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“You don’t have the nerve, Maiden.”
My flesh rippled at his spitting use of my title. As if disdain was not a strong enough emotion to convey the jealousy over my power.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of right now, Drexel.”
“You’re right. Let’s play a game, shall we? Take that beautiful blade and plunge it into my heart.” He gestured to the ground. “Watch me take my final breaths right here in this puddle.”
I inched forward. I wanted to. Gods, I did. If not for the years and years of suffering he’d brought to this world, then for my own aching heart. But even now, at the pinnacle of my own sorrow, I knew his death would offer no solace. Still, I could free the world from at least one of its problems.
“Do it,” he purred. “Bury the blade, Deyanira. Or are the rumors true? Have you not the conviction without the command from Death?”
I hesitated for only a moment. I could and would do this. A hardness settled over me with my decision as I drew Serenity backward, watching for the second those eyes turned from calculated to cold fear.
But Drexel Vanhoff was only the distraction, one Icharius Fern probably didn’t need, as an army of men stepped from the shadows, surrounding me with faces hard and weapons drawn. I didn’t bother fighting them. I simply slackened my shoulders, letting Serenity clatter to the saturated ground, no longer feeling an ounce of attachment to it as a hundred burly hands grabbed me.
Chapter 49
Ilay on the cold, damp floor of a dungeon, gasping for breath as searing pain radiated from my side. With trembling fingers, I reached for the source, pulling away bloodied fingers from the spear lodged just below my ribcage. My vision blurred, and every shallow breath sent waves of agony through me. My hands shook as I touched the weapon that had impaled me, its serrated edges cruelly reminding me of the ambush that had brought me here. And then the heartache before it.
Rain poured in through a tiny, grated window high above, the droplets blending with my blood as they mingled on the uneven stone floor. The moon was obscured by thick, ominous clouds, rendering its comforting light unreachable. All I could hear was the relentless patter of raindrops, a haunting symphony that echoed the despair I felt in my heart.
The dungeon was a sinister masterpiece of darkness and desperation. Its walls, constructed of rough-hewn stone, were etched with the marks of countless previous occupants who had surely suffered as I did now. A pungent, earthy scent hung in the air, a combination of mildew and the lingering stench of misery.
The cell was barely large enough for me to stretch out my aching body. Chains dangled from the walls, their rusty links clinking with every gust of wind. The flickering torchlight in the corridor outside only deepened the shadows within, casting eerie, dancing shapes that seemed to mock my predicament.
In the far corner, a rat scuttled by, its beady eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence as it disappeared into a crack in the wall. The rat, it seemed, was the only other living creature in this forsaken place, and its presence only served to remind me of how utterly alone and vulnerable I was.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the pain, the misery, and the relentless sound of the rain. But even in the blackness behind my eyelids, I could see the faces of Drexel and Icharius, the men who had orchestrated my abduction, and beyond that, Orin sat there, too. Far more handsome, much more dangerous, and everything I thought I needed in this world.
But the biggest fear I held in these moments wasn’t the rats nor the weapon I’d eventually have to remove; it wasn’t the rain or the chill that set into the air or the king that would eventually descend those steps. It was falling asleep. It was standing in Death’s court and being given the name of a person I wouldn’t be able to hunt. It was the madness. Always the madness. And with that truth came an ounce of compassion for Orin and the decision he’d made to trap me into a bonded marriage. Though I could never forgive him for the lie, I’d forgive him for the choice.
The pain in my side was unbearable. My fingers fumbled along the length of the spear, slick with my own blood, until they found the grip at the end. Gathering every ounce of strength left in my battered body, I took a deep, shuddering breath, and with a clenched jaw, I seized the spear’s shaft.
The agony intensified as I pulled and twisted, the sensation of the weapon being torn from my flesh sending waves of nausea through me. My vision blurred, and I bit down hard on my lower lip to stifle a scream, refusing to give anyone listening the satisfaction of hearing my pain.
Just as I felt the spear leave my body, the door at the top of the stairs swung open with a creak. Panic rose, mingling with the searing agony. I had to hide the weapon, to buy myself a few precious moments.
With a desperate heave, I shoved the spear toward a filthy straw pallet in the corner of the cell, gritting my teeth against the blinding rip that threatened to consume me. The spear disappeared into the darkness just as the first footsteps echoed down the stone stairwell.
I sank back against the cold, damp floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my blood-slicked hands trembling. The figure in the doorway came into view, a silhouette framed by the flickering torchlight from the corridor.
“I see you’re awake and trying to be resourceful.” Icharius turned to a guard, gesturing for them to open my prison door.
“B-but, Your Grace,” the guard protested.
Icharius was fast, striking like a serpent, his movements so quick before my blurred vision, I might not have registered it at all, had the man not crumbled to the floor the second after his neck was snapped.
“I do so hate it when they disobey a direct order. We’re still in training, you see. They haven’t quite learned to fear me as much as they fear you, Maiden.”
He stepped to the side, his boots sliding across the pool of my blood so I could see the darkness rise from the ground and smother the man, just as it had with Orin’s victim.
I swallowed my gasp. “Who are you?”
Plucking the key from the fallen guard’s belt, he turned it in the lock and strode forward fearlessly, kneeling as he brushed a finger over my bruised face. “I was born a Death Lord, your male counterpart, long before you came to this world, Maiden. I think the real question is, who are you?”
“That’s not possible,” I grunted, willing myself to sit up, holding my hand over the wound at my side. I had no idea who’d given me this particular injury. If it were him, I would die. “I am Death’s Maiden. I’ve seen his realm hundreds of times.”
“Yes, those hellhounds before the gates really are something, are they not?”
