Page 82 of Fated to the Wicked King

He shot me a pointed look. “My life is mine to risk.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Oh, you are still just so absolutely arrogant.”

He dismissed me with a hiss. “You sound just like my royal advisors.”

My eyes bulged. “What? So you do have royal advisors?”

“Had. I fired them all. Those ignorant bastards.”

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Because what?” I put my hands on my hips.

He gave me a suffering look. “Let’s just say they didn’t like the way I dispensed justice either. And…” He averted his gaze, hesitating. “They said… They said that if I were to marry, she needed to be someone from Wünder. They said it was against tradition otherwise.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“There was a vote. They demanded that I compromise, that I negotiate.” His lips curled with hatred for the word. “Is that what ‘compromise’ means? Never getting what I want?” Eyes blazing, his shoulders heaved at the forcefulness of his words. “I wasn’t going to have any of it. They’re lucky I only fired them.”

I must have looked quite conflicted.

The fire in his eyes flickered when he saw my face. Looking away, he took a moment to catch his breath, as if attempting to process everything for the first time.

He had been at this, all alone, for so long.

Groaning, he raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know anymore. Were they right? Should I have listened to them? My father was the real king. I’m not any good at this.”

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry.

It was the first real crack in his overly confident façade.

He didn’t even know his family, his true self. In the past, his moral compass had been simpler. He’d never once thought that what he was doing—killings, assassinations, stealing hearts—was wrong. He’d never considered any of his actions as mistakes. He slept soundly every night.

This was the real version of him, the person I’d never had a chance to truly meet. Grappling with ethics, morality, and responsibility. A man with passion, desires, wants, needs. Conflicted. Fallible. Human.

His raw struggle tugged at my heart. Pursing my lips, I shook my head. “When we get back to the castle, I think I need to teach you the difference between being feared and being respected—” I yelped as he grabbed my arm.

He pressed me back against the wall beside the back door. His forehead creased in alert, eyes scanning to make sure we weren’t spotted.

“What?” Narrowing my eyes warily, I peered carefully over his shoulder.

The back door should have led to the forest behind the Hatter’s cottage and the graveyard where the guardian to the underworld entertained ghosts.

However, instead of the usual ghostly headstones set out in a haphazard order across the grass outside, something else materialized out of the fog.

Metal scaffolding, staircases, and ladders framed around a large fantastical machine, with a giant round silver stage made entirely of glass and mirrors, ethereal green lights shining up from underneath it, ominous and hazy amidst mechanical clicks and the occasional puffs of steam.

I couldn’t contain my gasp of horror.

It was a maelstrom machine just like the ones we’d seen at the River of Tears and at Emberstead. Except this one was about five times the size.

Oh, dear god.

Twenty-Four

MAD HATTER