My bow is a quick nod of my head. Christian greets him with a stiff spine and an empty expression.
“Father,” he whispers with a hidden hint of shaking fury.
As for Seven, he lowers to the ground until his nose nearly kisses the gleaming, golden floors. He does it so deeply that I want to drag him up by the arm and remind him he doesn’t belong beneath their feet.
It’s a display act. He bows low, he nearly licks the ground our king walks on, and with both hands, he presents her limp body up like it’s effortless. It’s art. Everything Seven does is art. The black dress seems poured across her curves like water: the sweep of the fabric along her luscious thighs shifts up, her round breasts are perked high as her long throat is pulled back like an offering.
“Fuck,” I hiss like a sudden sneeze.
I hadn’t really seen her in the mortal world. I hadn’t really thought about looking at her. She’s the king’s Promise. She’s his to feed from. With the dark fae blood running through her human veins, she’ll enhance his power. She’ll awaken his senses.
She’ll completely fucking distract me every goddamn time I look at her. Fucking starlight, who even has tits that nice?
I’ll never know. I’ll never fucking know.
Stiffly, I glance away.
King Boris stands from his throne, and for once, it isn’t an act. No one else is here. It’s early in the evening, and the couriers of the castle haven’t yet risen for their breakfast. Dusk hasn’t fully lowered to the starlight.
It’s only the five of us in the throne room.
And the king’s normal act of strength isn’t displayed as it typically is. His meaty wrist wobbles against the tree bark of the elaborate throne his favorite daughter made him. The vines of the chair lift one by one to help him stand, pressing along his back to give him support that he so desperately needs.
He used to be an image of power. Now he’s old and... fat.
“And she’s the one? The half-breed of the Thorn King?”
“She’s his,” Christian states flatly. “I tested her blood myself.” He doesn’t smile when he says it. There’s no arrogance in the Prince of the Blood Kingdom.
You don’t need arrogance when you have power.
And Christian’s power... it’s terrifying. Detached. Just like him.
The king nods with a gleam in his dull gray eyes. His hand lifts as if he might clap Christian on the back, but the Prince sidesteps his father. Boris looks at him for a long moment, his hand still suspended between them.
And then he averts his attention to anyone who might treat him better than his own son. His beady eyes land on the girl.
“Perfect. She’s perfect,” he murmurs.
Bile stings at the back of my throat at the thought of his fat lips touching such a pristine thing like this girl. I breathe calmly and think through the strange conflicting thoughts inside me. I want to snap. I want to let loose all the control I constantly keep locked over myself day in and day out.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“She’s young, my lord,” I say, not able to stop myself from telling him what he surely already knows. “Her life hasn’t yet been lived...” I leave that there, unsure what I could possibly say to make him consider not killing the girl little by little until there’s nothing left of her but sunken flesh and broken bones.
A walking corpse.
“She’ll do fine. Thorn owes us for sending his men into our festering Dark Lands. He knows the boundaries. The Dark Lands between our kingdoms are forbidden. We don’t disturb what lies in there. He broke our treaty, but this... this girl will be a nice apology on his part.”
The Dark Lands. As if anyone on the entire continent could tell where the boundaries are in the chaotic wild that is the Dark Lands. Somewhere between the fae kingdom and blood kingdom, is a borderline neither of us are allowed to cross. Good luck understanding where the line is though.
“What if she’s not the right girl?” Seven asks suddenly but confidently. The words scatter over the floors where he bows. His voice no longer cowers. His tone hasn’t been a whisper or whimper in over a decade. Since Christian freed him.
“Christian confirmed she is,” the king snaps.
“Christian confirmed she is Thorn’s. His claim is in her blood. That isn’t to say she’s the only half-blood descendant to the Thorn King.” Seven remains posed and presented, his body strung out taut, the hard muscles of his ribs shadowing across his side.
He’s lean but he’s strong. Stronger than he lets on. Definitely smarter than anyone ever considers him to be. And I think that’s how he likes it. Underestimating someone is the deadliest mistake sometimes.