The Winter King
Page 112

“You blame me because you haven’t managed to win my people’s regard?”
“Of course you’re to blame! You’ve done everything but posted a written edict instructing your people to revile me. You and your precious Valik and that vile cousin of his.”
Wind howled through the palace turrets and rattled the Atrium’s glass panes. Her anger had started as a defensive response to Wynter’s own fury, but as the accusations poured from her lips, Kham began to realize just how much rage and resentment she’d bottled up inside her. And considering that she’d spent a lifetime fighting to keep her temper in check—and usually failing with disastrous results—she could scarcely believe that she’d kept so much emotion contained for so long.
“I made you my queen!” Wynter bellowed. His eyes had gone pure white, and a cloud enveloped the pair of them, shifting back and forth between frost and steam as they both unleashed pent-up anger.
“Queen of what?” she shouted back. “Your indifference? You brought me to this iceberg and abandoned me here!”
“You expected love sonnets and roses? You are here to bear my heir, nothing more.”
Lightning ripped across the sky. Thunder boomed, deafeningly close. If she’d ever had any doubt that he considered her anything more than a convenient womb, he’d just cleared that up.
“Winter’s Frost! You could drive a saint to murder.” Wynter dragged his hands through his hair. “None of this justifies your presence here. This room is off-limits.”
“Oh, right! Because this room is just full of secrets that could imperil the kingdom! My gods! Just imagine what horrors would ensue if I told my brother that the Winter King once had a family he loved!”
“This is my place. Mine! I don’t want you here! What part of that don’t you understand?”
The rejection drove into her like a knife, parting her ribs and ripping into her heart.
Lightning struck the Atrium’s roof. The glass shattered.
Wynter dove for Khamsin, catching her around the waist with one big arm and sweeping her off her feet, carrying her clear of the lethal rain of razor-sharp glass. They landed in the snowdrift near one of the statues of Wynter and his family.
But instead of earning Kham’s gratitude, Wyn’s rescue only enraged her further. She closed her hands into fists and beat them on his chest. It was like beating a marble statue. He didn’t move and her hands throbbed. She shoved against him, writhing and pushing to free herself.
“Get off me! Get off, damn you! Don’t pretend concern for my safety. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m sick of it! Do you hear me? You’re no different than my father!”
Snow fell through the broken Atrium roof in thick sheets, swirling about on fierce gusts of winds, until the entire room looked like a child’s blown-glass globe filled with oil and bits of white crystal that, when shaken, would “snow” over some tiny carved scene inside the globe.
“I am nothing like your father.” He caught her wrists and pinned her to the snow-covered floor, holding her easily as she struggled and bucked against him.
“No, you’re worse. He’s at least always been honest about wanting me dead.” Her chest heaved. Her whole body was hot and flushed. “There never really was any hope I’d come out of this year alive, was there? You just held out the possibility of mercy to keep me docile and compliant, all the while ensuring none of your people would speak for me when the time came.”
He gave a bark of mocking laughter. “You call this docile?”
The laughter made her temper flare like water poured on hot oil. She began to struggle in earnest, writhing and thrashing about in an attempt to break free. During her struggles, her skull whacked into his jaw with a loud crack. Pain exploded across her forehead. She fell back, dizzy and moaning as stars danced before her eyes.
Wynter, barely fazed, flexed his jaw from side to side and glared at her.
“Damn it, Khamsin, stop before you hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine.” She tugged her arm until he released one wrist, and she laid the free hand against her forehead, massaging the flesh gingerly. “Besides, what do you care?” She gave him a dark look.
“I’ve told you before. You are my wife and my queen. Your well-being is my responsibility.”
“Right up to the time you have me put to death, you mean?” She jerked away from his hand. “I told you I’m fine. And I don’t want to be your ‘responsibility.’ ”
His teeth clenched. He gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him. “Just shut up and let me look at that.”
She glared up at him. “A little whack on the head isn’t going to affect my ability to bear your heir. Of course, how, exactly, I’m supposed to conceive that heir when you avoid my bed like the plague is a complete mystery.”
The minute the words left her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. Wynter went completely still, and his gaze suddenly went sharp as a blade.
“Is that what this is all about? My recent absence from your bed upsets you?” His voice was silky smooth, his eyes searingly intent.
Not for all the world was she going to dignify that with an answer. “No, your lying to me upset me. If you won’t keep your oaths, then I won’t keep mine either.”
“When have I ever lied to you?”
Her mouth curled. “Don’t take me for an idiot. I know you took your harlot with you when you left. Did you think I would just sit here playing the sweet, long-suffering wife while you and Reika Villani fornicated your way across the kingdom?”