Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

The queen had made me a throne of sorts of thick, barbed foliage and blood-hued leaves that bound me to a stone.

And today, anarchy reigned in the Court of Sorrows. From my spiky little throne, I’d listened to the sounds of shouting and screaming. Breaking glass. I felt the acrid miasma of panic sweep through the castle. I smelled blood on the air.

I had no idea what was happening, but I liked it.

I flexed my biceps and forearms, trying to weaken the plants. The queen’s dark tendrils came alive at her command and ripped my skin whenever I tried to break free.

Propelled by sheer rage and determination, I’d ripped through them four times so far, trying to get to Ava. Each time, the fucking things would score my flesh with bloody lacerations. And each time, I’d be captured again within minutes, strangled with spiked ropes of plants, and dragged back to the throne. The vines were everywhere, dark as bruises flecked with red. And the queen controlled them all, living nooses that sprawled around me. I’d grown to loathe the sight of them.

With every successful escape, the number of soldiers standing guard grew. Now, there must be around thirty of them, staring at me, fingers twitching at the hilts of their swords. Even as chaos ripped apart the castle, the soldiers stood guard, trapping me here.

Still, I was certain I’d break free again.

It had been worth it every time. In brief moments of escape, I’d managed to kill thirteen of her soldiers, and in my most bored moments, I would fondly remember their deaths. In fact, the highlight of the past month had been the one moment when I’d managed to steal one of their swords. For several glorious heartbeats, I’d felt like a god again. I’d felt alive, like I once more held the Sword of Whispers. Euphoric, I’d carved through the heads and bodies of seven of her soldiers, slaughtering as many as I could, until the winged maniac queen had returned with her prison of vines.

I had no idea why the fuck I was still alive. Initially, sure, I’d understood. She’d commanded her idiot son Morgant to heal me, and she’d set me up here like a broken statue, a triumphant display of her conquered Seelie king.

But how many weeks had passed now? Surely six?

Bruises covered my arms, and the queen’s scarlet-flecked vines scored my skin. Bizarrely, the queen had left the stains on the floor where Ava’s sword had pierced my heart, a burgundy smear across the moss and stone. It was all part of her pageantry, a display of power.

But what had they done with Ava?

She’d promised that if Ava killed me, they would let her go. That had been her oath. That had been the entire reason I’d thrown myself in front of Ava’s sword, so she could return to her normal life as if she’d never met me. As if I’d never dragged her from the safe world of the humans into the brutal and bloody world of the fae.

But as the days wore on, I started to doubt Mab’s word. Somehow, I could sense Ava’s presence still here, a breath of life in a barren world.

Sometimes, I imagined I could hear her, smell her. Right now, I felt her presence moving closer.

Mere fancy? Perhaps, but I shouted, “I’m here!”

But where the fuck was the queen as someone smashed and shattered their way through her home? Because she controlled every little thing that happened here.

My heart started to race, and I ripped at the plants, not caring that they were shredding my skin. But the soldiers were not looking at me, and not a single one of them noticed. They drew their swords and stared down at their own feet.

And while they were distracted, it was the best possible moment to kill as many of them as I could.

I must be delirious, though. Because now I could have sworn that I heard the Sword of Whispers speaking to me from the other side of the hall.