Chapter 7
7
T he passage of time meant nothing in the dungeon.
Hours passed and might have been weeks for all she knew. Another pitcher of water was thrown at her, and this time she drank less greedily, conserving some to wash the grime from her face and hands. Eventually, a hammered metal plate was forced through the bars of the door—a feast of stale bread and a hunk of cheese hard enough to crack her teeth.
Her first meal in days.
The few bites of cheese were nothing short of miraculous until her stomach churned, too long empty to handle food as she once would have. Aven forced herself to slow down and make the meal last.
She’d tried her wand, but it was a futile effort—no more than a pathetic display of sad little fireworks that fizzled at its tip before they could ignite anything, only to disappear into nothingness. The magic of Mourningvale dwarfed what her own kingdom could manage. She’d thought the wand would be her ace in the hole, only to find it as useless as a normal stick of wood. In her desperation, she’d even tried to fit it in the lock, but nothing came of it.
Eventually, fatigue took her whether she wanted to sleep or not, and she drifted off on the bunk with the cheese clutched in her hand. She tossed awake from the fitful sleep, having dropped off in a seated position. The cool stone bit into the sore muscles of her back, and her throat was raw enough from this treatment to feel like someone had run a grater over her insides.
“Sweetheart, although I’ve only just met you, I wonder if you’ve ever looked better. I know these are interesting circumstances, but still.”
A growl ripped out of her at Roran’s arrival. Another day of torment. “Ah, another compliment from the high and mighty Roran,” she replied. “Your lady guests, as frequent as you claim, must tell you all the time. Your head belongs right up your own backside along with your praise. I’m guessing it’s a tight fit. You’ll get better at it with practice.”
Roran clucked his tongue at her again and reached out, lacing pale fingers on the door bars. He leaned heavily against them. “Such a mouth on you. It really is astonishing, and yet something tells me I shouldn’t be surprised. Mortals are known to be delightfully uncouth. You are not the exception to the rule, although toying with you has been a delightful distraction. Like a new toy.”
“Are you charmed yet?” Aven gripped the block of cheese, debating throwing it at his perfect head. Her aim never failed her.
“Spoiled little princess.” This time Roran said it with a hint of amusement despite the insult.
He really was handsome. The longer she stared, the more details stood out to her. Today the high collar of his waistcoat was inlaid with actual gemstones. A playful smirk danced on his lips, adding an enticing allure to his strong features. His brows were thick yet refined.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me,” she murmured.
“Would you like it if I did?” he asked casually. “From one with royal blood to another?”
Her eyes flew open. “What? No.” She offered the word automatically.
“Why not?” The longer he stared at her, the more chance heat had to blossom in her abdomen.
“Because you are a vile creature and you’re keeping me down here in a cell. Why would I want to flirt with you? I would much rather?—”
“Reconsider before you insult me again,” Roran warned. “You’ve already missed the vital piece of information I dropped for you. It wouldn’t do well for you to dig a deeper hole for yourself.”
“Why not?” she challenged. Aven clenched her free hand into a fist. “It’s not like you’re going to let me out of here. I am a creature on display in your menagerie, for you to come and go at will and delight in whatever antics you think are amusing.”
Wait a minute. What had she missed?
Her brain felt too clogged to pick out any one piece of information.
She strained toward him and caught the movement before she’d taken a physical step. Clenching her jaw made no difference, and if she wasn’t careful, her body would respond even further to his subtle flirtations underneath the insults, no matter what her brain said.
No. They could not be flirtations.
She hated him.
This monster was a cog in the wheel which had destroyed her family. Which made Roran, no matter who he was, responsible.
But then it hit her.
The clothes. The confidence. That shade of blue in his eyes.
Everything clicked into place.
She jerked up, staring at his angular face. The pieces were finally making sense. “You said royal blood. Both of us.”
Roran held his arms out to the side and executed a sarcastic bow. He held her gaze with disapproval. “Prince Roran Celestree, at your service. And which one are you, then? Which of the mortal king’s spawn do I have the pleasure of addressing? You’ve failed to give me a name.”
“It’s been days and you don’t know my name? Seriously? ” She stared hard at him, through him, and something inside her went cold at the way he held himself so still.
It was all too easy to forget that Roran was fae despite his pointed ears. Sparring with him, the verbal backlashes, it had all become a way for her to make it through her days without cracking.
Aven was too close to falling apart for comfort.
Roran shrugged. “I know you are my father’s captor, and that is enough for me. I know that you are weak despite how you play at being strong. I know beneath the battle suit you wear, you have a woman’s figure. The runes are interesting, by the way.” He glanced at her face, to the bit of skin showing on her arm. What a waste they had been. “Are you willing to work with me to make this easier on yourself? Or are you too spoiled to realize what is actually in your best interest?”
Aven spat at him. “Are you too busy wondering about my body to act like a decent person?”
“Why don’t we call it an even exchange, then? I’ll get you a blanket for your bed, because I know it can be chilly at night, and you’ll tell me your name. And more about your father’s kingdom.”
“I don’t need your pity blankets.” She pinned a cold grin on her face. “If you’re royalty, then you should already know my name. Perhaps I need proof of your status rather than taking your word.”
“It all comes down to what you’d rather have more. Are you willing to work with me for a chance at getting out of this cell, or at least making your conditions a bit more comfortable, or will you stand on stubbornness and ego and insist your pit is the better choice? Are you willing to risk that I’m not telling you the truth?” He winked at her.
Aven stared at him and made sure he saw how much she hated him. Made sure he understood every nasty thought blossoming in her head. Her stomach clenched again, her insides churning together until they were knotted.
“Well, what do you say? Aven?” Roran offered up her name with a sneer, and hearing it fall from his lips broke something inside her.
He already knew.
Of course he did. He was toying with her.
Eyes stinging, she lunged at the bars, her fingers grazing off of his before Roran took a massive step back.
“What do you want from me?” she burst out. “Tell me!”
“I couldn’t have made it clearer if I spelled it out for you. If you know how to read.” He kept his voice painfully droll. “I’ve heard there are mortals out there who aren’t able to scratch out the letters for their name. Although in your position, Aven , I’m sure you are a woman of many talents.”
“The next words out of your mouth will be a different sort of proposition. Won’t it, Roran?” Aven forced her face to soften, her smile to fall much easier and her eyes to lighten. She forced her hold on the bars to loosen and cocked her hip to the side. “Or do you like your prey unwilling? I guess it’s something I’ll have to learn about you.”
His nostrils flared as if he noted the change in her disposition on an entirely different level, and heat thawed the ice in his eyes. Sensing the difference in her.
Only, Aven’s ploy had the opposite effect on her.
Seeing the slow smile peel his lips apart, the way his eyes flickered over her curves and back up to her face, she noted the faint spots of color darkening his cheeks from alabaster to peach. To her horror, warmth pooled between her legs.
Damn her. Damn her straight to the burning pits of hell.
She could not have lusty desires for her captor no matter how devilishly attractive she found him.
One of them was bluffing. Or maybe neither of them were, the baseness of this physical pull between them too palpable for her.
“Like I’d need to sully myself with you,” he came back with at last. “Reeking of vomit and languishing in your own filth.”
“Oh, come on. You can shower me yourself, if it will make a difference,” she purred.
Something glittered in his eyes, and both of them were saved from their next statements, which might have damned them, by the sound of approaching footsteps.
“My Lord?” The guard stood at attention and directed his attention to Roran. “The orders have come down from above. I’m to take the Princess to a private chamber. The Crown Prince wants her in a private suite.”
Roran reared back from the bars, where their fingers had been inches away from touching again, and glared at the guard. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“His Highness ordered us to take the prisoner to a private chamber and?—”
“I heard you the first time,” Roran growled. His face twisted in a grimace. “Damned Cillian.”
Aven gawked between Roran and the guard, but the former stood aside while the latter reached out with a wave of his hand and unlocked the door to her tomb. It swung open on surprisingly clean hinges.
“Come, Princess.” The guard held out a hand for her.
Her chest tightened. They’d use their magic on her again, to bind her, to stop her from moving. Oh, the pain…
By this point, Roran had enough time to compose himself. He took another step out of the way and crossed his arms over his chest to watch her, even his posture taunting. “Perhaps Princess Aven prefers her cell to any sort of new accommodations.”
Yeah, right.
When she remained quiet, Roran continued with, “Be warned, though, little princess. My brother might seem like your savior now, but he’s even worse than I am. You’ll see.”
“I find it hard to believe,” she muttered under her breath.
Worrying the guard wouldn’t wait for long before slamming the door on her again, she scurried forward but ignored the outstretched hand.
“I can walk on my own, thank you.”
Roran said nothing to either one of them on their long trek up the multiple steps of stairs. Aven’s legs, usually strong, wobbled with every rise.
“How long was I down there?” she asked the guard.
Roran scoffed behind her, making sure to cut off any chance of escape.
“Five days, Princess,” the soldier replied woodenly.
She sucked in a breath and reached out to run her hand along the stone wall, as much for mental support as physical. All those days of torment and near starvation only for them to change their mind now?
Why? What purpose would it serve outside of keeping her unbalanced?
Aven bit down on her lip to keep from saying anything to Roran as the guard and the Prince led her up through the bulk of the palace. The giant front doors were open to the outside, and large windows allowed daylight to fall in warm rays across a floor of seamless marble.
She openly gawked. The trees were in full rich color, flowers in bloom. A gentle breeze ruffled the filthy strands of her hair and brought with it more sweet scents. She drank it in, eager, intoxicated.
“Hurry,” Roran snapped at her back.
The toe of his boot knocked against her heel, and Aven nearly stumbled, her limbs unable to obey her after days of being locked in a cell. The sunlight blinded her, and yet she forced her eyes open wide to take in the sights.
The exits.
King Donal wasn’t dumb. He kept guards at all the entry points of the palace, the ones near the door tucked into discrete shadowy alcoves to disguise their brute strength.
Their weapons gleamed, freshly polished.
“The Princess believes she is being covert in her observations, but I’m intrigued. What do you make of my humble home so far? What do you think about the number of sentries?” Roran asked with false nonchalance on their way up the main staircase.
Real flowers twined along the gleaming golden handrail, their pink petals curled open and yellow stamens standing out in stark attention.
Did magic keep them alive during the winter months here? Or did winter never come to these parts?
She had questions. So many questions, and they brimmed on her tongue just like the nectar. Her stomach chose that moment to growl audibly rather than answering Roran, and the guard in front of her swallowed over a snicker.
“Don’t worry. If food is what it will take to get you to talk, Princess, then you’ll find plenty of it in your new suite.”
“Poisoned, I’m sure,” she quipped.
“And were your meals in our dungeon poisoned?”
“I wouldn’t know. The few crumbs I got were hard as the stone walls. Your hospitality is sorely lacking, Prince .” She said it with the same amount of venom he’d sent her way.
“Perhaps your new accommodations will change your mind.” Roran and the guard paused in front of a solid metal door, gems inlaid in the corners and a design of swirling stars and circles hammered into the exterior.
The guard stepped to the side, and Roran waved a hand, the door opening silently with a pulse of power. Again, the same stormy electric scent filled the air. A charge that seemed to accompany any kind of spell work the fae did.
She hadn’t realized it before, but the circumstances hadn’t been good.
Then she caught sight of her suite and lost what was left of her wits.