Page 143 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

The barracks maybe? The training yard has buildings stocked with weapons and other soldierly materials.

Or maybe I’m in the stables? I inhale through my nostrils and begin to gag as the smell of must and piss finally hits me.

“Gods,” I croak.

Tears burn behind my closed eyelids. The smell is awful. How in the six hells did I miss it?

As much as my body revolts at the idea, I pry my eyes open.

More darkness greets me. Though a dim light glows from somewhere off to the right, down a concealed hall.

Then I notice the slatted wall in front of me.

Breath stutters as my gaze locks on the metal bars climbing from floor to ceiling. My pulse hammers so loudly that it drowns out thought. I rear back on instinct, as if distance alone could undo what I’m seeing.

I’m in a cell…

Why am I in a cell?

I plant my palm on the ground, grit my teeth, and push myself upright. Fear of my predicament supersedes the debilitating pain attempting to drag me back down to the dirt floor. For now.

Hair sticks to my forehead and the back of my neck. My nightgown clings to my clammy body. The air in here is not only still, but it’s also musty. Stagnant. Warm.

I reach for my magic, but it’s barely an ember in the center of my chest.

Damn it.

The powder…

Whatever was used in my abduction suppressed my power, and its effects still linger.

I try to sit up straighter, drawing my legs under me, when the sound of metal jangling fills the air.

I look down, and my stomach drops.

A pair of thick, dark-gray shackles binds my ankles. A short chain links them together, while a heavier one tethers the right shackle to the cold, stony wall behind me.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I sweep the cell for answers, anything that might explain why I’m chained here. A hunched figure takes shape on the far side.

“H-hello?” The word rasps out of me.

Nothing.

I scoot along the dirty floor, cringing when unexpected moisture sticks to my skin. The chains pull taut, halting me just two feet from the figure. It’s a man. My breath snags when recognition slams into me.

It’s the human rebel. The one the Fae dragged into the town meeting.

My stomach sinks as I take in the mottled bruises and raw, open cuts streaking his skin. Have the soldiers been torturing him?

“Hello?” I whisper.

The man doesn’t so much as stir.

After swallowing hard, I force my voice louder. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

A masculine voice behind me grunts, “About damn time.”

My head snaps to the metal bars. I rear back to avoid collapsing face-first from the sudden movement. Fresh beads of sweat break out on my brow.