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My heart pounded as I struggled to come to terms with what almost happened to me. Sebastian headed for the door, and I wanted to shout at him to stay. For what? Comfort? Affirmation? But I didn’t. I watched him leave.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Hamza. I felt his breath on me still.
Suddenly, my powers were everything to me. My one defense against those who’d use and hurt me. I clung to them, biting my nails into my freshly healed palms, heading for the shower, wanting nothing more than to wash the scent of Hamza from me.
I turned the water all the way up, needing every piece of him off me, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, his scent clung to me. Or perhaps I imagined it?
Bile bit up my throat, burning my mouth. I folded, retching into the shower, my hair pooling around my face, water seeping into my eyes and mouth. My mom’s screech pierced through the room as I heard the door open, banging back against the wall.
“Olivia!” Her fists pounded against the closed bathroom door. “Honey.” Her breathless pleas thawed my icy heart. “Are you hurt?”
Sebastian must have told her. I wanted to shout back that he didn’t hurt me. That he didn’t get far enough, but I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t true. Every touch lingered on my skin. I turned up the heat of the water, watching pillars of steam swirl up as I stepped under the stream of water. “I’m okay,” I finally managed, my voice catching as I swallowed against a sob climbing my throat. He hadn’t hurt me. I’d hurt him. Yet, I’d never scrubbed myself so hard before as I reached for more soap.
She talked outside the door, leaving me to my privacy as my mind carouseled with scenes of what could have happened. There was no way I was becoming a vampire, not even at my father’s wishes or to become the damned princess of Sanmorte.
“Your father’s here,” my mom said through the door, her tone gentle. “When you’re ready.”
I heard him say something behind her, but I couldn’t make it out through the pouring water. She shouted something at him, then the room fell silent.
How was I going to tell him I refused to be the princess? Would Hamza die? No, they needed him. Politics had no room for justice.
If they didn’t kill him for this, I would take matters into my own hands.
Dark magic tingled in my hands, as if it agreed with me. I dressed, wiped my eyes, and washed away the vomit before opening the door and facing my father.
FIVE
Sebastian
The dungeons were colder than normal as the winds outside gusted snowflakes into the cells.
I’d heard Sargon had Hamza arrested for treason, but they didn’t know what to do with him. He couldn’t kill him. Hamza had too many followers, playing both sides for centuries. The aniccipere from the south who hated the monarchy believed he was on their side, and the nobles and elites in the city saw him as a loyal man to the king who helped them achieve their goals.
“What are you going to do?” Hamza taunted from behind bars. “It’s her word against mine. Why was she walking around almost naked if she didn’t want to get fucked? Tradition? She’s the king’s daughter. He would have pardoned her from wearing a trailic if she only asked.”
I took a step closer, whispers of cold air circling around my neck, reminding me of the last time I’d been in these dungeons. The executioner's ax had been sharpened the night before I was supposed to die.
“The last time I was down here, I was so close to death I could feel her breath on my neck.” I paced the stone walkway outside the iron bars separating us. “I’ve seen her before,” I told him, barely glancing in his direction. “The Grim Reaper.”
Silence befell the dungeons. The last prisoners had been taken out to the scaffolds that morning. Hamza peered around me, striding to the bars, coiling his long fingers around them. “You had the guards to leave.”
The corner of my lips lifted. “Yes. I told them their king was allowing me access.”
His nose scrunched, fingers curling around the bars. “They didn’t take me up on my offer of a thousand stagma.”
“They wouldn’t. They’re members of Sargon’s private guards,” I said, recognizing them from their meetings with the king. Midnight Lotus was supposed to be a secret, but everyone knew about Sargon’s loyal group. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets. “There aren’t enough stagma in the world to save you. Not when you’re in here for treason.”
“My mistake,” he admitted, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “But they won’t kill me, you know. Not even the king isthatstupid. My followers would come for him, and your bitch of a girl.”
I reined my anger in, instead sharpening it, honing it. He’d always been difficult to figure out. Knowing a man’s fear meant owning his soul, but until now, I couldn’t put my finger on what Hamza’s greatest fear was. Yet, as he stood in a dungeon awaiting a trial he would inevitably win, I realized. “You have always been a self-preservationist. You’re unfeeling, always chasing darkness. You love no one.”
He shrugged.
“Except for yourself,” I added. “Do you feel her presence?”
The foul-smelling cells next to him echoed my words back to us, the only sounds were a leaking pipe in the distance and the scurry of rats clawing at the ancient stone.
“Whose?”
