Page 72 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

He leaned forward on the table, his onyx eyes boring into her. “Tell me, angel,” he drawled, “since you’re so quick to point fingers. How many lives have you taken?”

Emmery pulled her arms tighter. “We’re not talking about me, we—”

“Yes, but”—he sat back, popped another strawberry into his mouth, and watched her with hooded eyes as he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed—“if you’re on some moral tangent about the value of life, you should examine the blood on your own hands first.”

“You don’t know me,” she snapped. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. And pointing out another person’s actions doesn’t justify yours.”

He gave her a knowing look waiting for the irony of her words to sink in. She wanted to slap it off his face.

Destonne piled several spoonfuls of different dishes on a white plate before setting it down in front of her and then serving himself. Her mouth watered at the smell of potatoes and roast meat, but she chugged her drink, needing the sweet relief.

Emmery seized the wine and poured herself another heaping glass, debating if she should drink straight from the bottle and save herself the trouble. She offered a raised brow and a dopey grin as she found the King watching her with intensity and judgement.

Sighing, Destonne pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eat. Before you pass out and I have to carry you out of here.”

Was it even safe to eat? Emmery pushed the food around her plate and sniffed it before she flipped her accusatory gaze back to him.

Rolling his eyes, he stated, “If I wanted to poison you, I would have put it in the wine.”

Emmery’s stomach clenched as she peered into her goblet, bile rising in her throat. Oh gods, she had already downed half that bottle.

With an aggravated noise, Destonne said, “Why would you think I want to poison you after I went to all that trouble bringing you here?”

“Because you’re a monster.” Was that a flinch? She continued anyway, “I don’t care if you’re a king. You’ve done vile things. And your lack of accountability is sad. Disappointing, really. I thought you would gloat about all the bloodshed. Your excuses make you look weak.”

“I’m weak? I’m not the one who sold your freedom for his kingdom.”

The ground shuddered beneath her, and Emmery gripped the table as her stomach curled like a ribbon shaved by a razorblade. “What—what are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly how it sounds.” He stared at her with those unfathomably deep eyes.

Feeling like she teetered on the precipice of a black hole, Emmery averted her gaze.

“I wished we would have had a clean start, before Vesper filled your head with nonsense but”—he swirled his wine but didn’t drink—“it seems we’ll need to get some things straight. ”

That’s when she saw the lion scarring the back of his hand the size of a thumb print.

The same as Vesper’s.

The King’s symbol, she realized. The one that had been stamped on that suit of armour in the Sacred Lands. Clearly a bargain, yet her mind refused to believe it.

“You’re lying,” she spat, clutching the glass so hard she feared it might shatter. “You must have threatened him or hurt him or ... something. Because he would never do that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Destonne arched a brow. “Say, did Vesper tell you why you only had until the Fallen Equinox?”

She couldn’t breathe. Emmery traded her glass for gripping the table’s edge.

Why hadn’t she thought of this? She’d assumed there was some sort of magical restriction with the spell in a land she knew nothing about. Gods, like an imbecile she had trusted Vesper so fully.

At Emmery’s silence, Destonne added, “I gave him until then to bring you to me.”

Betrayal skewered her chest, and she aimed it at him. “Fuck you.”

He blinked at her. “You’re a smart woman, angel. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out.”

Her blood boiled and magic scratched beneath the markings on her hands, begging for release. “Why would he make a deal with you of all people? He hates you.”

“When you offer the right things, weak men crumple like wilting flowers.” He snatched the wine before she could grab it. “Eat and you can have more.”

Her chair screeched as she hastily stood from the table. She needed to get out of here. Be anywhere but here, listening to this nonsense. She continued, “Fuck this. All of this. And most of all, you . For putting him in this position.”

Destonne raised a hand. “Wait.” Blood trickled from the crown again, following the line of his temple. “Are you ... defending him?”

“Do you blame him for taking the deal? For seizing his freedom and reclaiming the kingdom you and your insane father stole?” Her cheeks burned hot with anger, smoke practically billowing from her ears. How dare he? “Vesper lost everything .”

Destonne’s jaw hardened, his eyes blazing, darkness devouring any semblance of light. “He sold you to me like cattle .”

“What choice did you give him?” she snapped back.

Gods, she wanted to hit something. Or set fire to this whole fucking room. Char that lifeless white to the black of death.

Emmery stalked to the door, her blood pounding in her face as she laid her hand on the handle and turned back to face him.

The air thickened as they both panted, glaring at one another.

Destonne’s eyes flared. “ Sit. Down. ”

She lifted her chin, defiance simmering in her words. “ Make . Me .”

What was he going to do? Pick her up and carry her back to the table? She would like to see him fucking try.

Grinding his teeth, the King’s chest rose with a heavy breath.

He said, his voice a quiet rage, “You’re unbelievable.

I gave him every choice. Every chance to change his mind and do right by you.

He treated you like property. Like you were nothing to him.

” The words snapped from him, a mouse trap triggering over and over.

“Do you know how quickly he agreed to the deal? Doesn’t that anger you? ”

Emmery quieted, exhaling through her nose. “If you dangled the chance to bring my sister back, offered up my freedom and my home ... I would’ve taken it too.”

“Was that not your plan all along? To steal it all and slip away?” He leaned back in his chair, his finger skimming the rim of his goblet.

“You almost had everything you wanted. And you gave it all up. For what? To bring back that filthy traitor?” Something akin to pride and rage glistened in his eyes. “We’re more alike than you think.”

Destonne’s stare stripped her to her bones, and she hugged her middle. “You don’t know that,” she protested but she couldn’t even convince herself. “And I’m nothing like you.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He clucked his tongue. “About as transparent as a vat of water.”

Emmery was done with this conversation. Done being told that she had been manipulated and used, and gods ... it all hurt too much. When the room began to swim and the weight of the wine struck her in the face, she stumbled.

Destonne shot to his feet as she teetered.

It hit her all at once.

How damned tired she was. How hopeless her heart was.

She swayed on her feet but clung to the door handle.

“If that was my plan,” she said, her voice rough. “I clearly didn’t go through with it, so what does it matter?”

Her face burned differently than before. Her anger subsided and eased into gut wrenching humiliation—an all-consuming sadness threatening to swallow her whole. The back of her throat burned, her vision blurring with tears as she fixated on the white tile.

Vesper had cheated her, taken advantage, and lied to her. How could he? Damn it, how could he do that to her? But what he’d done was complete now. And there was no going back. No pretending.

Emmery’s voice whittled, now just a whisper. “None of it matters.”

Destonne took a large step toward her, his long legs easily shrinking the space between them. “Sit down.” He looked her over, seeing something she couldn’t be sure of, before gently adding, “Please.”

When their eyes met, his softened and his brows pulled together.

And Emmery’s body slowly gave out, buckling under the pressure.

Maybe it was the wine or everything finally sinking its claws into her. A sick medley of exhaustion, devastation, and such terrible, impossible sadness weighed down her limbs as her world collapsed, crumpling like parchment in an unyielding fist.

She stumbled and Destonne lunged to steady her, his hands under her elbows. It took her by surprise and Emmery inhaled sharply at his proximity, his large presence seeming to suck all the air from the candlelit room.

Drinking all that wine on an empty stomach had been a terrible idea. She should have stayed on guard. Because look where she was now. In the arms of her enemy. Completely helpless.

Fuck .

Blinking back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she tilted her head up to catch a glimpse of the King. He was tall and warm, and she almost leaned into him, a strange comfort stemming from the way he’d caught and steadied her.

Destonne’s throat bobbed with a swallow, and he met her gaze, his expression flat but eyes swimming with something she couldn’t name.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice hoarse as he scanned her face, again sketching some sort of assumption about her. Like he was picking her apart, separating skin from bone. “I’m very sorry. For everything.”

As he guided her back to her seat, Destonne kept his arm hovering under her, careful not to touch her skin, his other hand splayed over the back of her dress. The warmth of his touch bled through the fabric.

Glinting in the low light, a chain that had come loose from beneath his shirt caught her eye, a murky black crystal cracked through the middle hanging from it.

After following her eye line, he tucked it away under his collar like a secret.

Everything about this man seemed like a series of complicated calculations one could spend a lifetime trying to work out.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered.

He tilted his head at her, asking softly, “What do you mean?”