The day passes like an itch over my skin, crawling slowly as it eats away at my sanity. I’ve gone days without sleeping while facing Kharl Balzog’s raving armies, but in the maelstrom I didn’t have time to get lost in my own thoughts. Even keeping watch for days on end isn’t as torturous as staring endlessly at the same sneering faces. How in the ashes Rooke survived weeks of this treatment is beyond me, and I can’t figure out why my Fates-blessed mate hasn’t taken a swing at me for it at the very least.
The doors open, but when no footsteps or heartbeats signal a changing of the guards, a ripple runs through the room. I wait for a murmur or hand signal between them for some command. When there’s nothing, I share a look with Gage through the bars. The frustration and blankly bored look that he’s worn all day is gone, replaced by bloodlust etched into the curl of his lip that speaks to how ready he is to carve these males to pieces.
From beyond the dungeon comes the tell-tale rushing sound of the fae door there, and the rippling murmur of the prisoners curious about what’s going on cuts off instantly, silence overtaking the dungeon. The air becomes drenched in terror, but they’ve been conditioned to hide their reactions in this tomb of a castle and, as if by command, their heartbeats all slow to keep time with the approaching footsteps:thump,thump,thump.
Gage pulls himself upright as far as the mesh of iron running over his head will allow, his eyes narrowing and his head cocking before he turns to give me a severe look. I don't need to focuson the details; my uncle’s gait and the sounds he makes as he moves were seared into my memory when I was a faeling. I don’t recognize the males walking with him, but there are four, all of them shorter than him and, by the sounds of the robes they’re wearing, they’re witches.
When they round the corner together, I’m proved right.
I’m struck by the red witch marks on their faces—I’ve only seen red and white before. They’re dressed much like my Fates-blessed mate, though their robes are in far worse condition and their boots are of Unseelie-fae design. Two of them are related, I’d wager, while the other two don’t show any similarities other than the color of their witch marks.
There’s no raving madness in their gazes, and no sign of the blackened spittle of Kharl Balzog’s foot soldiers; these males pledged their magic to the Betrayer willingly.
As they approach our cages, smirking, I reach out to Rooke and press against the wall between our mind connection. She lets it down almost instantly, her concern bleeding through, and I don’t waste time with explanations. My magic pulses underneath my skin in a demand for release that I hold back for now.
Pulling my Fates-blessed mate further into my mind, I show her the scene before me by instinct alone.Which male threatened you? Was it just one, or were they all involved?
She hesitates, taking note of the dungeons and the conditions we’re being kept in, before she murmurs,None of these males are Baylor. They taunted me with him, but he was the only witch to admit to killing my coven.
Taunted you? What did they say?
She sighs, the sound as clear across the mind connection as if she were standing in front of me.A lot of prejudiced bullshit about covens that you wouldn’t understand but that says a lot about any witch who believes it. Baylor was the one who saidhe looked forward to having a complete set of Ravenswyrd witches dead at his hands, and he’s not with the males there.
I don't care which male it was; any witch who stands with my uncle is complicit with the Betrayer, and they’ll all die. For what they’ve taken from my Fates-blessed mate, I hope to make it a particularly violent death.
“Oh, Soren, what a sight to behold—the Savage Prince brought to heel.”
My gaze finally moves from the witches to my uncle as he comes to a halt before my cell. The guards are all bowing deeply to him, hands clasped over their chests as they hold the position. It’s an act of complete submission, one that he’s consuming gluttonously with a gleam to his eyes that feels perverted. He makes them stay like that for far too long, unblinking as he stares at me as though their display is something to gloat over.
It sickens me.
He barely flicks his hand to dismiss them all, but the guards straighten and take up watch again, their gazes on every inch of the dungeons. The witch at the front of the others steps forward and I feel his magic pour out of his chest to weave around the bars until it surrounds the regent and my cell while cutting everyone else out, the witches and Gage included. The sound of heartbeats trained to keep a pattern and the grinding of Gage’s teeth cease instantly as the barrier solidifies and conceals.
My uncle walks to the edge of the iron bars where the stool Ayron sat on still stands, the layers of finery he drapes himself in swishing loudly underneath his cloak. He and Sari both always sound as though they’ve dipped themselves in a dragon’s hoard, jewelry chiming like bells as it rubs together, but that’s the exact purpose. My uncle enjoys displaying every last Celestial family heirloom as a taunt, a reminder that he can take everything from me if he so chooses.
Rooke’s disgust ripples in my mind, and I remind myself that he can’t takeeverything, not anymore.
“You’ve aided me greatly by appearing here without contest, Soren, surely the Fates are smiling down upon me! I knew you’d have to come back to Yris if you truly intended to marry that witch of yours, but I was expecting some trials, at least. This seems a littletooeasy, some might say.”
I keep my breathing steady and my face blank, allowing no reactions to feed into his perverted games. He’s building up to something, laying out his pieces and coaxing me into the torture of his design. Playing along only heightens his satisfaction when he lands the killing blow. I give him nothing, but it doesn't matter; even that draws a smirk from his lips, and I’m reminded that he looks far too much like my father. I usually avoid thinking about it.
“The witch is something else, though, isn't she? We weren’t expecting that from a female out of the forest of madness. I’ve had many witches in my time—they taste different than the high fae. I'm sure you're already addicted to the feel of caged magic beneath you, bending for you, and now you’ll never go back to your own kind.”
My mind hollows out completely, and it’s only when calming waves roll through me that I realize Rooke’s listening to my uncle speak of her like that, and the void of my mind shifts into a a burning, reckless need to give him a violent death. She murmurs reassurances to me of how little this male’s words concern her, that his derision for her coven is disgusting but not unusual and she’s accustomed to ignoring it. That doesn't help my temper, but I hold it together for her.
A new light shines in his eyes. “Oh Soren, what has the witch done to you? I can see you’re holding back your temper by the skin of your teeth, but you’ve finally learned some restraint. I thought claiming the throne for myself would be as simple asleaving you to kill the witch yourself, Fates be damned, and yet…here we are.”
Speaking so casually about defying the Fates, my uncle doesn't seem concerned about the consequences as he leans forward to stare at me. “It's been a very long and winding path to arrive here, nephew, and not just for you. For some time, I was unsure how I would cleave the kingdom out of Kharl Balzog's grip. Mitigating the numbers of his armies is a loathsome prospect, we can both agree on that, but your stagnant fate aided that as well. With every year that passed, dissent has sown in the Witch Ward. It was easy enough to find witches itching to break free of his command.”
He looks down at the rings on his fingers, the Celestial seal my father once wore catching in the light of the lanterns as he rubs a finger over it. “Sari has always been a good trading piece. It was simple enough to find someone within the Sol King’s court to wed her. Finding a male high enough to ensure an unbreakable allegiance who fit her fate was a far more difficult task but, even then, the Fates have smiled upon me. My daughter was given some fluidity rather than a name. The witches all talk about the Fates as though they’re an intricate tapestry, countless threads weaving together to create the picture of our kingdom. It certainly seems they favor my design.”
The smirking tilt of his lips digs under my skin just as he hopes but, when the violent clenching of my teeth is my only reaction, he pushes harder. “Your Fates-blessed mate has been an interesting obstacle to navigate. I was merely looking for an appropriate way to kill her, but with every messenger who arrived at my door from the Northern Lands, the more glorious her fables became and the higher her value climbed. I've been warned at every pass that harming her is a death warrant, not just for me but for the entire Unseelie Court. How much of your blessed little witch’s past do you know, Soren?”
It’s a carrot dangled before me, and Rooke doesn't utter a word or send me anything; she sits and she waits. I can't hide my frustrations from her, but I don’t push them at her either. This isn’t the time or place.
When I don't speak, the smirk on my uncle's face grows. “I hope you enjoy the dungeon, nephew. I hope the iron bars caging you make your skincrawlas I drag that witch back to the Northern Lands. Back to her brother, a witch whose acts of war are so renowned that to look upon his sister with anything but respect is a death sentence. These aren’t just hollow threats either, Soren, the Sol King excused the male of treason for killing a Seelie prince on her behalf. To think the mate you tossed in a dungeon has garnered such considerable favor in the Seelie Court that even the High Commander has made it clear he wants her home.”
The regent leans forward and watches my jaw clench so hard that my teeth almost crack. “It took quite some convincing to get the male to accept my proposal that he wed Sari and fulfill my list of demands, but I discovered his greatest weakness… can you guess? Surely, you must. He longs for that witch, nephew, desires her so greatly that he offered to secure me a legion of soldiers to ensure she’s returned to him. In fact, he accepted my daughter as his brideonlyif the witch came, too. Curious that you should bring her back at just the right time… it’s almost as if he’s calling her home.”
