Page 5 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

F ather used to read me fairy tales—stories of strapping young heroes who slayed monsters and rescued damsels, all without getting a speck of blood on their hands.

The gods had sculpted King Erik after those heroes.

That same power and grace sang in his every movement—honed his knife-sharp bone structure, then generously softened it with romance: fair starburst lashes framing his frost-blue eyes and a lush mouth that flirted on the edge of swollen, like he’d either just returned from a heady kiss or was about to engage in one.

But it was those clean hands that cemented his fairy-tale image: never stained by the blood he’d spilled.

My skin crawled at the cold feel of them—one clasping mine, the other settling at the dip of my waist—as he led me in a dance. I hoped Father couldn’t see us. The sight of me in the king’s grasp would be hell on his rash.

“I felt it my duty to rescue you.” King Erik smirked, his voice low and sultry.

Dressed in his usual finery—silver-embroidered indigo, with a cape fastened at his shoulders—he stood out like a pillar against the twinkling pink backdrop.

“You looked terribly affronted. That was one of Briar’s boys, wasn’t it? ”

The king wasn’t much older than Garret, but I knew what he’d meant. One of Briar’s boys. As if she’d molded him herself.

“It was, Your Majesty.”

“I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”

“No more than usual,” I said, and regretted it instantly. Because Erik’s gaze tightened over my shoulder, closing in on a target.

I didn’t know what exactly compelled me to clunk forward, digging my heel into his polished boot. But I exhaled when his icy attention slid off Garret.

“My apologies,” I said. “I rarely dance.”

The king smiled, all warmth and tolerance.

“You may step on my toes as often as you wish. You’re saving me from dancing with Lady Perla.

” He whispered intimately, “It’s like dragging a wet fish across the dance floor.

” At my false laughter, his smile grew sharper.

More satisfied. “I’m fortunate you’ll be joining court this year, Lady Alissa.

I’m far too dependent on your trampling feet to let them wander off now. ”

Here we go. I’d grown accustomed to Erik’s appreciative glances since I’d come of age.

I’d grown equally accustomed to batting away his flirtations like swatting flies.

“I’m afraid Your Majesty will have to manage without me,” I said, laughing again. “Though I’m certain your shoes will thank me.”

His head tilted—a predator prickling with awareness. “This is your eighteenth season, no?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then I assume you’re unaware of Rose Season’s origins. You see, the tradition began so each new generation of nobles could swear fealty to the Crown.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I maintained my smile. “I look forward to the ceremony at the end of the season.”

“But you won’t be remaining at the palace in the meantime?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

He licked his lips, his wry smile glistening. “Forgive me, Lady Alissa. I feel myself growing offended, and I doubt that’s what you intend.”

My specter twitched at his tone—falsely playful, dark with meaning. The anxious thrum of my pulse grew palpable where my palm pressed his.

You’ve always thrived here , Garret had said.

Because court had always enthralled me—the schemes and secrets, the verbal warfare that sent my specter zipping with a little thrill.

In different circumstances, I might’ve joined court despite Father’s wishes.

But it wasn’t court he wanted to keep me from.

It had always been the king.

“We have a large house, Your Majesty,” I said, thick with apology. “I couldn’t bear to leave my father alone in it for so long.”

“By all means, tell him to join you.”

“You wouldn’t like that, Your Majesty.” Another empty laugh. “You have enough Verenian nobles cluttering your halls for Rose Season. Craftspeople can be a fussy lot.”

“Ah, that’s why you don’t stay? For fear of cluttering my halls?

” He twirled me to a swell of music. My twisting skirts dragged me off-kilter, but he steadied me against him—a wolf keeping hold of its prey.

“I’m relieved, Lady Alissa. My imagination had quite run away with me.

I’d believed you were deliberately avoiding my company. ”

I faltered—just for a moment. Then I lowered my lashes. Plastered on a brave, wobbling smile. “You read me too well, Your Majesty, though it’s not your company I wish to avoid. I hear you’re hosting a Wielder at court this year.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m hosting an Ansoran at court.”

“Aren’t they mostly Wielders?”

“In this case, it’s of no consequence. It would be against any creature’s interest to lose control within my walls.”

I clenched my jaw behind my smile. Allegedly, a specter’s natural tendency was to extend outside a Wielder’s body—like a plant moving toward light, or a muscle craving to be stretched.

It was therefore argued that specters might execute their Wielders’ desires even without conscious intention.

That a specter’s free-flowing nature made it uncontrollable. Dangerous .

And that, in being unable to manage such volatile power, Wielders were no better than beasts untethered.

So why, after two centuries of slaughtering Wielders under the Execution Decree, would the kingdom welcome a foreign Wielder now? If this was of no consequence, why did people like Marge still have to die?

“You mustn’t worry yourself,” Erik said, in true hero fashion. “The creature wouldn’t do you any harm. And if it tried ”—he twirled me again, dragged me firmly back—“where else could be safer than right here, beside your king?” His gaze dropped to my lips, heavy with suggestion.

I stilled. Flirtations were a regular part of the script. But the look in his eyes was something new... Something that made my blood spike with the threat of danger.

He gave a slow, curving grin. “I’ve startled you.”

“No, Your Majesty.” My chest fluttered rapidly, still trapped against his. I had to crane to meet his stare. “You could never startle me.”

I already know what you’re capable of.

Erik leaned down, and I fought the instinct to recoil. “My advisors are campaigning for Lady Perla.” His breath rippled against my ear; his fingers splayed across my back. “But I believe they’ve overlooked another, far more pleasing option.”

He pulled away, and I knew what he saw: the color draining from my face like wet paint dripping down a canvas. The young king was looking to reaffirm his power over the kingdom.

Because apparently, he was searching for a bride.

“Tell me, Lady Alissa.” His thumb trailed down my spine. “Did you like the lemon cakes?”

My head emptied. And in the stillness, I finally heard the whispers. Finally saw the wide circle we’d created with our dance—an invisible barrier the other nobles hadn’t crossed, but had pierced with their razor-sharp notice.

They had noticed what this dance had meant. And I hadn’t.

“Your Majesty.” I swallowed, heart racing. “You flatter me, but—”

“But.” Erik clicked his tongue, teasing. “Why must you follow that statement with but ?”

Because I’m not a damsel in need of rescuing. I’m one of the creatures you like to cut down.

I wanted to run, or throw up—or shove my hairpins into his jugular—but just then, the noise in the ballroom abruptly ratcheted. We broke eye contact, faces snapping in opposite directions. Messengers weaved through the crowd, leaving open mouths wherever they passed.

The word bounced toward me, an echo layered in different voices.

Hunters, Hunters, Hunters.

Goose bumps lashed up my skin.

Distracted by the chaos, Erik relaxed his grip, and I used the excuse to feign a stumble. He reached out to steady me too late; the sudden swarm of people created a barrier between us, and I let myself get swept away.

I jostled between the bodies, devouring scraps of conversations, head swiveling to find my father.

“They crashed through the estate.”

“A noble household!”

Oh, gods.

The room became too stifling, my skin too tight. I could still feel the king’s hands on me, and I was breathing fast, tasting roses on every breath—

Then Father’s arm banded around my shoulders, towing me through the crowd.

“The estate,” I gasped. “Amarie—”

“Not ours,” Father murmured. “The Jacombs’ estate.” He looked to where the Jacombs were extracting the news from a messenger, their faces carved with horror. “Their staff.”

My stomach turned. The Jacombs’ household had two dozen live-in staff members.

“How many?” I whispered.

Father’s neck tensed with a hard swallow. “All of them.”

Two dozen Wielders. Two dozen deaths.

The misery in Father’s eyes warred with relief—a relief that felt obscene in the wake of such slaughter.

I knew. Because I felt it too.

“I’ll take her home.” Garret appeared beside me, and my emotion kindled into rage.

“This doesn’t concern you,” I snapped.

But Father didn’t dismiss him; his gaze had darkened on Garret’s oath band.

“You worry too much, Heron.” Garret tugged his blazer sleeve, smiling blandly. “She’s perfectly safe with me.”

Father cast him a sharp look of warning. Then he kissed the top of my head and urged me forward. I would’ve tripped if Garret hadn’t grasped my elbow.

“I don’t need an escort—”

“Please, my girl.” Father’s voice warbled, cracking my resolve. “I need to be here. I’ll see you at home.”

As Garret steered me toward an arched exit, I caught a final glimpse of the ballroom.

The king’s eyes were searching the crowd.