Page 123 of The Hunted

“The other slave. She makes a valid point about King Misael. Give him what he wants, and it will always hurt less.”

He could speak their tongue—or at the very least, understand them?

What other secrets did the man hold?

• • •

Usually when the storm reached its raging peak, the house hunkered down. The servants went to their quarters, while Arelle spent the evening with Eryx watching the rain pour down and the lightning streak across the black skies.

Tonight wasn’t the same.

With every spin of her body as she danced, Arelle took in the room around her and the people within it. Their hands clapped in time with the tune being played on the three-string instrument by a servant, but she knew it was forced. Their gazes kept darting to the windows where the rain slapped at the glass—the king didn’t want the shutters closed—and the wind howled louder.

Every so often, the next crack of thunder boomed. Then, the lightning followed. Besides the flickering candles in the room, the lightning was the only thing brightening the space and people.

But not the person she wanted.

Not Eryx.

Where had he gone?

Her feet ached from dancing nonstop—how many hours had it been now? Long enough that a man had added more logs to the fire.

At least now the king had drunk enough ale and wine that he was seeming sleepy and less interested in the conversation. Unless it was Mattue who wanted to talk. Then, Misael gladly chatted with the man.

Like now.

“She’ll make a wonderful addition, don’t you think?” she heard him ask the advisor.

Mattue smiled her way. “Far better than the other one—the sister? The hunter thought so, anyhow.”

The king made a noise under his breath. “Mouthy, that one. Couldn’t even beat it out of her.”

“She’s being handled.”

What did that mean?

Was Poe—

“Have it done tonight,” Misael said, “while I take my rest.”

“Even in the storm, my lord?”

“Yes, even with the storm. Careful passage, of course.”

With that said, the king stood from his chair and nodded at a servant and the slave that wasn’t too far away from his seat. They’d barely left his side all night, and when he moved, so did they. Although, always behind him.

Without even a goodbye or an order that Arelle could stop dancing for the room, the king disappeared through the far entry.

Her twirling came to an immediate stop, the relief flooding through her veins as everyone turned to watch the king leave. For a single moment, no eyes were on her, and Arelle did the only thing that felt rational—even if it absolutely wasn’t—to her.

She turned and left the den through a back corridor that led to the rear of the house. Her skirts blew out behind her as she ran as fast as she could down the darkened hallway with only one thing—one person—on her mind.

Had she been a smarter woman, or even cared of what the people she’d left behind must have thought of her departure, then Arelle would have considered more before acting on impulse. She would have been mindful about her exit so what she was running to or from wasn’t as obvious to anyone watching.

Yet, she didn’t.

Couldn’t.