Page 8 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“You are not m—”

“Bring her to the room.” The king spins on his heel and travels down a hallway that stretches into the darkness in front of me, just out of the small torch’s light that hangs a few feet from my cell. The familiar guard with shoulder-length black hair reaches a hand back behind him, the jingling of keys sounding and pushing my heart into a gallop.

The other guard chuckles as he cracks his knuckles. “This will be fun, won’t it, little beastie?”

The lock clicks open, and metal hinges creak as the door to my cell swings open. Scrambling back, I listen to one of their hearts kicking up higher as I search for anything around me that might be used as a weapon. But beyond the cot—and the small toilet in the corner—the cell is empty. Shit. The word my cousin taught me echoes in my mind as my ears begin to ring.

“Now come on. We won’t hurt you.” The more talkative of the two guards steps closer, only a few feet separating us now. His dark hair spills well past his shoulder when he tilts his head, a taunt laden in the motion. “Unless you like that.”

“Do not touch me.” I hate the way my raspy voice shakes. Hate that it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He tsks under his breath, gaze roaming over me.

“Feisty, are we? I like that.”

“For gods’ sake, Jerrick. Shut up.” The other guard, Xander, steps forward, hand stretching towards me. I suck in a breath, my mind tossing me back into the woods. The men touching me. Nails scratching. Breath hot on my neck. When his hand closes around my arm, I growl and yank it back, but Jerrick is there, holding me in place.

“Sorry, beastie. The king wants you.” Smiling, he tugs me closer, the stale smell of him washing over me as he weaves his fingers into my hair and tugs at the roots. “You are beautiful. What might it be like—”

“That’s enough. Go to Vitour and find a lady of the night if you need to be fucked.” Xander steps in front of him, the armor at their shoulders hitting and ringing out with high-pitched clang as he shoves him back. “Can you stand?” he asks from where he looms over me, earning an exasperated breath from Jerrick. But despite the gentler way he asked the question, I know he isn’t some savior.

“Get the hell away from me.”

Xander doesn’t react to my words, but Jerrick does. He claps his hands slowly before drawing his sword from the sheath at his hip. I stare at its length, at the confident way he wields it as he angles it in my direction. I’ve seen my cousin Kai fight with swords—usually one in each hand. I knew their weight, at least the ones on the island. But the guard’s arm doesn’t shake, his biceps flexing and toned from beneath the sleeve of his black tunic. They might call me feral, and maybe, if I could access my magic, I could be. But weakened as I am, I have zero chance against both of them. Especially with a weapon drawn. “Stand. While you still have two legs to stand on.”

I wish that I didn’t feel my stomach drop at the thought of being in a room with the king. I wish I was braver, like Rhea, who faced him many times alone. But I’m not. I’m a female who only knows how to run in the face of fear. So that is what I attempt to do. I launch myself into Xander’s legs, forcing him off balance and stumbling backwards. Away from Jerrick’s sword, I reach for the golden dagger strapped to Xander’s thigh and quickly slide it out, before turning and throwing it in Jerrick’s direction. I don’t waste time checking on whether or not it hit its mark. The push up to my feet is agony, my muscles protesting as my vision wanes and lightheadedness creeps over me. But there is a way out of the dungeon, and I will find it.

My bare feet are cold as they move across the stone, my heartbeat sluggish when I finally pass the iron bars. Lock them in. Yes, that will give me some extra time. Spinning, I touch the edge of the barred door, icy metal stinging my palm. But Jerrick is there, his large body blocking it from closing. His gaze is murderous, that golden sword even more menacing in the torchlight. He throws the door to the cell back open, and I turn to run away, counting my steps as my feet slap against the ground. One. Two. Three. I don’t make it to four before pain explodes at my temple and everything is swept away in a sea of unforgiving black.

I swim from dream to dream, my mind never quite settling in one place. At first, I sit on my childhood bed with my older sister, her laugh bright and clear as she points to something in a book spread out between us. Then I leap to the dinner table with my family, Mama and Papa talking. Laughing. My heart squeezes at the sight. Before everything went wrong. Like falling down an endless well, I slip into the next dream. I’m running through the jungle, a male calling after me as I flee from a hurt that is still so fresh. One that stings with shame and regret. Running. Running. Running. It’s all I know how to do. The voice grows louder, leaves rustling beneath the silver moonlight, and I push myself to go faster. If he catches me, I will never be free. Running. Running. Runni—

I gasp as I’m thrust back into the present, freezing water dripping down my pale strands of hair and onto my clothing, making it cling to me. Chest heaving, I blink against the shock of what’s just happened, head heavy and body aching with the throb of the wound at my thigh.

“Lift her head.” I wince at how loud the voice is, and then my head is yanked back, slamming into something hard. Amber light streams down from above and directly into my eyes, and I hiss against it, trying to turn my head only to find it impossible to do so. “What is your name, shifter?” My lips part on a heavy breath, darkness still toying with the edges of my vision. And, gods, my leg… The grip in my hair tightens, the sound of strands snapping making me cry out. “Your name, shifter.”

Another expletive phrase dances on my dry tongue, but there is a disconnect between my mind and my mouth. I can’t get anything but a small whimper to tumble out.

“I heard Princess Rhea call her Bella, Your Majesty.” Boots scuff against stone, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat lingers to my right—as does an earthy, masculine scent. “She might need some water in order to speak.”

“She can talk just fine, can’t you, beastie?” Jerrick. He angles his head so that I can see where he stands over me, his hand the one in my hair. When his fingers tug again, his heart rate increases, my pain exciting him.

“Did Rhea know you were a shifter?” The king steps in front of me, leaning down until I can meet his rotten gaze. “Did you ever speak to her? Transform into a mortal and plot my demise? Or”—he pauses, tongue licking his bottom lip—“did you do other things?” There is an insinuation to his voice that makes me ill. He watches my reaction, measuring how I breathe and narrow my gaze. Bile twists deep in my gut, and I already know what he’s going to say before he even opens his stupid mouth. “Did you teach her to find pleasure in someone other than me—” I spit at him. Or attempt to. I’m so dehydrated that it comes out as mostly air and little more, but it causes him to rear back, horror morphing his features as he drags an arm over his face.

Despite the fear coiling within me, I want to launch myself at him. I want to claw at his body and leave my mark on him just like he did on Rhea. But when I try, it’s not just Jerrick’s hand in my hair that holds me back. I’m restrained at the wrists and ankles, and a quick glance around tells me that I’m also no longer in my cell but in a new room. One that’s brighter than the rest of the dungeon and, I note with no small bit of terror, houses weapons of every variety. They hang on the wall in front of me, the shape of some not even familiar to me. Where am I?

King Dolian stalks back towards me, his movements too quick, or perhaps my mind is too slow to make sense of anything right now. Before my next breath, his hand meets my cheek, the sound of the slap echoing out as the taste of blood fills my mouth. I gasp when Jerrick lets go of my hair, my head falling forward while blood trickles from my mouth. Or nose. Maybe both.

A steady heartbeat comes up to my side as I work an iron-tasting swallow down my throat.

Words are exchanged around me, but the ringing in my ears is still too loud for me to make out what is said. I hear the splashing of water, feel skin against mine, and then my head is being forced up again with a finger under my chin. I expect to see Jerrick or even the king, but instead, Xander stands before me, dark eyes soaking in whatever light source is in this room. “Drink,” he says, his voice deep and tone just as calm as his pulse. Or, perhaps, he is bored, used to this sort of thing as a guard for the king.

A wooden cup is brought to my lips, and though I want to protest it, the urge to drink wins. I gulp the liquid down fast, groaning when Xander takes it away as relief coats my stomach.

“When did you join Princess Rhea in the tower?” I ignore King Dolian’s question, subtly testing my restraints instead. But there is no room to move even an inch. “When did you join Princess Rhea in the tower?” he asks again, his voice louder. I press my lips together, their tenderness from his slap making my eyes water. “She was wounded, yes?”

“Took an arrow to the hip,” Jerrick answers.

“Draw your dagger.” As I glare at the king, Jerrick does as he’s told, then moves closer to my front as he waits for his next instruction.

“Let’s take a look at it, shall we?” The tip of the dagger presses into my trousers, and before I can get out my growl of protest, he’s slicing into the fabric, exposing my leg from the top of my thigh down to my knee. The scent of iron thickens in the air, and I stretch my neck to look down at my leg. The bandages are only hours old, and already, they are soaked with blood again. Shifters only have a slightly faster healing time than mortals, but surely, the wound shouldn’t still be actively bleeding. It’s been days since I was shot. Maybe even a week, though I had lost count during our days of travel.