Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,64

throat constricting. She meant what she said. Truth blazed fiercely in her eyes. And what could he do to stop her? Toss her over his shoulder and carry her back inside again? Tie her hand and foot and gag her like some prisoner?

Her fingers trembled on his arm. He could feel the tension reverberating through her body. His gaze sank to that small hand resting on his forearm, so forceful and yet so small. She was brave—Gods above, he knew she was brave!—and she was certainly strong.

But strong enough to face Kyriakos?

“We had visitors this morning,” he said slowly, lifting his gaze from her hand to meet her eyes again.

Her expression was hard, unreadable. He couldn’t gauge her reaction.

“Right,” she said slowly. “Visitors. More harpens?”

Soran shook his head. “The land you see beyond our shore belongs to a lord of the Noxaur realm. One Kyriakos of Ninthalor.”

Nelle let go of him abruptly and wrapped her arms tight around her middle. “A fae, huh.” Her voice was almost gruff enough to hide the slight quaver. “What did he want?”

Soran hesitated, his hands clenching slowly into fists. But he couldn’t hide it from her. She wanted the truth, and he must give it.

“You, Miss Beck. He came to Roseward looking for you.”

All color drained from her face. She blinked up at him, true surprise registering in her face, followed by a flash of real fear. It pained him to see it, yet at the same time it was good. She needed to be afraid. She needed to realize what was happening.

But he couldn’t tell her all. Not about her Hybrid blood. Not if he was going to send her back to Wimborne in a few days’ time. If she remained unaware, she would more likely be able to hide and blend in with humanity as she had before coming to Roseward.

No, he couldn’t tell her everything. But enough. He’d tell her enough.

“Kyriakos is known throughout Eledria for his peculiar tastes,” Soran said slowly. “He is a . . . collector, of sorts. It is said that within the walls of Ninthalor he has accumulated a harem made up of women from all different races across the realms. Naiads and nymphs. Faunas and centauri. Even goblins, trolls, and other, stranger creatures. He takes them as his . . . his wives.”

She knew what he was going to say next. He could see understanding flare in her widening eyes. But she wanted the truth, so he would give it to her.

He met her gaze grimly, refusing to look away. “Mortals are his favorites.”

She nodded. Her lashes flickered, but she stubbornly held his gaze.

“After the signing of the Pledge,” Soran continued, “The King of Noxaur commanded Kyriakos to give up the mortals from his collection. He refused. The resulting conflict cost many lives, including those of Kyriakos’s mortal wives and all of their children.”

All his ibrildian children—powerful Hybrid magic-users, whom he had shaped into a lethal fighting force. It had required all the power of the five Eledrian kings and queens to bring them down. But these details Soran kept to himself.

“Since that time, Kyriakos has been curse-bound to his lands, where he will remain until his king sees fit to pardon him. But within his territory he governs uncontested, a sovereign in his own right.”

Nelle’s mouth opened, her lips parting softly. After some silent moments she managed a little, “Oh.” Dropping her gaze, she looked around herself, blinking hard. “Oh,” she said again and tottered to the table, pulling out a chair and sinking into it. Her shoulders hunched, the folds of her cloak draping heavily like leaden weights. She propped an elbow on the table and sank her head into her hand.

Soran stepped closer. He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand. Instead, he planted a fist on the table and leaned heavily against it. “Please forgive me, Miss Beck.” His voice was hoarse with emotion he could not wholly suppress. “I should never have let you stay here—”

“Will you shut your big flapping mouth?” she snarled and glared up at him over her fingers. “I’m the one who insisted on staying, remember? And I ain’t sorry about it neither, so don’t you get apologetic at me now. Just tell me what we’ve got to do to keep this, Kyr—Kyria—this fae fellow from coming back.”

Soran blinked and withdrew from the table. He shouldn’t be surprised. Did he really expect the girl to crumble in tears and terror? He had yet