I press my cheek against the cold stone serving as my bed and shudder. Soon enough, my own cries will join the others.
How long has it been since the king’s last visit? A day, maybe two. It’s hard to tell. Time has no real meaning in this place. I think a few weeks have passed since I got here, but I can’t tell.
My head is pounding, and my chest aches as I draw in a ragged breath. I think my ribs are broken, but I can’t be sure. It’s hard to know since my whole body is a lesson in agony. The stones on which I lie are dry, but they were soaked with my blood not long ago. I’m sure they will be that way again soon.
A healer has been down here a few times with blessed salve, applying the healing lotion to my wounds so I could be broken again.
This is the cycle I endured for years, and now it has begun anew.
There’s a scratching at the door, followed by footsteps. When it’s silent once more, I pull open my eyes.
A small jug of water and a few dry crackers sit at the entrance of my cell. Far enough away that getting to them will be a painful trek, close enough to taunt me and remind me how much I need them.
I don’t know when my next meal will come since the wardens haven’t been regular about dropping them off. And I need my strength, or at least, what is left of it.
A mangled, drawn-out “Fuck” slips from my lips as I crawl across the floor, the chains wrapped around my hands and feet jingling as I move. The manacles must be made of shadestone because I can’t feel either of my bonds.
There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t hurt by the time my fingers brush the ceramic jug. I lift my head, my hand trembling as I bring the water closer. I don’t sit up—I can’t.
The lashes I received from my father’s last visit are raw on my back, and every movement sends pain shooting through me. Gritty, lukewarm water trickles down my throat, but I don’t complain. I drink every drop before eating the crackers, letting them dissolve on my tongue.
Moving feels like too much work, so I don’t bother. I lay my head back on the stones, lifting my left hand so I can see my palm. I unfurl my fingers and stare at the bright blue ink of my bonding mark.
It’s still there.
Every fucking day, I check.
Every day, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The bond remains, which means Wren is alive. Not only that, but the king doesn’t have her. This I know because my fatherhas not been quiet during his visits. He is filled with rage unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
My beautiful, smart, strong partner and her sisters got away from the king. The magic in the amulet must’ve brought them somewhere far from him.
In between lashes and being screamed at as my father calls me every hateful name he can come up with, he’s ranted about the battle. The amulet didn’t just send Wren and the twins away, but it took the king and me away from them, too. We landed somewhere outside the remnants of the net.
It didn’t surprise me that Wren’s magic was powerful enough to do that—my little bird is far stronger than she ever realized.
By the time we returned to the battleground, me as my father’s prisoner, the net had been repaired. There were casualties on both sides, and the rebels’ home was in flames, but it sounds like the survivors fled.
To where, the king has no idea. Neither do I.
I am grateful I was never made privy to the rebels’ evacuation plans, should the net fall. It is one less secret to keep as my father tortures me for information.
I will never break, never give him what he wants.
Time slips on. Hours pass, I think. It’s hard to tell. Footsteps ring outside my cell. Heavier. Slower.
My pulse thunders. A key is inserted into the lock, and it turns slowly.
My nails dig into my palms, and I close my eyes, drawing in as deep of a breath as I can manage.
When I open them, the king’s black boots fill my vision, and a crimson whip dangles from his fingers. He looks at me, his eyes filled with the promise of pain.
I stare right back at him, steeling myself for what is to come.
No matter what my father does to me, no matter what pain he inflicts upon me, I will not bend. I will not break. I havenot told him about Wren, our mating bond, or her magic, and I intend to keep it that way.
“Did you sleep well, Gabriel?” the king asks, malice dripping from every word.
