I smiled. I was pleased by his easy humor.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Melek growled from behind him. “She has teeth—and she’s been very clear that she isn’t afraid to use them.”

The sunny man glanced at him, then turned his regard back to me, thoughtful. “I wouldn’t let that discourage you completely, Mel,” he said thoughtfully. “I once took a horse that was a feral beast because it was cheap. Everyone before me said it couldn’t be tamed. And it’s true, it took a great deal of time, but once I did…” He locked eyes with me. “That animal was the best ride I’ve ever had.”

I snorted, struggling to contain a delighted laugh as he raised his brows in a suggestive waggle.

Melek shook his head and didn’t even grin. “Best of luck, Jann. Do let me know how you’d like me to honor you in memorial when she’s sliced you open like a piece of fruit. She already hamstrung one of the youngsters. But by all means, give it a shot. Maybe you can domesticate her.”

It took me half a breath to realize who this man had to be, but when I did, my jaw dropped and my eyes went wide.

He looked away from Melek’s warning and caught my expression, arching that handsome brow again.

“What is it?”

“You’re Jannus, the Halfling?” I breathed.

His smile got broader and he turned back to Melek. “Apparently my reputation precedes me.”

“Don’t give her anything,” Melek growled. “Much as it pains me to admit, she is very clever. She’ll extrapolate from anything you offer. Keep your mouth shut.”

Jannus the Halfling—the only living Nephilim descended from two half-bloods, a male and female pair, both born to human women as a result of unions with fallen angels. His great-grandmother was the only known female Nephilim of royal blood. Every other half-blood ever born was male. At least, that was what the history books said. And as far as we knew, the Nephilim records didn’t contradict the position.

The famous half-blood hadn’t lived long past adulthood—legends conflicted on exactly how she had died. I suspected the King at the time had been jealous of her fame and desirability. But there was said to be a curse on his bloodline. Each generation only ever having one child, most of whom died young, but not before producing an heir. A male heir.

Jannus, at thirty-five, was the longest lived in his immediate family line, and not yet a father. As I took in the sight of him —a living legend—he caught my scrutiny and stared back with a considering smile. That little flame low in my belly flared when his nostrils flared, as if he’d caught the scent of me.

I blew out a breath. “I have a theory about your bloodline,” I said cautiously.

His brows rose. “Please share, honeycakes. I can barely contain my excitement.”

“Honeycakes?” Melek muttered, staring at his friend. “She’s as bitter as snakeroot.”

I ignored him, biting my lip. I didn’t miss Jannus’s eyes dropping to my mouth. “Perhaps as long as you don’t wet your prick, you’ll live forever?” I asked him breathlessly, unable to stifle the smile any longer when he blinked, then threw back his head and laughed again.

“Dear God, she’s a spicy pepper, isn’t she?” he boomed at Melek.

“That’s one word for it,” Melek muttered, which only made Jannus laugh more and slap his shoulder again. But Melek shot me a glare to keep my mouth shut, then waited for his friend to stop laughing before he spoke low and hard.

“Thank you for coming, Jann. I am in need of your insight.”

Jannus took a beat to hold my gaze before turning to his friend, his expression dropping into solemn attention. “I’m your servant, Melek. You know that. What’s going on?”

“I am going to be forced to stay in camp for a time,” Melek started.

All humor and heat fled from Jann’s countenance as he stared at Melek. “I mean, I will be glad to have you close, of course. But is this really the time? We’re still debating the route through the swamp and there’s conjecture among the strategists about how they’ve managed to evade you this long.”

“Fortunately, I can help with both of those things—or rather, she can,” Melek growled, tipping his head at me. Jann’s brows popped up again, but Melek didn’t stop. “She’s been through the swamp to get here. She knows every step.”

I sighed. “I didn’t bring an army through.”

“Remember our arrangement,” he muttered with a bare glance at me before turning back to Jannus.

I glared. “I told you. I cannot tell you things I do not know!”

Melek turned on me. “Oh, I suspect you have more than an idea. And we will find out when we question you—you may know more than you realize.”

I huffed. “I will not be held responsible for misguiding you when—”

“If you’d like to get loose from the chair and curl up on the ground with a blanket and pillow, you’ll speculate about which way to take them through, Fetch.”

Jannus looked back and forth between us, but I ignored him, my heart beating too quickly again.

Damn. Damn.

I took a deep breath. “I’ll need maps.”

Melek smiled grimly and Jannus eyed him warily.

“Those can be arranged,” Melek said.

My stomach sank.