The King: A Wicked Novella

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

He almost sounded genuine. His tone was right, as were the words, but I knew better. There was nothing kind or gentle about Aric.

  I sank into myself, cowering so that I could draw the dagger upward, keeping it hidden.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, lowering his head toward mine as he brought his fingers down over the band circling my throat. “At least, not right now.”

  Wait.

  “Later,” he mused. “Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

  Wait.

  “I suppose it will all depend on how you behave.” His head tilted to the side, and I felt the brush of his cold lips against my cheek. I opened my eye. “How long it takes you to pull yourself together now, for example.”

  Wait.

  “Admittedly, I have no patience for invalids or those who—”

  Jerking upright, I swung out with the dagger and slammed it into the side of his throat. Warm liquid sprayed against my hand and face, telling me that I had struck true.

  Aric roared, rearing back, but I followed, scrambling off the slab as he tore his head to the side, free of the dagger. I latched on to him, my knees clamped to his hips as he wheeled backward.

  “You fucking bitch!” Blood and spittle hit my face. “You stupid, fucking bitch!”

  His fist connected with the side of my head as I swung the dagger again, missing his neck but hitting his cheek. He shouted and went down as I tore the dagger free from his flesh. He hit the floor on his back, and my knees cracked off the floor. I slammed my other hand into his forehead, forcing his neck back and holding it there with everything—

  His head snapped up, breaking my hold. His teeth caught my forearm, ripping through flesh. I screamed, my body spasming as he rolled me. He tore his mouth free, spitting in my face as he gripped my neck, digging his fingers into my windpipe. I felt the air charge around us, and I knew he was about to use abilities I couldn’t fight.

  “I’m going to gut you,” he swore, blood racing across his face. “I’m going to fuck you and gut you right—”

  I swung again, this time catching him in the other side of the neck, and I didn’t let up. Using all my strength, I dragged the blade along his throat from ear to ear.

  Aric’s eyes went wide as he rocked off me, grabbing his neck. Blue-ish red, shimmery blood poured down his hands and over his white shirt. He tried to stand, making it onto one knee.

  “I’m not done with you,” I growled, shoving to my feet. The world seemed to tilt and sway, but I ignored it as I limped toward him.

  His mouth opened, but all that came out was a gurgle of blood.

  “Finally.” I gripped the top of his hair, yanking his head back. “You’re fucking quiet.”

  He grabbed for my arm, but I evaded him as I jabbed the dagger in for the final time. The grinding of bones giving way and the fleshy noise of sinew and muscle snapping turned my stomach as I jerked my arm, carving my way through the bastard’s neck until I reached the other side.

  My gaze met his. The luminous glow of his pale eyes flickered. “I hope you can still hear me.” My tongue felt thick, and my voice sounded mushy to my own ears. “I never submitted to you.”

  The pale blue light flared as his pupils constricted.

  I jerked my arm, severing his head from his neck. His body toppled onto itself, and his head fell behind it, thumping off the stone.

  I did it.

  Aric, the Ancient who’d murdered my mother, was dead.

  I did it.

  Chest rising and falling heavily, I took a step back from his body. Violet-hued blood ran down my arms and over the stone as I stumbled back. Eyes wide, I watched it fill the crevices between the stones, branching off as the viscous liquid crept across the floor.

  I looked down at myself. The front of the stunning gown was splattered with blood.

  The dress was so ruined.

  My lips parted, and I laughed as the dagger slipped from my blood-soaked grip. I laughed as my legs buckled and I folded like a paper sack.

  And I laughed as the blood flowed.

  Chapter 13

  When a normal, run-of-the-mill fae is stabbed with iron, they’re sent back to the Otherworld instead of killed. Their bodies are sort of sucked into themselves and…poof, they’re gone. No mess. No cleanup. Same happens when you kill them. They just evaporate almost immediately.

  The same cannot be said about Ancients.

  When you kill them, their bodies remain, at least for a little while. They decompose like mortals, but it’s rapid in comparison.

  I sat on the stone floor, watching Aric’s skin darken and start to flake, his stomach sinking in instead of bloating, and his body shrinking inside its clothes. That took minutes. The rest took hours. But on day forty-nine, the following day, he was nothing more than an oily, clumpy stain on the floor, and the seeping wound on my arm left behind by his bite had finally stopped bleeding. I had a feeling that it needed stitches, and would probably get massively, grossly infected without them and some antibiotics.

  Unless there was a doctor hidden among the vines, there was nothing I could do about that.

  There was nothing I could do about any of the pains or the weird, random waves of nausea that ended in another round of vomiting either.

  But I waited.

  My knuckles ached from how tightly I held onto the dagger, knowing that there was no way I could take two or three fae at once, even if they weren’t Ancients. But I refused to go out without a fight.

  No one came.

  Not the female fae who bathed me, or the male ones who carried the tub in and out of the room. There were at least three of them that had to be aware of where I was held, who I assumed would come looking for Aric at some point, especially since he appeared to be their leader.

  Eventually, my attention shifted from the stain to the door. I imagined it wasn’t locked. Freedom was just a few feet from my reach, and I tried, stretching as far as I could. I did this for hours, and then I used the dagger, prying at the bolt in the floor and then the clasp that connected the chain to the band around my throat until I felt the blade about to break, and then I stopped. I couldn’t risk losing my only weapon if other fae did finally show.

  But no one did.

  Hours turned into another day, and that day slowly churned into more. I’d lost my grip on the dagger, letting it rest in my lap.

  Hunger set in, overshadowing the aches and the nausea, and all I could think about were burgers and steaks, leafy salads, and chocolate cakes. I even fantasized about all-you-can-eat buffets, and then I stopped thinking about food. Either my body and mind had become used to the hunger, or I just no longer felt it. I no longer really felt the coldness or the throbbing either.

  Bone-deep tiredness set in, a lethargy that wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, weighing down my limbs. I stopped tracking days after forty-eight, unable to rally the strength to pick up the shard of rock or use the dagger to scratch the mark into the stone. I didn’t know if it was the hunger or all the feedings or the wounds finally catching up to me, but I slept where I sat, propped against the slab. And then I couldn’t sit up any longer.

  I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but I only became aware of lying on my side when I opened my eyes again. The dagger had slipped from my lap, resting a few inches from me on the floor.

  I needed to get it, keep it close, but I simply could not do it. And as I drifted off again, I told myself that it would be okay if I didn’t wake up. I’d killed Aric. I’d completed what I’d set out to do two years ago. I had honored my mother’s death. Dying in the stale, damp chamber didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  But then I lost more than my grip on the dagger. I lost my grip on…everything.

  I did wake up again. Or maybe I dreamed. Or I was awake and hallucinating. I wasn’t sure, but I saw people. My mother pacing in front of me, dressed in her pink housecoat flapping like wings behind her. She was speaking, but I couldn’t hear her, and when I called out to her, there was no
response. And then she was gone. Later, it was a girl with curly, fiery red hair, and a man with wavy brown hair. I knew them. I thought I did, but their names were lost to me as the chamber faded and was replaced by a restaurant lit by warm, twinkling, white lights.

  The group was talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about…Christmas mornings and hot cocoa and the good moments with my mother, times where she remembered where she was and—

  Fingers snapped, drawing my attention.

  “Sorry.” My lips moved, my voice hoarse. “I spaced out. Were you saying something?”

  “I was saying that I was about to strip naked and run outside,” the girl said.

  The male smiled as he stared at the girl. “I am so down for that.”

  “Of course, you are.” She grinned, pointing to a menu. “Did you want dessert, Bri?”

  Bri.

  Only she called me Bri.

  Bri stood for…Brighton. That was my name, and she was…

  I blinked, and they were gone. The restaurant was gone, replaced by the round, vine-covered walls and flickering torches. Then I faded out, and there was nothing until I heard someone again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My eyes fluttered open, and he was standing there, dressed in a dark shirt that was like a second layer of skin, clinging to his chest and tapered waist. His blond hair brushed the width of his broad shoulders as he bowed his head.

  He wouldn’t look at me.

  “You’re sorry?” I heard myself say, and my chest… God, it hurt. It broke. “Which part are you sorry about? What happened between us? Or the fact that you failed to mention you’re engaged?”

  A muscle tensed along his jaw. “All of it.”

  What broke then cracked wide open, shattering. “God,” I whispered.

  “You don’t understand.” He looked over at me. “You cannot possibly understand—”

  “Because I’m not a fae?”

  His eyes met mine, and an eternity stretched out between us as a wild array of emotion flickered across his face. And then it all went away, as if he shut down whatever it was he felt. “Yes, because you are not like me. I am a King. I must have a Queen.”

  The word was a stab to the heart. My cheeks dampened, and the world around me seemed to shift again. He wasn’t in a hallway anymore but standing in a brightly lit room that smelled like crisp apples. And there were others. The girl with the red hair and people with no faces, no names.

  “Listen to Ivy,” he urged. “You cannot interact with either of them. The fact that they already know you’re involved is bad enough.”

  “I can handle myself,” I said, repeating what felt like a script—one I didn’t want to read. “Pretty sure I’ve proven that.”

  “All you’ve proven is that you’re incredibly lucky,” he fired back. “You’re not like them.” He gestured at the others. “You’re not a warrior with years of experience under your belt.”

  “I’m a member of the Order. I’m trained and—”

  “You are a member, but this is not your job,” the girl said.

  “If hunting and killing evil fae isn’t my job, then what is?”

  Silence from them, from the others, and in the silence, I heard Aric say, “You were born into the Order, but you’re not a true member.”

  Confusion swept through me as the room and everyone in it seemed to flicker in and out. Aric was dead. I’d killed him. He couldn’t be here—

  Caden faded out and then back in again. “You’re a distraction. A weakness that I will not allow to be exploited….”

  “I’m not weak.” The words scraped against my throat. “I killed Aric. I…killed him.”

  The space in front of me was empty.

  He was gone.

  And then I was gone.

  * * * *

  I wasn’t sure what stirred me, tugging me out of the emptiness, but I could feel the coldness of the tomb when I’d felt nothing before. A distant part of me acknowledged that I didn’t feel as cold as I should, and that perhaps that was concerning, but I was too tired to care, and too grateful that I didn’t hurt. That I felt…okay, just tired. So very tired. I started to slip away again when I heard it.

  Footsteps?

  No. It was too loud, too many thumps coming too fast. Banging? Yes, it sounded like banging. Was it the other fae finally checking on Aric? The Ancient would be pissed to realize it had taken so long. It was sort of insulting. A small grin cracked my dry lips. There was a burst of pain as if the flesh were too thin or raw, but it was okay.

  I needed to open my eyes, but my lids were too heavy. I just wanted to sleep. That was all I wanted.

  Voices.

  That’s what I heard next, or at least thought I heard. I wasn’t sure. Shouts. Names that teased at the disjointed memories. Pounding footsteps followed—

  The world seemed to explode. Wood cracked and splintered, and air—fresh, rose-scented air—flowed into the chamber.

  “Brighton?”

  The voice. His voice. I recognized it. The deep, melodious baritone that had whispered against my skin. But it sounded different now, full of relief and horror, fury tinged with desperation.

  A curse was uttered, and then warmth flowed over me like sunlight breaking through the clouds. The air stirred.

  “Brighton?” He was closer, and I tried to open my eyes, but it was of no use. A moment passed, and then I felt warmth against my cheek. Fingertips. Warm hands smoothing back the matted strands of hair— “Dear God.”

  The two words sounded as if they took the speaker to their knees. My eyelids fluttered. Finally, I was able to open both of them halfway. The blurry image of a man dressed in black formed.

  He was on his knees.

  I knew him. I knew I did, but I couldn’t remember his name.

  Blond hair shielded his face. He wasn’t looking at me, but instead reaching for the strap of the dress, pulling it back and then fisting a handful of the skirt, tugging it up and over one leg. I didn’t want him to do that. I knew I didn’t want him to see what had been done to me. That much I knew.

  “Fucking Christ,” he snarled. “Fucking Christ. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  I flinched.

  His head whipped in my direction, and I jerked away from the rage that filled every pore and plane, making his strikingly beautiful face more animalistic than human. The pure violence radiating off him was terrifying.

  He seemed to rein it in, the anger and the power, wrapping it around himself like a cloak. Dropping the dress, he reached for me, and every muscle in my body locked up. I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain that was sure to follow.

  “Brighton,” he spoke, his voice softer. “It’s okay.” The warm touch returned to my cheek, brushing my hair back. He seemed to freeze, and then he spoke again, the words hoarse. “It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to…”

  He trailed off as a chain rattled. A wave of heat entered the room, stirring the material of my dress.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he repeated. His hand moved—

  “Don’t,” I croaked, recoiling out of instinct, managing to draw back a few inches.

  There was a tense silence and then, “I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you.” His touch returned, slow and measured. He slid his hand along the side of my head, his palm becoming a barrier between me and the floor. “Open your eyes for me, Brighton. Please. Open your eyes, baby. See me and know I’m not going to hurt you. Open your eyes for me, sunshine.”

  I saw you smile once, and it was like the sun finally rising.

  He’d said that to me before. When I asked why he called me sunshine, he’d said that to me. He’d said that, and he…he’d told me that my hair was like sun rays.

  Caden.

  The King.

  I knew him.

  He wouldn’t hurt me, but…but it felt like he had. Deeply, but differently.

  Drawing in a shallow breath, I cracked open my
eyes and found him in the darkness and he… He couldn’t be real. He couldn’t really be here.

  “There you are.” He smiled, but it seemed off. Like I knew what his real smiles were like even if they were rare. This one looked sad. “Keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to keep your eyes open so I know you’re still here, and so you know that this is me.”

  My lips parted to speak again, but my tongue was heavy and useless. Some innate part of me told me that I needed to tell him about Aric, that he needed to know.

  “I…I did it,” I said, wincing as the words scratched at my throat.

  “Did what?” His thumb moved along my temple.

  “I killed him… I killed Aric.”

  Caden’s eyes widened slightly, and then he looked to his left, over his shoulder, to the stain on the floor. He refocused on me, and a long moment passed as what looked like awed pride filled his gaze. It quickly gave way to despair. “Good.”

  Uncertainty filled me. I swallowed again.

  “You don’t need to speak right now.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m going to break this chain, and then we’ll get you out of here and go home.”

  Home?

  “Caden?” A familiar male voice filled the chamber, hesitant.

  “She’s here,” he spoke, and his gaze remained fastened to mine.

  “Is she…?” The new voice was soft. Female. Red hair came to mind.

  Caden’s jaw hardened. “She’s here,” he repeated. “She’s chained.” There was a curse from somewhere in the chamber, and I shivered. “Keep it cool,” he said over his shoulder. “Keep it quiet—don’t. Stay back. Just for right now.”

  “But—” the female protested.

  “Ren, go find a blanket or a jacket. Something warm and soft,” he cut the woman off. “We need to get her warmed up. She’s too cold. And call Tanner. Tell them they’re going to need to get the infirmary ready.”

  This Ren must’ve listened because Caden refocused on me. “I’m going to break the cuff around your neck, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, but this may startle you, and I’m going to need help, so please be still. No one is going to hurt you.”