Page 70 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

S omewhere between dreaming and consciousness, Emmery drifted.

As she tumbled back into her body, she kicked, screamed, and bit anything that dared touch her.

But before she could grasp enough awareness to run, the darkness dragged her back.

If it was minutes or hours or days, she didn’t know.

All she knew was she weightlessly floated—her limbs distant.

When she finally came to, she drowned in a suffocating comforter, a mountain of pillows, and slippery sheets.

The walls, bedding, bedframe, desk, dressing table were entirely white, lifeless and plain—sterile. Opposite the decor at Castle Dusk. She held no recognition of her surroundings. All that white hurt her damn eyes, and it was like they’d modelled it after the training room she despised so strongly.

Emmery stood from the bed. The cold marble floor slapped against her bare feet, but the room itself was warm. She looked down at the unfamiliar night clothes, a forest-green unlike the copious white. She pinched the silk between her fingers.

What was going on? All of her things were gone—her daggers, pack, cloak, and Aera was nowhere to be seen. The last thing she remembered was the temple. Melantha. Fainting.

Emmery’s heart sped as she stalked to the door and placed a tentative hand on the knob.

Locked.

It didn’t budge as she pushed. Nor when she threw her weight into it.

Shit . Someone had locked her in here.

Determined to burn it down, she held up her hands, eyes narrowed on the smooth white wood, but nothing happened. Flexing her fingers, she tried again. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, clawing for release but caged. Instead of the heat of flames, utter coldness answered.

She studied them in the bright light, fresh fear spiking her chest. On the backs were markings in words she didn’t understand. They glowed an iridescent hue as she rotated them.

Emmery’s hurried footsteps carried her to the bathroom. She twisted the handles and tepid water poured out. Not caring to roll them up, her sleeves soaked in the water as she scrubbed her skin.

But the marks remained.

She groaned, leaning against the sink.

The room was deadly quiet; only the nerve shredding tick of a clock diced the silence and battered her brain. Her heart fluttered as she searched for windows, doors—any escape.

A knock on the door had Emmery leaping out of her skin, her shoulders stiff and readying for a fight. She dried her hands and sopping sleeves on a towel before tossing it aside and reaching for a potential weapon. Her only option was a candlestick, but it was better than nothing.

“Come in?” Uncertainty laced her voice.

The door cracked open and a petite lady with sandy blonde hair peeked her head in, her eyes downcast. Her black vestige was identical to Briar’s, and she wore a crisp white dress with a black ribbon around her throat. “Are you decent, my lady?”

Emmery kept her distance and let her push into the room.

The woman curtsied. “My name is Talia. It’s an honour to meet you.”

Emmery waved off her pleasantries and polite smile. “Where am I? And more importantly, why?”

“You are in Asaella, my lady. The Divine Kingdom. I am required to prepare you for your dinner with His Majesty, King Destonne.”

Her stomach clenched and she gripped the candlestick harder. Talia didn’t seem to notice. “I will not be dining with the King. I wish to leave.”

“I’m afraid it’s not optional.” Flinging open the door of the wardrobe, she retrieved a skimpy dress the colour of Emmery’s pyjamas. “This would be lovely for tonight's affair.”

“There will be no dress,” Emmery said, sneering at the word. “There will be no affair.”

Smiling sweetly, Talia added, “It’s merely dinner, my lady.”

Eyeing the dress, she crossed her arms. “I’m not his plaything and won’t be dressed up like some doll .”

Talia paled, discomfort twisting her features. “I’m sorry, my lady. He would have come himself but, at the moment, he’s—indisposed.”

“I’ll wait”—she swallowed down her fear—“until he summons the courtesy to come speak with me himself.” She perched on the bed, fighting the urge to cover her exposed legs.

“My lady—”

“Emmery. Please, just Emmery.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll wait here. However long it takes.”

Talia curtsied, not hiding her sigh before she said, her voice tired, “Very well. I shall inform him.”

Emmery sat back on the bed, tucking herself under the covers as Talia slipped from the room. She set the candlestick down and waited, counting the tiles on the ceiling. One hundred twenty-seven.

So, she counted again.

And by the time she finished a third, Emmery had dozed off.

EMMERY FELT HIM THE moment she woke, before even opening her eyes, like a rope lassoing her throat with a swift tug. But as she cracked an eyelid, she frowned at the figure slumped in the white armchair, his hood drawn and the chilled scent of fresh air clinging to his cloak.

The man from Malheim drummed his fingers rhythmically on his knee, still adorning those leather gloves with expensive stitching.

The sight of those fingers wrapped around Guthrie’s neck, snapping it without a care in the world, flashed through her mind.

And he watched her with intrigue, his large presence shrinking the room.

Emmery’s breath hitched, sticking in her throat.

As he stood from the chair, his cloak hood veiled much of his face. “I’ve never heard anyone snore like that,” he teased, tilting his head as he examined her. “It was quite loud for someone your size.”

Emmery scowled, remembering Vesper telling her the same thing. “That’s awfully rude.” She rolled her eyes, dragging a hand down her face. “What are you doing here? Finished murdering innocents and tormenting woodland creatures for the day?”

“Woodland creatures?” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, angel, I would never harm an animal. They’re innocent.” Smoothing his cloak he added, “And you requested my presence.”

Emmery’s heart slowed as every fleck of detail came into focus, the room stilling and her breath freezing in her lungs as he removed his hood.

The crown, mostly concealed beneath his tousled, brown curls, was part of him as much as his eyes, nose, and ears with the way it was embedded in his skull.

Blood speckled some of the glinting thorns and tangled branches.

She recognized his strong jawline and dark stare—his eyes so black his irises swallowed his pupils.

His lips were full, his cheekbones high, and he was classically handsome. Beautiful even.

But he was a murderer and a sociopath, and he had killed Izora and forced Vesper into his service. Not to mention burned Ellynne to the ground.

The colour drained from Emmery’s face, and she couldn’t breathe. “You’re—”

“Your Majesty? Your Grace? I would settle for Destonne, though I do prefer Dez if we’re going to be intimately acquainted.

” He paused, giving her space to interject, but her tongue disconnected.

Likely catching the mix of shock and terror on her face, he added, “Ah, no. I suppose you were looking for the crowd favourite.”

The King of Thorns .

A slew of curses tumbled out of her mouth, followed by, “I don’t know what’s going on or why I’m here but— please don’t hurt me.” She was helpless without her magic. Her hand slowly slid toward the candlestick, but his black eyes darted to the movement, and she froze.

“You just expanded my vocabulary with those filthy words.” He breathed a humourless laugh. “And why would I hurt you, angel?”

“What am I doing here?” She pinched her pyjamas. “Where are my clothes and, damn it— ” Bringing her fist down on the quilt, she snarled, “who changed me while I was unconscious?”

His lips twitched. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Like a disgruntled chipmunk.”

The condescending tone only stoked her rage, and her cheeks flamed.

Unclasping his cloak, he tossed it on the chair, his wrinkled black outfit appearing as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

“First, I must apologize for bringing you here in such a nasty way. This wasn’t what I had arranged.

Though I heard you bit Brennen, which I admit, is quite hilarious.

” He chuckled a dark shadowy sound. “I prefer to handle these matters myself.”

Oh gods, what did he mean by ‘handle’? Her breath thinned and she shrank back on the bed.

A single trickle of blood trailed the side of his face.

Had the crown cut him? He showed no sign of pain or discomfort or that he noticed at all, his ebony gaze wholly focused on her and her alone.

Emmery’s heart raced as she tracked the crimson droplet’s slow descent, desperate to look anywhere but directly in his eyes for fear of getting lost in the darkness.

The King cleared his throat. “However, you should know you’re safe. No one will harm you while you’re under my care, Emmery.” Her stomach did a spectacular flip at her name in that accent. It was heavier than Callias’s.

And, of course, he knew her name. Because this was pre-emptive.

He must have known who she was that day in Malheim, and he was toying with her.

Emmery peered past his cold mask, and in his bottomless eyes, flickered a playful spark. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, offset his soft lips and a gentleness lingered under that peeled back layer.

He didn’t look entirely insane. Or violent.

Maybe he was telling the truth and wouldn’t hurt her.

Her racing heart slowed, and she blurted, “You aren’t how I thought you would be.”

The corners of his mouth twitched again. “How did you imagine me?”

“Well—” she started, not sure how to put it. How had she imagined him? With horns, a curly moustache, perhaps a tail—a ridiculous villainous monster. She supposed the crown was close enough. “I thought you would be ... older .”

His eyes glittered as she choked on her words. “How old do you think I am?” Destonne leaned down, splaying his fingers over the quilt and raised a brow at her silence. For all she knew he could be twenty-five or three hundred if he aged like her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t ... look my age either.”

The blood paused at his temple and pooled at his cheekbone, though he gave no indication he noticed.

“I’m the same age as you if that provides any comfort.

” Removing a black handkerchief from his sleeve, he dabbed the blood.

As he tugged off his gloves, the stream of red trickled down his fingers and settled into the creases of his nails. “You must have questions.”

That was an understatement.

“Some answers would be nice,” she shot back.

“Unfortunately for you, dinner is a requirement for those answers.” He seemed to look right through her, picking her apart and revelling in it. “Please let Talia tend to you and do not attack my help. You put up quite a fight when you got here. Thus, the restraints.”

He nodded at her marked hands and Emmery glowered back.

With a quirk of his brow he added, “I look forward to our dinner.”

And then the King exited the room leaving her gaping like a fool.