Chapter 13 · The Mad King's Couch

"On your knees, little doctor."

*CRACK.*

The flat of a greatsword slammed into the back of my legs. I hit the stone hard. Kneecaps screaming. Before I could even gasp, cold steel kissed my throat.

"Okay! Kneeling. I'm kneeling. Totally into this," I managed. My voice cracked. "Great position. Respectful. Love it."

The blade didn't budge. Huge, black iron, still warm from whatever it had butchered last. The hand holding it belonged to the thing on the throne.

He wasn't sitting. He was looming. Seven feet of nightmare in armor that looked like it grew out of his skin. Eyes like molten glass. The High Lord. The Mad King. The guy who could erase me with a flick of his wrist.

Sloane was two steps to my right. She was on her knees too, but she'd dropped by choice. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white.

"My lord," she said, low and fast. "He's under my guard. You said test him. This isn't a test—it's an execution."

"Everything is a test, Commander," the King said.

His voice was too calm. That was the worst part. He wasn't shouting; he was bored. The sword pressed harder.