Free The Winter King by C. L. Wilson Page A

curls. Her cap!
    Newt’s beady eyes narrowed, and her face pruned tight with triumph and naked loathing. “You!” she exclaimed. Her hand shot out to clamp around Khamsin’s upper arm, the meaty fingers almost as strong and viselike as the Winter King’s earlier grip. “I knew I’d seen you skulking around here earlier. What are you about? You have no business up here.”
    Her hard gaze swept over Khamsin, missing no detail of her disheveled appearance, not the loose, wild tangle of hair, not the flushed face, and definitely not the bodice unbuttoned low enough to bare the cleft between her breasts. A sneering, speculative look entered her eyes. “Or did you? Aren’t you the sly one. Come to do a little negotiating of your own, eh?”
    “You know this girl?” The White King approached, straightening the cuffs of his silk shirt. He’d obviously realized there were no assassins lurking outside in the storm, and he’d leashed his terrible power. His steward Valik followed close behind, rubbing his jaw where it had met the hard edge of Kham’s shoe.
    Newt gave the White King a tight, obsequious smile. “Indeed I do, sir. A wild, mannerless tatter who hasn’t yet learned her place.” Her fingers squeezed so tight Kham knew she’d wear a collection of bruises come morning.
    She didn’t need the warning to hold her silence. The last thing she would do was let the White King know who she really was. Even facing her father’s wrath was a more welcome prospect than admitting she was an heir to the throne the Winter King had vowed to destroy.
    “I hope she didn’t . . . upset you . . . Your Grace?”
    Newt looked rather hopeful when she posed that last question, but to Kham’s surprise, rather than admitting he’d caught her stealing from the solar, Wynter Atrialan merely gave the Mistress of Servants a chilly look, and asked, “Do I strike you as a man who could be upset by some slip of a servant girl?”
    The woman blanched and hurried to recover from her gaffe. “No, Sire, of course not.” She bobbed a rapid series of bows and curtsies. “Not in any way, Your Greatness. I never meant to imply any such thing. Please accept my apologies.” She started to back away, dragging Kham with her as she went. “Forgive me for allowing this girl to intrude on your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
    He looked at Khamsin, and murmured something she could have sworn sounded like, “Pity.” But then his ice-pale eyes flicked back to Newt, and he said, “See that it doesn’t,” in a voice so cold she was sure she must have imagined the other.
    “Pansy and Leila will freshen your bathing chamber, sir.” Newt jerked her chin in silent command, and the two trembling maids standing behind her bobbed nervous curtsies and fled past into the bower, all but running as if they couldn’t wait to finish their work and leave.
    Her hand still clenched tight around Kham’s arm, Maude dragged her towards the stairs. Khamsin cast one, last glance back through the veil of her hair, and found the Winter King watching her. He had the strangest look on his face, something oddly wistful and bemused. Then the look was gone. He turned to reenter the bower, and the doors closed shut behind him.
    “I’ve caught you now, girl,” Newt crowed with swaggering glee. “Caught you red-handed.”
    Kham waited only until they were out of sight of the bower doors before yanking her arm from Newt’s harsh grip. “Get your hands off me.” The idiot woman actually tried to grab her again, but Kham evaded her and gave her a fierce glare. “Touch me again, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t,” she vowed. Little sparks of energy popped and crackled at her fingertips. She was in no mood for further manhandling, especially not by the likes of Maude Newt.
    “You won’t be acting so high-and-mighty when the king hears what you’ve been up to!” Newt snarled. But apparently the threat and the little show of power convinced her that