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“Allow me to demonstrate,” Maeve said,
straightening. Fenrys’s eyes flared with
warning.
Maeve waved an ivory hand at Connall,
frozen beside her throne. Where he’d
remained since he’d brought the queen’s food.
“Do it.”
Connall drew one of the knives from his
belt. Stepped toward Fenrys.
No.
The word was a cold clang through her. Her
lips even formed it as she jerked against the
chains, lines of liquid fire shooting along her
legs.
Connall advanced another step.
Glass crunched and cracked beneath her.
No, no—
Connall stopped above Fenrys, his hand
shaking. Fenrys only snarled up at him.
Connall raised his knife into the air