Page 18 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“A fitting name.”

Kenji chuckles, waiting until I turn fully to look at him. “I know this is a strange time, Little Kit. But don’t worry. We will make the most of it, and hopefully, when your mother returns, your father will be with her. Now, let me give you a tour of the rest of the house.” I pretend that I don’t hear the uncertainty in his voice. Pressing his hand against my lower back, he guides me back out into the hall. We pass the laundry and dining room, and just as I suspected, the largest bedroom is set at the end. Kenji opens the door, the scent of sandalwood and fresh-tilled earth spilling out of it. It smells like him. “My room, of course.”

My gaze roams over the dark furniture and the deep green comforter on the bed, dancing over the doors that likely lead to a bathroom and closet and the windows letting in the afternoon sunlight. Exposed beams cross over the ceiling, the light wood most common on the island, though my brows furrow at the strip of pink fabric tied to one of them. I open my mouth to ask, but Kenji interrupts.

“Are you hungry?” I huff out a breath and nod, stepping back into the hall so that he can close the door. “Let us see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He smiles broadly, something Kenji does often, and then leads us to the kitchen. Walking behind him, I struggle to settle down my magic, the way it curls and coils up my spine. Mama and Papa will be back soon. No need to panic.

Eight steps. That is how deep the cell is. It goes six steps in the other direction. This is what my life has been reduced to, an eight by six prison cell beneath the castle of a foul king. Sitting at the back of the cot, I tilt my head back and blow out a frustrated breath. With my fever broken and my wound healing, I have more mobility than before. It is both a blessing and a curse. At least when I was succumbing to infection, the time passed more quickly in the haze of delirium. Now I might as well count the seconds that pass. It is disorienting, constantly being in the dark, never breathing in air not tainted with something foul.

Having never experienced a dungeon before, I almost expected it to be more… lively. People begging for their lives, or perhaps, riotous prisoners shouting profanities as they await their inescapable fates. Instead, I find it quiet. Uneventful. In the time I have been lucid, I can count on one hand the number of prisoners brought in, and all of them have already been taken out. I thought I understood loneliness when I lived with Rhea in the tower. When I was trapped within my animal form, unable to speak to her. And it had been lonely, but not like this.

Since Xander’s last visit, two meals have been brought to my cell. Tienne also visited briefly, waking me to drop off fresh gauze. I barely had time to open my eyes and register that she was there before she was gone again, and in my daze, I swore she disappeared into the room with the weapons hanging on the wall. The torture room.

Stretching my legs out in front of me, I sit up and run my hands through my hair, cringing at the knots and wishing for access to a true bath. I had loathed having Rhea wash me in the tower, even if I knew that she had no clue who or what I really was. Working through a tangle, I let myself imagine her safe and warm—perhaps curled up with a book, the pages spread open on her lap. It’s a pretty image until the doubt begins to set in. Flynn lied to her about being a guard, and she had trusted him enough to enter a new kingdom with him anyway. But Rhea isn’t a child, and she certainly isn’t without weapons of her own. Maybe time away from the tower is the exact thing she needs to realize just how powerful she is.

My fingers freeze in the strands of my hair as I tilt my head at a distant sound. Footsteps. Pressing myself back towards the wall, I listen for the sound of heartbeats as the footsteps near. I pick up two distinct rhythms, and then Xander and the king step in front of my cell, the former wearing his full armor, onyx hair creeping out past his helmet and brushing his shoulders. Both men stand tall, though the king falls a few inches shorter. He wears no crown, but there is no mistaking the fact that he is a royal. It’s present in the precise tailoring of his clothing, the fabrics unmarred by any signs of labor or distress. I see it in the impeccable coif of his hair and the manicured trim of his beard. The straight slope of his nose and flawless cut of his jaw.

Inhaling deeply, he holds his breath like it might calm his racing heart. It doesn’t appear to work. “You could free yourself from this torture.” His head tilts slightly, the move reminding me of the predatory cats on the island. “You could once more taste fresh air and feel sunlight on your skin. All you have to do is answer my questions.”

Anger bubbles within me, hot and thick and volatile. I lift my head to glare at him, my jaw clenching as I battle to silence the growl that demands to be released. My magic tingles as warmth floods my chest, stretching invisible hands towards my neck. “I would rather die a slow and painful death at your hands than tell you anything you want to know.” My control slips, and the growl tumbles out anyway, paired with a flashing of my teeth.

King Dolian’s lip curls in response, his disgust evident. “Be careful what you wish for, you vile creature. I will happily peel the flesh off of you bit by bit.”

I hear Rhea’s whimpers in my mind, feel her clinging to me after a visit from him, tears dripping into my fur. I level my gaze at him, disdain dripping from every word. “Do it, then.”

“You would do well to remember who you are talking to.” Xander’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I only spare him a scathing glance before I turn it back on the king. Goosebumps bloom along the back of my neck as he dares a step closer to the bars.

“How often did you watch from whatever corner you were hidden in? Yet you did nothing.” My nails dig into the flesh on my arms where they hug my knees to my chest, a tremor working its way through my muscles. Kill him. The instinct is strong. “You want to paint me as the villain, and maybe I am, but you had the capability to help—to stop it—and you. Did. Nothing.” My chest heaves, imaginary claws flexing within me. “Now you will die here, and whether you tell me what I want to know or not, it won’t matter. Not to her.”

Launching from the cot isn’t a conscious choice, just as running towards the vile man isn’t. I don’t register the pain in my leg or the few steps it takes to cross the small space. All I see is red as I reach for him, Xander’s arm extending as if in slow motion to stop me. I clutch on to the king’s vest, yanking him towards me as if I might pull his body right through the bars.

“I will kill you.” I watch the first flicker of fear shine in his hazel eyes but don’t get to relish it before I am shoved back, my grip on the king lost when Xander pushes me. The king runs his hands over his chest, as if he can sweep my touch off of him, his eyes comically wide.

“Get the information out of her by whatever means necessary,” he growls, his shoulder hitting Xander’s as he backs away from the cell. “For every question she refuses to answer, cut off a finger.”

Chapter Twelve: Siyala

“What were you thinking?” Xander snarls when the king is out of earshot, barely tempered rage threaded through his voice and woven in the depths of his gaze. I scoff, folding my arms over my chest as I shift my weight to my uninjured leg, though the pain I had not felt earlier now thrums deeply in my thigh. “You can’t do that ever again—”

“If you expect me to simper at the feet of that beast, you are sorely mistaken. I am not one of you.” Xander’s spine straightens, tension rippling down his arms to the fists clenched at his sides. “I bow only before my princess. No one else.”

“Your princess,” he repeats mockingly. “Your princess is the only reason you’re trapped in this dungeon in the first place. She is both the reason you are being kept alive and why you will be tortured for information! Your loyalty to her is misplaced—”

“And your loyalty to him is an atrocity!” My words echo within the dungeon, slicing between us as if I’ve thrown one of the blades strapped to his body. “I would happily die for a woman whose only crime is existing in the same world as the king. I will bear the brunt of whatever tortuous acts you find fit to test me with because she is worth it. But you?” I let loose a primal, predatory laugh. “You bend the knee for a man who is only that in name. He is a weasel, a worm. Undeserving of any other title. Don’t speak to me as if I’m unaware of the choices I’m making because I am. And I will choose her every time.”

Xander stares at me somewhat dumbfounded, though anger and frustration still churn over his expression. Working his jaw, he turns and looks down the hall in the direction of the king, firelight gleaming off of his golden armor. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, watching the hall like it might present an answer to one of the many questions I know he has. Then his fingers uncurl from his palms, and he draws in a deep breath before removing his helmet, the top half of his hair gathered in a loose bun at the crown of his head. When his eyes meet mine again, they’ve softened a fraction. I expect another threat to be spat at me, but what comes instead sounds more like resignation.

“Your hatred for the king isn’t misplaced,” he begins, shaking his head as a muscle along his jaw flexes. His skin is almost golden in color, a shade similar to those back on the island. “And you might be surprised to find that, for some guards, there is no fondness to be found for the king. Even if they vowed in blood to be loyal to him.” I narrow my eyes, unsure of where this line of thought is going. “In truth, shifter, there is likely more we have in common when it comes to the topic of King Dolian than what we don’t.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” But my rebuttal is half-hearted. After all, Alexi was not loyal to the king because he wanted to be, and though I don’t know the reason why he joined the King’s Guard in the first place, I do know that he cared for Rhea. Loved her as his own. But Alexi’s motives had always been clear: to help Rhea in any way he could. I don’t know Xander, nothing beyond the fact that he appears to be close to the king, and I would be a damn fool to trust anything he says. “And do not call me ‘shifter.’”

“You’ve yet to give me a name I can call you, since apparently Bella is also off the table.” It’s my turn to divert my attention. I make my way to the cot, taking a seat on its stiff canvas cover and holding in a groan at the sting of pain that flares up the outside of my leg. Hearing another speak the name that only Alexi and Rhea had called me is strange. I despised it at first. It represented my fear and anger over the fact that I fled one prison only to find myself in another. But, eventually, Bella began to feel synonymous with my true name, and the version of who I was when I ran into the Mortal Kingdom gradually became lost to the version who curled up at the feet of a woman who loved romance novels and lemon loaf. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I answer, content to usher in silence if it means the guard will leave. Apparently, he does not feel the same.

“Since you won’t give me a name, I will return to calling you ‘shifter.’” I open my mouth in protest, but the guard continues. “As I’ve told you before, the king needs the information you have regarding Princess Rhea. Before you argue with me, consider the fact that while your interactions have primarily been with me, I am not the only man in the king’s employ that he will rely on to question you. There are men with more sinister means who will not hesitate to inflict the kind of harm on you that Jerrick did in order to please the king.” Eyes serious, he leans closer to the bars. “They will follow through on the king’s command to cut your fingers off.”

“If you are trying to persuade me into believing you are somehow a more honorable choice amongst your peers, you might as well save your breath. The lesser of two evils is still evil.”