Page 12

The lack of even a small window or slit in the stone made me feel like the entire building was closing in on us. Truthfully, if Torvo hadn’t been with me, I’d likely have had to stop and run back upstairs. But the sporadic beat of my pulse was in response to his presence. If he thought I was a flower that needed the sun—well then, he was that sun, shining a path through the darkness around us. Gods, I needed to get control of myself. How could I feel this way so easily? So quickly, when I’d had no one who even pretended to care for me my entire life other than my mother, who died when I was young, and Nyah, who was merely an extension of myself. I’d hated the idea of the Imrati and being betrothed. I’d loathed the thought of a man touching me like Serano had. But I had never in my wildest dreams imagined a man like Torvo—a man with a golden heart and patience beyond compare.

As we stepped out into the next hall, the darkness seemed to slither across the rock like a living thing, the curve of the path no longer simply twisting but almost threatening as it shot off into multiple archways, each filled with a blackness like that of an infinite void. Metal wove through the walls like veins being forced down nature’s throat. And the occasional torch now held a sickly flame that cast disturbing splashes of green against moldy stone, more unpleasant than the dark nothing between. The worst was the smell. It seemed to come from everywhere at once—the scent of rot and neglect, like meat gone rancid.

Once, when I was eight, I had refused to eat what the kitchens had sent, and Father left it in my room, telling me I’d get nothing else until I ate what was given to me. He refused to let Mother see me, saying she was ill anyway. The longer I waited, the worse the food turned. When I could handle the hunger no more, I wept until Father was called. He forced every bite down my throat until I vomited it all back up.

I’d grown ill then, weak, and my stomach cramped so hard I thought I would die. But after a day or so, Father had given me a vial containing a cure, and I swore I would always eat what I was given without question from then on.

I stopped again, tugging Torvo to a halt. He grasped my hand tighter against his arm. “I know it isn’t beautiful down here, Princess. But I’m with you. And frankly, bringing something as lovely and light as you to this part of the castle is a gift to those forced to dwell in it.”

Looking up into his handsome face, I swallowed back my fear as best I could. “Are these the dungeons?”

“Yes,” he answered simply, searching my face for a reaction.

“I want to go back to my rooms,” I whimpered.

“Princess, I will happily take you back if you wish. But I humbly ask you to at least meet my friend.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to insist I wasn’t ready, and that he return me at once to my rooms. But the sound of footsteps on the stairs caught my attention. I glanced up toward the disturbance, and Torvo tugged me into one of the dark archways, pressed me against the wall, and covered my mouth with one enormous hand.

My body reacted instantly, shaking so hard I would have melted to the floor if Torvo hadn’t been pressed against me, keeping me in place. My whimper came out muffled, and though I hoped he didn’t hear it, he must have, because his eyes flashed with concern. His gaze darted between me and the hallway as the echo of the footsteps passed, growing fainter with each moment. He licked his lips and held a finger to his mouth to indicate I should be quiet, then released his hold, backing away a couple of inches, which was all there was room for in the alcove.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked after a moment. His fingers tenderly caressed the edge of my chin.

“No. Not at all. I’m just embarrassed at the way I reacted.”

“Don’t be. I should not have acted to abrasively. Forgive me, Princess.”

My tongue darted out to wet my lips. It was true I’d been terrified. But it wasn’t his fault. I hated this place. Being in the dungeons unnerved me, but having him so close somehow helped. His presence made me feel brave. And while I’d been startled by his actions, once I’d realized his intention was to keep us safe and hidden, I’d found I hadn’t minded. In fact, I wished he hadn’t retreated the bit he had.

“Don’t be sorry. You did the right thing.” Before I could second guess myself, I reached out and took his hand. “You make me feel very…comfortable,” I said with a small smile. Somehow this conversation felt more intimate than the kiss he’d given me upstairs.

“You are doing an excellent job being brave. Let’s go see my friend, and then we can return to your rooms.” Torvo peered into the hall then held out a hand for me.

I nodded, warmth spreading over me at his praise. Perhaps I was ready to do this. “Yes, let’s meet this friend of yours.”

Six

Rivven

Icame to on the floor of my cell, and I had to admit the cold stone felt good against the side of my face where Rufus had knocked me out with the hilt of his sword. What I couldn’t wrap my mind around was the purpose they had in keeping me alive. Torture was one thing, but typically even tyrants grew tired of delaying the kill. I was no stranger to being tormented. It was partially how I’d gained my own skills. When life was a series of narrow escapes, you did all you could to make yourself formidable enough to end the cycle.

Taking punches—even blade slices—was something I could handle because I knew the time was finite. Either I’d die, faint, escape, or they’d get bored. Something always happened—I’d just avoided the most final of the options thus far. I knew my luck couldn’t hold forever.

What I couldn’t handle was the internal torture of not knowing what became of Nyah. Of wondering if she was ever real enough to have feelings, or if her whole personality had been designed by magic to slip beneath my carefully constructed emotional shields. The pain that thought caused made me wince harder than the wound on my left cheek.

“Rivven of Tromodia.”

In and out of consciousness, I hadn’t heard anyone approach, yet the voice was too distinct to belong to anyone other than the Astridonian champion of the Imrati. Shock numbed my suffering enough to allow me to force myself to unsteady feet. I leaned against the metal door of my cell and peered out the small rectangular window that would have been too tall for most prisoners to reach. An extra form of torture most likely. An out of reach view to something besides these accursed walls would add layers to the despair of being trapped.

“Torvo?” My voice cracked as I gazed out at the man even larger than myself. “You look well.” I couldn’t prevent the sarcasm. While I’d been beaten, kicked, and stabbed, he was living like a prince under the Royal Bastard’s stewardship. It had taken him long enough to get to me. I’d lost track, but I suspected it had been at least a couple of weeks since being hauled back to Centos.

“My apologies. It is not easy to move around without a…babysitter.” Torvo moved aside and in seconds he’d lifted someone else into view. I found myself face to face with Princess Leuruna. The person who’d either played me for a fool or destroyed the woman I loved. The reality of what happened still confused me, but either way the outcome was the same.

I snarled, and she startled backward, her lovely face turning even whiter than it had been. Her eyes matched Nyah’s with their almost transparent blue irises. But the depth and cunning that always lit Nye’s from within was missing. Just a childlike innocence, that I immediately questioned and hated.

“I want to go back,” she demanded.

Torvo’s face peered around the side of hers. Their matching height verified that he’d lifted her so she could see inside. If I could reach through the opening fast enough, I’d snap her pretty little neck.