The Skeleton King smiled, revealing brown teeth that had been sharpened into points. The crown of bones rested on a nest of messy black and gray hair. Light green eyes studied me from a pale, gaunt face. Fear ignited in my chest. Heat flashed over my skin as sweat beaded.

“Such a fuss over you,” the Skeleton King said, moving closer. “Sepp is dead and Wynn is frozen. Such a surprise.”

A rancid odor filled the space between us. I suppressed the urge to gag. He reached for my hair with thick skeletal fingers—his hands the only part of him not protected by his bone armor. Revulsion coated my throat with bile. Stepping back, I bumped into one of my guards. She grabbed my shoulders, anchoring me in place.

The king stroked my cheek; I batted his arm away. His smile faded as he gazed behind me, tilting his head a fraction.

The guards pushed me against the big center post and yanked my arms up. In a heartbeat, they had secured the manacle’s chain to a hook above my head. I stood on tiptoe. The other officers in the tent exchanged queasy glances. Not good.

He pulled a knife with a bone handle from his belt. “This will be simple. I have questions. You have answers. Play nice and you’ll be able to walk back to your tent.”

My gaze jumped from the weapon to him. He was at least six inches taller than me. A crazed gleam lit his eyes. “And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be dinner.” The Skeleton King flashed his sharp teeth, exposing black gums.

Just when I thought no one could possibly be worse than Tohon, here stood the Skeleton King to prove me wrong.

“First question. Who froze Wynn?”

Oh, no. I wouldn’t endanger Flea. “Sepp did before we killed him.”

“Wrong answer.”

I braced as his knife slashed toward my left arm. But no pain burned. Instead, ripping fabric sounded. The Skeleton King had cut away the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my skin. He leaned forward and bit my forearm.

I gasped with surprise. His teeth sank into my skin, stopping only when he reached bone. Pain shot up my arm along with nausea. He sucked the blood, slurping as if enjoying a juicy steak. My stomach churned and every inch of me shuddered with revulsion.

Releasing my arm, he licked his lips. “You taste like vanilla and anise. Yum. Who froze Wynn?”

When I refused to answer, he bit me again. This time near my elbow. Unable to contain the horror over such a vile act, I yelled. And I continued to shriek as he kept asking and I kept refusing to answer. Each bite increased my terror.

A small part of my mind viewed his torture logically. It was just pain. Nothing else. However, the rest of my senses scattered in a primal panic, and I knew I’d cave in eventually.