I turn back to the crowd and nod my head to them, but all I can think about is the stories of massacres. I’ve seen how dangerous they can be, and right now, I feel it.
The joy in the crowd starts to fade the more time that I stand there, unspeaking, so the king steps forward. He smiles at his people, and the world is lit up with white-hot flames.
“To the humans!” he says, raising his hand in the air.
The court raises their glasses in tandem, wishing us well, while his displeasure radiates off him in waves. As soon as they finish drinking, several people flock to him, some holding onto his forearm as they tell him gods know what. They offer him warm, broad smiles, and he addresses them by name. Each person. He knows them all.
It's unheard of to see such familiarity between subjects and their ruler. My back is now fully pressed to a pillar as I watch him smile andhugothers. He nods at their words, laughs at their jokes.
When they turn to me, they frown and walk away. One woman wished me a healthy baby, and left. It had me shaken, even though I knew that the king wasn’t forcing me to have children. Not that I didn’t want them—there was a time when I would have preferred the breeding pens to the giants.
I glance around, looking for Arlet, and see her with some of the other humans. I hadn't seen them come in, but they are already eating and drinking. They, too, are traitors.
I try to keep my breathing steady, but my heart is pounding hard enough to feel in my throat. The moment that the king sets his sights back on me, a prickly sensation sweeps across my skin, and the song grows louder.
With great difficulty, I draw my eyes up to look back at him. His smile is gone, and he walks toward my hiding place.
I want to flee, but my legs refuse to move. He stops before me, his tall frame towering over me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. It's a mistake because of the heat that comes from his eyes piercing into mine.
“Well. It is done,” he breathes. “Are you well?”
“Your people hate me,” I say.
His hand comes up to caress my cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch. “I told you that you should start working with them when you are ready. When they get to know you, I am sure they will soften.”
I want to pull away, to resist him, but the song has me paralyzed. “You don’t even know me,” I retort.
“You are right. But there are some things, deeper things, that I just know.” He smiles sadly. “Your color has greatly improved.”
His hand is warm against my clammy skin, and my eyes flutter closed. Weak. That's what I am. I'm fighting a losing battle against him, and it's either give in to some of his touches or make eye contact and feel like I'm being burned alive on the spot.
“But your hair…”
His hand slides away from my skin. My traitorous body mourns its loss.
“What do you mean?” I demand, furious again.
He raises an eyebrow. “Loose hair is only to be seen by lovers.”
My mouth opens and closes, and my skin heats from embarrassment. I grab my hair and start braiding it at the side of my neck.Uno, dos, tres, cuatro…
The numbers don’t help.Just stop looking at him.
Why?his voice returns almost immediately.
It had been so long since he'd spoken to me in my mind I was beginning to believe that it had been some sort of trick.
He's watching me with a faintly amused expression. It makes me angry. He has all the advantages in this situation because he can think without someone eavesdropping into his thoughts.
I think of the most vulgar expression I could use against someone like him. Something much harsher thancave rat.
His eyes narrow.
I smile, pleased with the small victory.
Because, if I keep looking into your eyes, you'll entrance me like you have all the others.
His expression falls open completely. "You think that we have bewitched the others?" he says aloud.