Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,15
“Then I’ll hunt you down. I will find you. And then I’ll fuck you into submission, frigid queen.”
My fury sends a burst of strength through me as I swipe my nails for his face again. The beast inside me screeches as diamondblades freeze along my fingers and extend into glistening spikes past my fingertips. Ryke barely manages to grip my wrist and stop me before I rip his face off.
Instead of burning me to death on the spot, his eyes widen and he flashes me a beautiful smile.
“There she is. The Punisher isn’t dead yet.” Heat burns at my wrist but not to the point of pain. Water runs down my hand as the diamondblades melt and then hit the floor, shattering. Ryke brings his lips to my middle finger that just held a sharp blade and licks the tip. A jolt of excitement ripples through me straight to my core. “We can play more later. I have business to attend to first.”
He’s gone without another word. I consider sneaking out, chasing after him. I’d love to run a diamondblade through the base of his skull. But better yet, I could set out to find Yanna. He would hunt me down. Another thrill shoots through me. Energy thrums through me and I feel invigorated. For the first time in years, I feel alive.
Is it him?
The enemy can’t be my savior.
Impossible.
Looking down at my hand, I notice my fingers aren’t as blue. I’m warmer than usual thanks to the fire that burns lowly in the fireplace and the heat he seems to radiate.
I attempt to summon my gift.
Despite this man in our palace and my sister in his grip, I am not afraid of him. I’m afraid of what I might lose because of him.
Yanna.
A mixture of pain, fury, and terror swirls through me.
My fingertips glow blue, empowering me. I cut my hand through the air, sending diamondblades slinging from my fingers. All five of them stab into the stone floors with incredible force. I stare down at them in awe.
I’m still marveling over the sudden appearance of my gift, when a soft rap on the door startles me.
Yanna!
I rush over to the door and sling it open. The man from earlier, Gorten, smiles at me. He has a spice caught between his front two teeth. It makes me cringe.
“I met with your sister,” he whispers, chancing a look over his shoulder.
“If you hurt her, I will cut your heart out and personally feed it to The Damned,” I hiss, summoning my cold. I feel it surging through my veins like my own blood.
His eyes widen. “Your highness, I am disobeying my king to help your sister.”
“Pardon,” I choke out, shocked at his words.
“This morning, I went to see her. She is well. But she was rather persistent.”
“Persistent about what?”
“This,” he says, holding out a familiar pouch. “I was instructed not to look inside. That she’d know and that you’d know. That between the two of you, I’d meet an untimely, bloody death.” He smirks as though that amuses him. “I’m not here to intercept a message between a queen and her sister. I just want you to know my loyalties aren’t with King Bloodsun.”
I still at his treasonous words. “Is that so?”
His lips quirk on one side. “Your sister was rather persuasive.” He brings his fingers to his nose and sniffs them. “She said if I do your bidding, that you’ll offer me far more than my king ever could. I’m growing tired of marching to wars with the mad. I’m tired of hunts for lands that are hidden. I want to hole up in a castle and protect beautiful women who are in dire need of protecting.”
Traitorous snake.
“You touched my sister?” My tone is cold and cruel. “No one touches my sister.”
His eyes glint in a challenging way as he wiggles his finger in the air. “I did.”
A burst of cold fury explodes through me as I swing my arm through the air. Five diamondblades glint in the morning sun streaming in through the window. My blades slice through his wrist effortlessly.
He gapes at me in horror as his hand slides off his wrist and hits the floor with a thud. Blood, bright crimson and thick, spurts from his severed arm. With a flick of my wrist, I loosen my soiled diamondblades, allowing them to clatter to the floor.
He eyes the hand at his feet.
“Pick it up,” I urge, my tone icy.
“Y-Your highness,” he whines.
“Pick. It. Up.”
He sobs as