A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 29

PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHY I HAD TO DETER A PACK OF wolves if you have been able to do that all along," Dante hisses, turning on me as soon as we're in an empty hallway.

My jaw nearly drops. "Excuse me? That's the first damn thing out of your mouth? Not 'good job', but basically 'fuck you for making sure you were kidnapped alive'?" I am seething, anger practically dripping from my pores. "Fuck you—and your little tiara."

That flips a switch in him. That cocky, aggravatingly smug demeanor dies faster than I can blink, immediately being replaced with what can only be described as a killing calm. The prince's vibrant eyes shutter, going reptilian in their ferocity.

But I just can't seem to shut the every-loving hell up.

"What, you don't like having your precious princehood insulted? How about your stalker tendencies? I don't know how things work around here, but out there in the real world, snatching girls is frowned upon."

I really have a death wish.

A muscle in his jaw pops, visibly tense as he grinds his teeth together. "I really couldn't give less of a shit about your opinion of me. If I were you, I'd be more concerned with how stupid it is to insult the person who can make your stay here very unpleasant. You don't have to be treated as a guest, you know."

Now that lovely thought gives me pause. I've seen plenty of true crime documentaries about poor girls who were abducted and kept as sex slaves or demeaned in other, equally as horrific ways. I have no intention of finding out what type of twisted shit makes Dante tick.

I cross my arms—the only noncombatant gesture he'll get.

He smirks, those sinful lips twisting up in an expression that belongs on the cover of GQ. "So you can play nice with others, after all. Good to know. Now, tell me how long you've been able to wield ice and to what extent."

I can feel my expression turning sullen. "I can't."

Green irises flicker with irritation. "Being difficult only works against you," he says flatly.

A sigh escapes. "No, I mean I can't. I can't control anything. Something different happens every time, like little bombs going off." I snap my jaw shut. That's all he's going to get from me without physically prying my mouth open.

Dante chuckles, a low sound of amusement, and then starts walking away. When he casts a look over his shoulder, I realize I'm meant to follow him—again.

"Where are we going now?" I snap, struggling to match his pace.

"You need to learn—fast—so I'll teach you," he answers curtly. He definitely doesn't sound happy about it.

I nearly smack into his back when he halts in front of a massive library with shelves upon shelves of books similar to the ones that used to line the walls of my bedroom. If this were any other day or if I was in any other place, I would've loved to curl up in a comfy chair and explore the secrets held here. But this isn't a a cozy bookstore, and I don't have the freedom to do whatever I want.

Dante closes the door behind us, a single strand of ebony hair falling into his eyes when he turns back to face a shelf. His fingers travel a familiar path across the spines of several volumes that look like they might turn to dust at any moment, his eyes moving in unison with his hands as he studies the spines labeled with an indecipherable alphabet. He seems to find whatever it is he's looking for, gently pulling a weathered black book from its home, dust flooding the air with the tome's movement. The gold script on the cover seems to move as my eyes focus on it, glimmering like the threads of time that are occasionally visible. It's beautiful, older than time itself.