Chapter 25 Twenty-five.
The sole of my feet aches, pulsing with sharp pain as I try to massage them. But with my fingers still broken and wrapped tightly, the task is nearly impossible. A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I flop back onto the bed, wincing at the stiffness in my spine.
It's night already. Hours have passed since I was dismissed from King Sven’s throne room after declaring my intention to enter the Dance of the Dead. The stunned silence from the court still echoes in my mind, but none louder than King Sven's response. He didn't say a thing, but his actions spoke more than words ever could. He was smiling, amused, as if watching me willingly walk into death was the best entertainment he’d had in weeks.
Still, I can't stop thinking about how close I came to dying. And how easily Sven had toyed with that choice. Like it was nothing to him.
He would have executed me. Not just threatened to. He would’ve watched it happen.
It doesn’t break my heart. I never gave him that kind of power over me. But the idea of leaving this world without protecting my brother? That’s the wound that cuts deeper than any blade.
“I can't die,” I mutter to myself as I take a deep breath.
The Dance of the Dead is no ceremony. It's a bloodbath disguised as a competition that I know could see me dead in the first round, especially going against opponents like Linnet and the ripper ghost. I'm sure there will be other powerful opponents too. And considering I don't have any power or martial arts skills, I'm basically signing my death sentence. But I do have one thing, which is my will to survive. I won't go down without a fight.
My door creaks open and I immediately stand up from my bed, expecting to see Isadora bring me food as she has for over a week now, but it isn't her.
It's King Sven.
He closes the door with the back of his foot as he walks into the room with a tray of food. I watch quietly as he places the tray on a table, I don’t speak. I don’t move.
I'm not angry at King Sven… if anything what I feel towards him now is nothing but pure undiluted hatred. My hatred is a living, breathing thing tonight. It fills the space between us, thick and poisonous.
I want to kill him. Make him hurt like I have.
“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears, little Fae,” he says, casually, as if we’re nothing more than lovers having a small quarrel.
“Don’t patronise me,” I snap, glaring. “What the hell was that earlier? You pretending you don’t remember our deal? That you proposed?”
“The one about the child?” he asks with mock curiosity, tilting his head. “Ah. Yes. That one.”
“Ah. Yes. That one that's now off the table!” I reply sharply. “Since you've forgotten at least there shouldn't be a need for you to bring me food anymore because I won't be carrying your child, and I won't be letting you sleep with me.”
King Sven barks a laugh. “You don't dictate to me, little Fae.”
“If you needed me you wouldn't have planned on executing me tomorrow.”
“But isn't that what you wanted?” He says smoothly, voice low as he takes a step forward. “You said you'd rather die than be sullied by a filthy hybrid who raised your Kingdom to the ground. I was merely trying to honor your request. But now I’m the villain?”
His hand rises, brushing my cheek even though I hate it.
I hate him… but still my body betrays me. Butterflies churn in my stomach and it makes me more pathetic than I already feel. Damn this stupid bond between us.
I slap his hand off my face as I glare at him. “Don't joke with me, Sven. That was before you took my dignity-”
“Correction, little Fae. I didn't take your dignity. You traded it to me as your way of clinging on to life,” He says, jaw clenching as his eyes ting gold. “Don't paint me out to be a rapist.”
I hiss. “You didn’t give me much of a choice. You dangled death in front of me, then offered survival like you were doing me a favor. You wanted me to give you a child or the option of being a sex toy to hundreds of vampires. That’s not a deal. It’s coercion, Sven. You could have just killed me then.”
“You speak like someone who doesn’t understand what real death looks like.”
“Oh, I do,” I whisper, my eyes wild. I know I look like a lunatic right now, but I couldn’t care less. “I’ve watched it. Lived through it. Or have you forgotten that I survived the fall of Eris wall? So, Sven, don't lecture me about death. I’ve already died in every way that matters, especially at your hands.”
He stares at me. Silent.
The air between us vibrates with tension, and hatred. But something else too. Something dark and raw and messy and murderous.
His gaze shifts, and for a moment, I see it flicker toward my bandaged fingers and my feet.
“Who hurt you?” He asks, raising a brow as he changes the subject easily. Not the first time he'd done so.
I raise my right hand to his face. “This? The pain is nothing compared to what you've put me through these past few weeks, so don't act like you care.”
“I’m not asking to compare pain, Little Fae. I just want to know,” he replies, calmly.
“Why don't you ask your guard who accused me of trying to get in bed with him? Your guard who threatened to defile my dead body. What sort of subjects are you ruling?” I ask, each word laced with venom.
King Sven's eyes burn, but his voice remains eerily calm. “Do you think I don’t know what kind of men I lead?”
“Oh, so you encourage your subjects to grope me? Threaten me in ways animals don't even deserve to be threatened? Your subject humiliated me, and broke my fingers,” I snap. “I might be a slave, but even I don't deserve to have my body defiled.”
“Did they also hurt your legs?” He asks, eyes flickering to my feet. My toes are clenching as my soles bruise.
“I’ve been walking barefooted for weeks now, what do you expect?” I scoff, looking away from him.
He ignores my tone. Instead, he steps closer and pushes me to sit on the edge of the bed. I snap my head back and I'm about to yell a response at him when I see him kneel before the bed, and lift my ankle with surprising care. My instinct is to pull away, but I don’t.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice guarded.
“Helping,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He picks up the ointment Isadora left me last night from the table and opens it. “You’ll need your legs for the Dance of the Dead. Unless you plan to crawl your way through the tournament.”
I grit my teeth as his fingers begin to work the ointment gently into my sole. There's pain at first, but then it eases, melting into relief.
I hate that he’s touching me.
I hate that he’s doing it so carefully.
I hate that his actions are making my hatred for him evaporate at the moment…
“I don’t need your help,” I say stiffly, trying to act unbothered, but I don't attempt to drag my foot from his grasp.
“You do,” he replies instantly. “You just don’t want it.”
I hold my tongue because he's right. I do need his help, and I can't exactly act proud at the moment with my broken fingers.
He finishes with one foot and moves to the other. His touch is firm but not cruel, skilled in a way that makes me wonder how many lives he’s touched like this… only to destroy them later. And if I'm just another one of those.
“I hate you,” the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I know,” he says softly, almost gently. “You remind me everyday, Little Fae. But even hate... it's just another kind of bond.”
When he's done, he lowers my foot back onto the bed and stands.
“What's the name of the guard who groped you?” he asks as he moves toward the door.
“Why do you care?”
“I'm just curious.”
“Kane. He's my supervisor.”
“Rest well, Olivia, and don't forget to eat. You wouldn't want to enter the tournament with an empty stomach,” With that he leaves the room.