Freya's POV
The moment we stepped outside the house, he released my hand, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
I slowed, then stopped entirely as he and the Duke continued toward the waiting carriage. When he noticed I was no longer beside them, he stopped walking and turned slowly with a grim expression.
"If it is your belongings you wish to retrieve, do not concern yourself," he said. "I will see that you are provided with finer things."
His words were gentle, but his gaze was not.
"Bold of you to assume I wish to be anywhere near you," I muttered under my breath, already surveying the grounds and quietly recalculating my escape.
"Did you say something?" the King asked, shifting his stance to face me fully.
"I said," I blurted before I could stop myself, "that I do not wish to marry you. Nor be mated to you. Find another."
Ian's brows lifted.
"Well," he drawled, "that's new. Rejecting the King outright." He glanced between us. "Is that allowed, or should I be summoning the executioner?"
The King shot him a sharp look.
Ian held up his hands at once. "Right. Not helping," he said, already backing away. "I'll… be in the carriage."
The King's gaze returned to me.
"Is there a reason I should not heed the Duke's suggestion and call for an executioner for daring to reject a mate bond with your King?"
"You would have me executed," I said slowly. "for not wanting to be with you?"
"Precisely," he replied without hesitation. "And who would not wish it? I have never taken a bride. You ought to feel privileged, honored even to be chosen."
He was not wrong. To most, he was everything a ruler should be: powerful, untouchable, desired. In any other life where I didn't know him, I might have been flattered.
But not this one.
Heaven forbid I desire the man who had made a sport of ending my life over and over again.
"Everyone has their preferences," I said with a careless shrug. "Personally, I prefer the Duke. He's quite the catch."
I knew very well the King's beauty was not of this world, but he did not need to hear that.
"Ian," The king suddenly growled in warning.
My gaze flicked to the carriage, where the Duke—Ian, apparently—had leaned halfway out, grinning like a man witnessing a particularly entertaining performance. He looked ready to speak until the King's tone cut through the air. His smile vanished at once.
"Right," Ian said, ducking back inside. "In I go."
I looked back at the King.
"See?" I said lightly. "Even he finds you insufferable."
He took a step toward me suddenly.
Just one.
Yet I felt an unfamiliar sensation overwhelm me, tugging at my spine. I did not retreat, but the effort it took to remain still surprised me.
Another step.
The space between us shrank, and with it, my certainty. There was something wrong with the air now. My pulse betrayed me, quickening in a way I did not understand and did not welcome.
"You would rather remain here, as you are? Rather than stand at my side," he asked in a tone that was not exactly a mocking one but felt like it still.
I lifted my chin. "Here, at least, I know what I am," I said. Alive, I added silently. For however long that might last.
His gaze narrowed, as though he heard the thought I did not voice.
"You would choose this life," he said, "over mine?"
I almost laughed.
"I know you know I am a moon blood. So stop with the pretense. If you mean to kill me then do it. Why this charade?" My voice wavered despite myself. "Why pretend at marriage?"
He tilted his head, and I wasn't sure what that meant. If he was surprised that I knew his intent, or if he was surprised I did not mind dying.
He reached for me suddenly.
I tensed, ready to strike, but his hand did not close around my throat. Instead, his fingers curled at my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left to retreat into.
"And now I am fated to you, do you not believe I can change my course?"
I should have answered him. I should have laughed, scoffed, spat venom between us.
Instead, my gaze betrayed me.
I saw him then—not the crown, not the monster my memories had carved into stone—but the man standing far too close. The sharp line of his jaw. The calm steadiness of his breath. My eyes dropped, traitorous, to his mouth.
Soft.
The thought startled me so deeply I recoiled.
This is a trap, I told myself. It has always been a trap.
I pushed against his chest, hard. "Let go of me."
He did not.
In one swift motion, he lifted me making a surprise gasp escape me. My fists struck uselessly against him as the ground vanished beneath my feet.
"You mistake defiance for refusal," he said calmly. "You will not escape this by words."
"I will not marry you," I hissed.
"You will," he replied, unshaken. "Whether you accept it now or later."
He carried me to the carriage as though my resistance meant nothing at all. I struggled, cursed, struck him where I could, but he did not even flinch.
And then I was inside.
He released me onto the cushioned seat and stepped in after me as the door shut with finality. The carriage lurched forward, wheels grinding against the road as it began to move.
I braced myself, expecting a sudden attack, anything at all from the king… now that I was where he wanted me. Yet nothing came.
Instead, he crossed one leg over the other and stared out the window.
And I could not stop the thought that crept into my mind:
Is this salvation… or merely a slower execution?
**
I had just begun to ease my shoulders, the rigid ache slowly giving way as I leaned back against the cushioned seat after a while.
But my eyes never left him. I was still expecting a sudden move from him, but nothing came.
Seconds passed. Then more. I remained stiff, poised between breath and panic, until the tension finally began to loosen its hold on me.
That was when the carriage jerked violently.
I was thrown forward as it screeched to a halt.
"I knew it," I blurted, the words tumbling out sharp and fast. "I knew you were going to kill me. You could have spared the performance."
The King did not look at me or answer, he simply uncrossed his leg slowly and drew in a slow breath.
"What is it Uncle?" Ian asked with a panicked tone. "What's happening?"
The King opened his eyes.
They burned crimson as they glowed with something ancient and merciless. The sight of it drove me back against the seat, my breath catching painfully in my throat.
"We are under attack." he said finally.