Fae King's Hunger (Court of Bones and Ash Book 2)

by Layla Harper

  I’m not stupid. I’m fully aware of my limitations. The only weapons at my disposal are my mouth and my overactive imagination, both of which can get me killed. What chance does a human woman have against an illusionist—and not the kind you find in Vegas—and a teenage girl who smashed Aelinor’s magic with a shove of her hand?

  “Okay. You’ve got me alone. What do you want?” And… there goes the mouth.

  “Blunt.” Rowena shoots me a glance over her shoulder. “I can smell your fear, earthling.”

  I shrug and come to a full stop. “So?”

  “So?” Rowena spins around to face me.

  I give her my fiercest badass stare, shaky knees and all. “Yeah. So?”

  She taps one slim, pointy finger against her chin. “So indeed. I see why the orc king favors you.”

  “Is that your plan, then? To use me as leverage against the king? It’s not going to work.”

  “Perhaps.” Rowena’s black eyes seem to twinkle, but I can’t tell if it’s from amusement or something more sinister.

  She turns around and continues her trek down the hallway, talking to me over a slim shoulder. “The king and I each hold something the other desires. There is no reason why we cannot arrive at a mutually beneficial arrangement. But no plan is infallible.”

  When I don’t move, the girl nudges my back. A jolt zaps my skin where her fingers touch my body. Shaking off the weird sensation, I scurry to catch up to Rowena, who’s stopped in front of another medieval-looking door. She grasps the handle and shoves the door open, motioning me inside.

  The windowless room is sparse except for the tub centered in the middle. A small table is positioned beside a lonely chair. Clothes are folded in a neat pile on the cushion. A tray of berries and strips of what looks like jerky sit atop the table along with a single glass and a pitcher filled with what I presume to be wine.

  “Ilearis, heat the water,” Rowena tells the girl.

  The girl’s gaze lands on the tub, and before long, steam billows from the water’s surface.

  “Dang,” I say with more bravado than I feel. “That’s a nice skillset to have.”

  The girl—Ilearis—doesn’t speak. She continues to watch me from the door, those strange swirls on her neck mesmerizing.

  Who is she?

  Better yet, what is she? A norn like Rowena? There’s an energy emanating from her body that grates against my skin like a sharp fingernail.

  I rub a hand down my arm to stave off the shiver working its way up my spine. “Is this my new prison cell?”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way.”

  “How else am I supposed to look at it? Bath. Food. Locked door. Sounds like a prison to me.”

  Rowena shakes her head, a smile spreading across her too-pink lips. “Haughty.”

  Haughty?

  “Wait. Are you calling me haughty?”

  Rowena saunters to the tub and dips two fingers into the water. “You may go, Ilearis.”

  The girl’s gaze lingers on my face before she backs away and closes the door, leaving me alone with the witch accusing me of arrogance.

  Arrogance? Is she freaking kidding me?

  “Yes, haughty. Have you no common sense, girl? You are a human in a half-fae colony.” She actually looks appalled. “This is more for your protection than ours.”

  “My protection?” I sputter. “Beautiful. You’re locking me up for my own good. Oh, that’s just rich. The quintessential excuse. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”

  Rowena flicks the water from her fingertips. She looks genuinely confused. “I do not understand. Are you mocking me?”

  “Forget it.” I shove my hands into the crooks of my elbows. I’m dying to ask about Rogar, but I have to believe he’s safe. Probably holed up somewhere inside this crumbling fortress like the rest of us, clamoring to get out. And boy oh boy, when he does, I sure as hell don’t want to be anywhere near Rowena the Norn.

  “You know, your plan will fail. Rogar won’t submit to your demands.” And I won’t let her use me against him.

  “Will he not?” The smug look on her face stirs my earlier unease to a simmer.

  “No,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  “That will be up to the king to decide.” She pulls an object from her pocket. A silver chain dangles from her long fingers. “This will glamour your appearance.”

  I collect the offering, careful not to scratch my skin against her sharp fingernails. The weight of the chain sinks into the heart of my palm. At the center, three charms are attached to a loop: a circular wooden disc with a rune brandished on both sides, a wheat-colored pouch the size of my thumb stuffed with God knows what, and a Celtic-looking pendant made of silver or iron.

  “I would suggest you remain here, but if you are foolish enough to wander into camp, then do not leave this room unprotected. Wear the amulet around your neck.”

  The metal heats in my hand. I shift the necklace into my other palm. “What exactly does this do?”

  “It will camouflage your appearance until we can create a more permanent solution.”

  “These three trinkets will disguise my humanity, just like that?”

  “To all who behold you, you will appear as a high fae of the winter realm.”

  No freaking way. “I’ll look silver haired and pointy eared… to everyone?”

  The norn nods.

  Oh God. I’ll be Aelinor’s twin.

  I guess it could always be worse. I could change into a wart-nosed troll.

  “Elves are predatory creatures,” Rowena says, her tone sharp. “You will not be welcome here.”

  True, but as an elf, I won’t be slaughtered on the spot by drows, either. “What about my scent?”

  She points to the straw-colored pouch in my hand. “The herbs will help, but I cannot alter your chemistry. Doing so requires a more complicated spell.”

  Oh shit. Was this her plan? Use this “complicated spell” as leverage over Rogar for whatever deviousness she has in mind?

  Feigning indifference, I shrug. “Who needs complicated? I’m sure your bag of herbs is fine. More than fine, I’d say.” I move to the table and pretend to inspect the food and wine. “So, are you planning to hold me here indefinitely on a diet of berries and wine?”

  Rowena saunters to the door. “Wash. Eat. Change your clothes. When your ablutions are complete, Ilearis will take you to see the king’s captain. Will that appease you?”

  “Gauron? You’d let me see him? Just like that?” What’s the catch? My mind races to decipher her motives, but I can’t figure her out.

  “I would. You may not believe me, but you are not my prisoner.” At my arched brow, she says, “If you wish to wander about the colony, I will not stop you. I would, however, advise you against it. With or without the amulet.”

  “Because I’m human?”

  “Many here were born after the Great War. To Lithyrians, the human race is a myth, a sliver of old lore from a time most fae would care to forget. But some wrongs transcend the worst of our memories. The winter realm has no friends among our citizens.”

  Great. So the disguise meant to save my life will probably kill me. I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry.

  I do neither. “I’ll take you up on your offer to visit Gauron.” As Drengskador’s second-in-command, he’ll have intimate knowledge of the king’s plan. He might have insight into how to escape this fae Alcatraz because, frankly, I’m stumped.

  But first things first. We need to find Rogar.

  Foreign words fall from Rowena’s mouth.

  Magic brushes against my skin, stealing my breath. “What are you doing?”

  “Warding the room. None can cross this threshold without your permission.”

  I manage not to snort. “You mean no one but you?”

  “Especially me.”

  I eye her warily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Rowena laughs. “Enjoy the bath, earthling. Do not let this simple courte
sy go to waste. This may very well be your last opportunity for months to come.”

  “Hmm, illusion wielder and fortune teller too? Nice.”

  The norn belts out another laugh and regards me like I’m the funniest person she’s encountered in centuries—and maybe I am. Who knows? With a dramatic spin of her heel, she departs in a swirl of gossamer layers, marching into the hallway without bothering to close the door.

  “That woman certainly knows how to make an exit,” I grumble to the empty room. I set the amulet on the side table and scratch the itchy spot it leaves on my skin.

  “None can cross this threshold without your permission.”

  I snort. I highly doubt I’m free.

  But there’s nothing stopping me from testing out her pronouncement.

  I bolt across the room and quickly stick my hand through the doorway. My skin crawls as I slice through the heavy air forming an invisible barrier between this room and the hallway. My arm punches through the magic to the other side without the rest of me exploding, imploding, or twisting inside out like a transporter fatality.

  Yep, I can thank old Star Trek episodes for that visual.

  The hall is eerily silent. No one jumps out to capture me or thwart my escape attempt. When I poke my head through, I catch the tail end of the norn’s skirt disappearing around the bend, heading in the direction of the cell I’d shared with Aelinor. Faint sounds spill from farther away, I’m guessing from outside by the varying clamor and pitch of the different voices making up the cacophony trickling to my ears.

  I’m tempted to follow Rowena when the gravity of what I’ve done hits me.

  I’m standing in the hallway.

  Alone.

  Unguarded.

  In a fae prison of sorts.

  Holy crap. She wasn’t kidding when she told me I’d have free reign to explore the camp. Although, if I’m found, with or without my disguise, it’ll probably set off a panic that will conclude with my head upon a silver platter.

  Do they even use silver here?

  Does it matter?

  The point is I can’t be caught looking human. But… why? Why allow me this privilege and not Aelinor? Or Gauron? Or Rogar?

  Shaking my head, I cross back into the room. My flesh quivers from the magic licking my skin. I slam the door with my foot and lean against the heavy wood frame, gnawing my thumbnail, trying to figure out my next step.

  This has got to be a trap or test of some kind, but what? Aelinor is close. Do I attempt to free her and jeopardize the tenuous freedom Rowena’s granted me? Or do I stay put until I see Gauron, biding my time until Rogar returns? Because he will return. I feel it in my core. A certainty I can’t explain, but one every cell in my body proclaims as truth.

  Rogar will come.

  For me.

  My insides clench. My body tingles at the thought of seeing him again. Which is absolutely freaking nuts because I’m here, trapped in an alien world with fae hunters out for my blood. I should be thinking about escape, not obsessing over Rogar and his sexy bod.

  But I can’t get him out of my head. I keep remembering how his big body shuddered beneath me when I’d straddled his lap. The growl that broke from his throat when I’d stroked his ears. Never in my life has anyone looked at me with such hunger. Such longing. Like I matter. Like I come first. Like I’m the best thing since the invention of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. Thinking about his reaction to my touch has me two strokes away from a spontaneous orgasm.

  Gah. I need to get a grip on my emotions.

  Shoving away from the door, I make my way to the table. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday? The night before? I can’t remember. Deciding against the weird jerky strips, I throw a handful of berries in my mouth. The juice squirts the back of my throat, the flavor unexpected, like a ripe strawberry-blueberry hybrid. Sweet yet slightly tart.

  I scarf the rest of the fruit, then dip my fingers in the water and close my eyes. Perfect. Hot enough to strip reality from my skin without burning off a layer of epidermis. It really would be a shame to let all this water go cold. In two seconds flat, I could be submerged, the heat working its magic on my sore muscles, rejuvenating my body to face the next life-threatening crisis.

  Decision made, I yank off my boots, throw them near the chair, quickly strip off my clothes, and then jump in. The moan that slips from my mouth is pure bliss. Nestling against the wooden tub, I let my head fall back, my neck cradled by the tub’s polished edge. The water rises over my breasts. As tension flows out of the knotted muscles pulsing in my legs and arms, thoughts flee from my mind. This is crazy. I’m naked and completely vulnerable, but it feels so good to have a moment of peace.

  A moment to breathe.

  A moment alone.

  I haven’t been alone since landing in Faerie.

  Opening my eyes, I stare at the huge wooden beams spanning the ceiling’s expanse. Back home, I lived a solitary life. By choice. And by solitary, I don’t mean reclusive. I’m a damn good bartender. I’m quick to smile and laugh, both at work and at school, and no one would dare call me shy.

  But I skirt attachment, keep my friends at arm’s length, and avoid commitment like the flu. And despite the walls I’ve built around me, I’ve never felt empty inside.

  Until now.

  I guess I did a bang-up job of fooling myself. I’ve buried my longings so deep in my psyche, I forgot they existed. Being part of a team these past few days has brought my loneliness to the surface, reminding me of how empty my life is, rubbing my face in the truth: I don’t want to be alone.

  I want…

  “Nope. Not gonna say it out loud.” I don’t belong in Alfhemir with crazy fae who want me dead. My place is home. On Earth. Besides, he deserves better than a powerless human who endangered his life.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Shame doesn’t begin to describe the emotions volleying in my heart. When I thought I was dying, I would have done anything to survive. Anything. And that included choosing my life over Rogar’s.

  My life over everyone else in that clearing.

  I don’t care that I’d ultimately done the right thing. In that dark moment, I was no better than the smattering of adults who’ve paraded in and out of my sorry existence with empty promises they failed to deliver. People who said one thing and then, when push came to shove, did something else.

  The realization chokes me, leaving me raw.

  Letting out a sigh, I sit up and scrub my body clean. Sometimes life cuts you off at the knees, exposing the ugly truths you work so hard to hide. You have no idea who you’re nurturing beneath the mask you show the world, but you really hope she’s an honest-to-god hero, because let’s face it, we all want to be heroes. No one wants to be the slimeball who lets the world down. But then the moment of truth arrives. The layers are peeled away to reveal the real you.

  And what do you discover?

  You’re not the hero you aspire to be.

  Nope.

  You’re the fucking coward.

  That’s me. Coward.

  I quickly shampoo my hair with what I hope is soap and dunk my head beneath the water to rinse. Mrs. C, my fourth-grade teacher, always said, “It’s not the mistakes you make that matter but what you do after that counts.” That saying stuck with me all my life. Through every move. Every new family. Every new school. And here, in faerie land.

  It’s not the mistakes. It’s what you do after.

  I failed Rogar, and although I may not know how to repair the damage, I know where to start. The sooner I get to Gauron, the sooner we get out of this mess and find Rogar. The sooner I can get back home—to my life. My real life.

  A bellow from deep within the building makes my blood run cold.

  Are we under attack?

  I glance at the water in the tub, shocked that the surface doesn’t ripple from the force of the roar. I’m out of the tub in a flash. Water spills over the wooden edge and splatters onto the floor. Reaching for the towel, my ears are locked to the com
motion taking place…

  In the hallway?

  I drop the towel on the floor and reach for the clothes on the chair’s seat cushion. The ruckus grows louder. Another roar reverberates, followed by a growl reminiscent of a throaty “Kyra.”

  Balancing on one foot, I shove my wet leg into wide cotton pants that stick to my skin like glue.

  Boom.

  “Shit.” The tunic slips from my hands.

  The racket morphs into loud pounding against the door. A pause, then a thud my imagination equates to a soft body being hurled against a hard floor.

  Silence pulses, thick and deadly.

  I shove the shirt over my head. I can’t get my arms through the sleeves fast enough.

  “Kyra!”

  I pause, my arms trapped by the tunic. “Rogar?”

  “Tell the fae guarding you I will tear them apart if they do not open this door. Now.”

  The hollered “Now” unleashes goose bumps across my flesh. “Hold on.”

  I knew he’d find me, but a part of me assumed…

  Forget what I assumed.

  Rogar’s here.

  “There’s a ward.” I shove my arm through the sleeve so I can get to the door and let him in. “I’m—”

  The door flies off the hinges, clattering against the stone floor. In prowls an angry orc king, nostrils flaring, sexy body doubled in size, and a beastly heat burning in his crimson orbs that has me bumping into the table.

  “I—”

  His eyes sear me. Not an inch of him grazes me, yet I feel like I’ve been ravaged by his touch.

  “Female.”

  His voice zings through my body, caressing erogenous zones I didn’t know existed. I want to throw myself into his arms, and although I manage to restrain the impulse, I can’t stop the breathy sigh escaping my lips. “You… came.”

  His gaze falls to my mouth, then slides over my body, latching on to my nipples hardening beneath the damp shirt standing between us. “Did they hurt you?”

  I shake my head. “No.”