Page 13 of The Dead Queen

My eyes glance warily through the iron bars of the cells on either side of the passageway. The foxhounds hiss and growl at me with hackles raised. They’d look like any normal fox if it weren’t for the unmistakable feralness of them. Their dark orange fur is matted and covered in filth. Their copper, bloodshot eyes follow me with no fear in them at all. They stare me down as I pass.

Above the din, I hear my father’s voice, a low, commanding rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

“Stay!” he commands. “Stay!”

Deep in the kennels, I see the glow of his light as it flickers against the crumbling stone walls.

I find him in an open chamber, a dead hare held out in one hand. Its glazed eyes stare accusingly at nothing. One of his foxhounds bares its teeth, revealing rows of needle-sharp fangs. The animal shrieks as it leaps into the air, a sound more befitting a demon than any earthly creature. The chain attached to the iron collar around its neck stretches taut, causing it to fall back to the ground with a meaty thud. Its long claws scratch at the stone ground as it rights itself again while keeping a wary eye on my father.

Father chuckles lowly, then throws the hare carcass toward the other end of the room. The foxhound stays low to the ground as it skitters toward the meal, moving with an unsettling, spider-like gait. I can see its ribs through its patchy, copper fur, and its skin is marked with scars and sores.

Father has always been fond of starving creatures into submission.

The king spots me and turns reluctantly from his plaything.

“Don’t you have wedding preparations to entertain you?” His voice sounds irritated.

“I daresay the wedding planners have it under control.”

He laughs humorlessly. “And here I always thought brides wanted to have some say in their flower arrangements and cakes and other such frivolities.”

“If it’s all so frivolous,” I ask. “Why have an engagement ball at all?”

His eyes grow dark, unamused. “Don’t start with me.”

I resolve to change my attitude. I won’t get the information I need by goading him.

Father picks up the bucket at his feet. It’s overflowing with more limp hares. I follow him out of the room. He slams the iron door closed with a resounding clang that reverberates through my bones. The lock clicks into place as he turns a heavy key.

At the next door, he slides open a small hole. The metal scrapes against its frame with a screech that sets my teeth on edge. He stuffs a dead hare through the gap, its fur matted with congealed blood. On the other side of the door, nails scratch the stone ground as the foxhound grasps its meal. The frenzied sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bone fill the air, along with low, feral growls.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” I say, willing my voice to sound calm. Pleasant. Like my father prefers his women. It’s difficult to keep a feminine, delicate air amid the oppressive stench and darkness, but I do my best.

“I gathered as much since you’re standing here, watching me like a gaping piglet.” He grabs another hare from the bucket.

My face flares and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. “Now that I’ve agreed to a hasty wedding for the sake of your subjects⁠—”

“Which is your duty as heir,” he interjects.

I grit my teeth. “Now that I’m doing my duty, I’d hoped we could discuss Grandmother.”

He stills, hare carcass in hand. “What about her?”

My heart is beating rabbit-fast in my chest. “What happened to her.”

He slams the pail down and whirls back around to glare at me. A dead hare trembles in his hand as he speaks. “I thought we’d finished discussing Áine when you left.”

The hare’s black, shining eyes stare at me from my father’s fist. A smear of dark blood drips from its nose.

I stand my ground. “As I recall, it was never finished.”

There’s a long pause as my father studies me. “I didn’t call you back here from the edge of the kingdom to have you disobey me again. Áine is not open for discussion.”

“But I deserve to know⁠—”

“You deserve nothing!” He yells, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Foxhounds scream and howl in response. The noise bounces off the inside of my skull, where a monstrous headache is brewing.

I realize I’m not breathing, so I force a steady breath, sucking in the putrid air.