Page 71 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

E mmery and the wolf watched each other as she waited in the dining room.

Despite her overwhelming desire not to attend dinner, she’d let Talia drag her through the stark white castle with her need for answers outweighing her pride. She hadn’t seen a single soul as the chambermaid led her through a series of cold hallways, the castle shockingly empty.

But as she stepped into the lowlight of the dining room and took her seat at the candlelit table, Emmery’s stomach dropped, and her palms grew sweaty with anticipation. She had no clue what to expect. No idea how mad this king truly was or if she was in horrific danger.

Now Emmery sat on a white chair, at a white square table, in an entirely white room, studying the covered dishes as she waited, her foot bobbing impatiently.

And she waited. And waited —her heart racing like a ticking clock.

The wolf had entered shortly after, plunking itself beside the table, its glossy onyx coat and the silver spike embedded in its throat glimmering menacingly in the candlelight.

She’d never seen anything like that strange chunk of metal, nor a wolf with horns. The spike seemed to hum with a low magical bass as she focused on it. Emmery narrowed her eyes at the creature, and she could have sworn the corners of its mouth turned up. Was it ... smirking at her?

No, that was impossible.

Tearing herself away from the unexplained consciousness emanating from the wolf, Emmery smoothed the skirts of her shimmering black dress.

It was sheer except for the suffocating slip beneath and happened to be the most modest garment she could find.

For a closet that wasn’t her own, there was a remarkable amount of green.

Yanking the sleeves to cover the iridescent marks binding her magic, she sighed. Gods, those restraints made her feel so damn helpless she had to bite back a scream.

Emmery’s gaze returned to the wolf’s as Destonne strode into the room dressed in a black jacket and matching trousers. Training her eyes on the wolf’s orange stare, Emmery refused to look at the King beyond the glimpse of him in her peripherals.

“Your dog is staring at me,” she said, blinking slowly at the wolf. “It's unnerving.”

Destonne pulled out a chair across from her and threw himself into the seat like he’d just endured the longest day of his life. So unkingly. “Is Brennen bothering you?” he asked, amusement fluttering in his question.

Emmery’s attention slid to the King, her brows furrowing. “That’s an awfully human name for a pet.” Her eyes widened as it growled and bared its teeth.

“Brennen, down boy ,” Destonne quipped. “I think you mean he. He is bothering you.”

“Sure, sure.” She waved him off. “But why is he staring at me like that?”

Destonne rasped a sound imitating a laugh. “Try asking him.”

“Very funny.” Emmery’s eyes slid to the King to find him fighting a smile. “What?”

“I suppose I should tell you he’s a man. So, you know before you disrobe in front of him or give him a rigorous belly rub.” The King brushed a rogue curl off his forehead.

“You’re joking,” she choked out, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’ve been staring at him for about twenty minutes.”

Destonne’s gaze lazily flicked to the wolf. “Enough games. Do you want to tell her or shall I?”

Brennen’s orange eyes captured hers and he blinked leisurely. “ Hello, princess. ” The smoky voice invaded her mind and Emmery stifled a gasp. It echoed like Guardian Kaah’s.

Attention warring between the two, she said, exasperated, “You can’t be serious.”

“Very serious.” His titter echoed in her head, a mischievous, shadowy sound. “ I’m glad I no longer have to sit outside that castle watching you. It grew tedious very quickly.”

Destonne cleared his throat, staring daggers at him. “I can’t hear what you’re saying but behave .” The King replied to the wolf’s sly smile with a frown. “She’s our guest, Bren.”

“I didn’t need a stalker, Dog,” Emmery snapped back at Brennen, her gaze torn between the wolf and King. She settled on Destonne who appeared immeasurably bored.

Brennen grinned a wolfish smile—more a flash of sharp canines. “ You would be dead if I hadn’t stepped in, so a little gratitude would be nice. I did arrange your transportation back from the Skyborne Temple. Would you have preferred I left you for the Queen to retrieve?”

His smart comment grated on her nerves.

“Arrogant pup,” she sneered.

“ Vicious words coming from someone so small. Watch yourself, princess.” He winked.

The damn dog winked at her. “ I’ll let you speak privately.

” Despite Brennen’s obnoxious attitude, she almost wanted him to stay, only so she wouldn’t be left alone with the King.

Brennen stalked to the door, his colossal tail swishing behind him.

Her nails bit into her palms as the door swung and Brennen disappeared behind it. “What was that ?” she asked, gesturing to the direction Brennen had gone. “And why is he like that?”

“He can’t shift anymore if that’s what you’re asking,” Destonne put simply. Elbow braced on the table, he cupped his cheek in his palm. The angry torn skin where the thorns broke through peeked out his sleeve. “He’s been like that since he was a child.”

Pity burrowed into her gut. He was trapped like that. A man inside a beast. What a horrific state for your body to become your prison. “What happened?” she asked tentatively, her curiosity gnawing at her.

“A story for another time.” Destonne sat back and drummed his fingers on the table, slowly, deliberately, as if planning his next move. “If he bothers you again, throw him a ball. He loves it. Keeps him busy for hours.”

Emmery scowled at his attempt at humour. It hardly seemed appropriate to make jokes like they were old friends. She had no interest in sharing a laugh.

Reaching for the wine, Destonne grasped two glasses in one broad hand. “You really don’t have a sense of humour, do you?”

It was odd watching him serve her, and himself for that matter. Didn’t kings usually have help for that? But from the short table and low lighting this dinner held an intimate note.

Emmery swallowed hard as he handed her the glass, but the fruity aroma enveloped her, and she dared a sip. It was perfect—oaky and fruity and would surely numb the bitter sadness inside her.

“Lighten up, angel,” Destonne drawled, spinning the stem of his goblet between two fingers. “I promised you’re safe here and I keep true to my word. There’s no need to fear.”

Despite his jokes and mind for her safety, Emmery reminded herself who exactly sat across from her.

Someone who had murdered Vesper’s sister, destroyed the kingdom capital of Ellynne, and killed his own father in cold blood.

The man was a psychopath. He had planned this and brought her here against her will for a reason.

He wanted something from her. She just needed to find out what.

“Forgive me, my sense of humour has been stunted by my abduction.” That pulled at his lips and Emmery’s grip tightened on the table. “Clearly you brought me here for a reason. What do you want with me, Your Majesty ?” She sprinkled extra condescension on the title.

“Please, call me Dez. No need for formalities. And abduction seems a bit harsh.” The King plucked a strawberry from the plate of fruit and popped it into his mouth. Rolling his eyes, he groaned dramatically. “You have to try these. They’re exquisite.”

Her eyes flicked between his hand, his scarred skin, and the crown. Like Brennen’s spike, it had to be painful. Blood clotted the thorns peeking out from his thick curls.

The drumming of his fingers slowed to a halt and Destonne cleared his throat, effectively snapping her from her trance. “You know,” he said, his tone violently soft, “staring is rude.”

Crossing his arms, his lean muscles strained against his black jacket. With the top few buttons open, she caught a glimpse of his scarred chest. How many times had the thorns torn through to cause that sort of damage? It was a medley of patchworked flesh.

“Sorry. I just—” she muttered and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Why do you have—” she tried and failed again. Oh gods, why was she even still speaking? The questions spilled out and she couldn’t help herself. “What happened to your—”

“The crown? The thorns?” He cocked an eyebrow, a wicked undertone to his words. “I made some bad choices. Trusted someone I shouldn’t have. You know all about that. And these are the consequences.” He threaded his fingers together. “Shall we get down to business? We have much to discuss.”

“Discuss? This doesn’t feel much like a discussion as it does a kidnapping.” Emmery crossed her arms for emphasis and met his stare, unwilling to back down. Gods, he was intense. “I don’t have anything I wish to discuss with you, though I’m sure you have demands.”

His dark eyes twinkled in a way that twisted her insides to knots. “And why is that?” he asked, the challenge etched into each word so aggressively Emmery could practically taste it in each syllable.

“You’re a despicable person. A tyrant really. You should be ashamed of yourself.” The words tumbled from her mouth, and she couldn’t help but match his provocation. “I don’t work with villains.”

“You think I’m a villain?” His face was impassable. “What would make you think that?”

“You’re a murderer. You killed Guthrie. You snapped his neck like it was nothing—”

“Did you know the man? Had you ever even spoken with him?”

Emmery frowned. “Well, no, but—”

“Then don’t assume I was in the wrong. You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

Gods, she was so tired of hearing that.

He popped a strawberry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“But you killed Izora. Her blood is on your hands,” Emmery argued.

Seeming taken aback from her accusation, Destonne stilled, tension bracketing his shoulders for the briefest of moments. “That’s ... different.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “Killing is killing regardless of the intentions.”