Always a battle. Notoncehas she made it easy on me.
The barred door has no lock. Just a deadbolt I slide across before kicking it wide. Turning, I look to my kill that has no blood left to spill.
I’m wearing it all.
I only meant to snap its neck—a swift and painless death. But then I heard the rip of flesh and muscle and sinew, and the head came away from the rest of it, forcing me to leave the remnants of my wrath in the forest for the flies to feast on.
A deep growl rattles through the room.
“All right, all right ...”
Hefting the animal onto my shoulders, I charge into the cell that smells like shit and piss and dead things. Like feral, chaotic rage that has nowhere to release.
I make for the middle and drop the stag, looking at the ravaged thing, aware that I’m being watched from a blackened corner. “Your favorite, minus the head.”
Her only response is a low, animalistic rumble that riles me more than it should.
I look to the roof—to the sliver of moon I can see through the hole up there. “Don’t be like that. You know I hate it when we argue.”
No answer.
My attention drifts to chunks of stone scattered about the base of the far wall, and I huff. “Been having another go at that hole, I see?” Arching a brow, I look back to the pocket of shadows by the bars, straight into black eyes glazed by a lick of silver light. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
One blink and a slight tilt of her head. Other than that, I get nothing but silence.
Always the silence, never anythingmore.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t choke it down too fast,” I mutter, storming from the cell. I slam the door closed, slide the deadlock into place, and unhook the chain—watching the entire length whip back through the hole so fast it sounds like I’m standing in the heart of a thunderstorm.
Bones pop and crack and crunch, things splat, and deep, satiated rumblings have me rolling my head from left to right before spinning toward the door.
Sometimes, I imagine thatthingis far more perceptive than it really is, but it’s all a lie I tell myself.
I exit the holding chamber and pull the door shut, ascending stairs veiled in darkness so thick it feels like a second skin.
You lied to me ...
Yes, I did.
Orlaith hates the mask I forced her to wear. Message received loud and clear. There is no honor in my decision, but I’ll stand by it until I’m shoved in the ground. Would sooner tear the world apart than letthemcatch a glimpse of her luster.
If that makes me a monster in her eyes, well ...
About fucking time.
An outside picnicseemedlike a good idea, except this thick, fluffy toast doused in butter and a smear of honey is failing to sweeten the bitter taste in my mouth. It’s the first solid thing I’ve been able to look at in days without my insides knotting, and I can’t even enjoy it.
I scowl, stuffing my mouth full, back to the wall and staring out across the courtyard veined with exposed roots that dig through the cracks in the pavement. They anchor an ancient oak to the center, almost entirely caged by three castle walls of black, the tree’s branches providing a relatively sheltered sanctuary. The opening looks out on a stretch of grass that gives way to Vateshram Forest—the dense foliage bathed in a dreary, gray light.
Not a single blade of sun has broken through the clouds indays.
Thunder bludgeons the sky, and my gaze rolls up.
“That was a loud one,” Kavan mumbles, pushing caramel hair from his pale blue eyes. He peeks between branches at the threatening clouds, face pinched in a frown.
Vanth grunts, not even bothering to look up from the spot on the ground he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes.
His long, wheaten hair is pulled back in a low bun, seemingly a common look for Southern males. His appearance is sullen; striking blue eyes overridden by thin lips constantly set in a half-scowl that gives him a sour look.
