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My blood boils as I take in the grip she has on Aika’s arm, the way she casually creates another set of bruises, another source of pain for my wife.
A man looms in the back.
His hand is on his weapon, ready for Madame’s orders. It isn’t difficult to guess at his identity. Even if he didn’t match the descriptors Aika gave me, I would know by the emptiness in his eyes and the cruel set to his mouth that he was Damian.
Theirbrother.
I keep my features carefully neutral through my perusal, unwilling to let Madame see any of my tells.
Which is more than Aika manages, for a change. Horror flits through her eyes when she catches sight of me, though she quickly covers it with a blank expression.
She doesn’t deign to notice the nails digging into her arm, doesn’t react to what must be commonplace for her.
If I wasn’t ready to kill Madame before, I’m certain now that I would happily set her on fire the way Aika did those slavers, and never feel an ounce of guilt.
The two guards I tricked to get in here shuffle behind me, and Madame’s eyes flicker to them.
“Explain,” she orders.
“He said you were expecting him,” one of them says hesitantly.
“And you believed him?” she demands.
I let a small smirk tug at my lips. From everything I have grown to understand about her, this woman values strength and intelligence. So I will show her both, stopping just short of outright defiance.
For now.
It’s a fine line, but a necessary one.
“Well…” the other guard starts to make an excuse, but he’s cut off by a single icy word.
“Damian.”
Before she’s even finished the command, two knives fly in rapid succession from the man’s hands, embedding themselves in the throats of the men accompanying me. It’s a quick death, but somehow more brutal for its cold efficiency.
The casual violence doesn’t surprise anyone in the room, least of all Aika. And I finally understand what she’s been trying to tell me.
This is her life. She has had to live through it, make impossible choices because of it. It’s turned her into the kind of woman who could walk unflinchingly into these dungeons knowing full well what to expect, for the sake of the people she cares about.
And I’ve been asking her to ignore it, erase it, to hide entire parts of herself like the scars on her hands she conceals from the court every day.
That changes after this. If there is anafter.
Instead of letting that fear show on my features, though, I only raise an eyebrow, making a show of stepping away from the thick crimson pool edging toward my feet.
“New shoes, you see,” I explain glibly.
Glowing violet eyes fixate on me, and I force myself not to waver under the intensity of the madwoman’s gaze.
“Prince Francis.” She says my name casually, like we’ve crossed paths in court. Like she didn’t just order the death of two men and then oversee it without so much as a blink.
And she still hasn’t unhanded my wife.
“How very unexpected to see you here, in my private space.” Each word is laced with a threat that I pretend not to notice.
Instead, I cross my arms, leaning against the doorway.
“Well,Madame, I’ll admit I didn’t expect to find myself here, either. My darling wife is craftier than I gave her credit for. It did take several druggings and a few trips after she left to discover you here, but,” I spread my arms wide, half shrugging, “I am not without resources.”
