Page 20 of Vicious Kings
I follow him back through the maze of sterile hallways, past rooms where other patients—or prisoners, depending on how you look at it—are probably receiving the same five-star treatment. My bare feet whisper against floors polished to mirrored perfection, and I count each step.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty.
Always grounding myself in numbers that make sense when nothing else does.
Back in my room, I sink onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. University. They're sending me to their precious university where Prince Corvinus is playing at being a student between bouts of warfare, breathing air he doesn't deserve to taste.
The collar around my neck pulses warm for a moment, like it knows the direction of my thoughts.
But it can't read minds.
If it could, they'd have executed me already for the violent fantasies playing on repeat in my head.
Seven
BILLIE
The carriage lurches over another rough patch of cobblestone, and I bite back a curse as my ass bounces off the velvet-cushioned seat for the hundredth time.
Apparently, the Fae are too good for cars.
Or maybe they just enjoy watching humans get their spines rearranged by their medieval transportation methods.
Through the window, which is made of enchanted glass (obviously), I watch the countryside blur past. We left the hospital grounds twenty minutes ago, and already the landscape has transformed from manicured gardens to something out of a fucking fairy tale.
Which I guess makes sense.
Rolling hills covered in grass so green it hurts to look at. Trees with leaves that shimmer between silver and gold depending on how the light hits them. Flowers that definitely don't exist in the human realm growing wild along the roadside, their petals opening and closing in rhythm with some unheard music.
It's beautiful. Disgustingly,offensivelybeautiful.
The driver, a male Fae with skin like pearl and eyes that remind me of a hawk, hasn't said a word since he helped meinto this rolling torture device. The two guards flanking me are equally silent, dressed in what I'm starting to recognize as the Fae version of business casual. Flowing fabrics embroidered with symbols that make my eyes cross if I stare too long.
They're still guards, though. The way they sit, the careful positioning that gives them clear lines of sight to both doors and me. I know muscle when I see it, and these aren't just pretty escorts. They're here to make sure I don't do anything stupid.
Like jump out of a moving carriage and make a run for it.
The thought crosses my mind every time we slow down, but the collar around my neck pulses warm whenever I so much as shift toward the door. A reminder that I'm on a leash, even if it's an invisible one.
The forest gives way to farmland, and I lean forward despite myself. These aren't the industrial farms I expected. No machinery, no massive warehouses. Instead, I see fields of crops I can't identify tended by... fuck me, are those actual sprites? Tiny winged creatures flit between the rows, their bodies glowing like fireflies in the afternoon sun.
"First time seeing the outer territories?" one of the guards asks. She's a woman with silver hair braided in a style that probably takes three hours and a degree in advanced geometry to achieve.
I don't answer. Let her think I'm some wide-eyed country bumpkin. Better than her knowing I'm tracking every detail, filing away potential escape routes and weak points in their seemingly perfect kingdom.
The farmland transitions to suburbs, if suburbs were designed by someone who'd taken every human architectural achievement and decided to show them up. Houses that seem to grow from the ground itself, their walls made of living wood that still sprouts leaves and flowers.
And then we crest a hill, and I see it.
The Royal City.
My mind goes momentarily blank.
I've seen the walled cities where the Fae keep their human cattle. Gleaming towers of glass and steel, clean streets, perfect order. I thoughtthosewere impressive. I thought those were the height of Fae arrogance and excess.
I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
The Royal City makes those human farms look like slums. Spires of crystal and stone pierce the sky, so tall their tops disappear into clouds that swirl with colors that shouldn't exist in nature. Bridges span between buildings at impossible angles, some made of what looks like solid starlight. The streets below pulse with their own inner light, creating patterns that shift and change like living art.
