Chapter 8 Serena
SERENA
“Get up.”
I blink to find Mal standing above me, holding a small lantern. I scowl up at his ethereal face, those haunting jade irises and that ivory skin. The soulless stare of a traitor.
It took me longer than I’m proud of to figure out that it was Mal who tried to kidnap me at the tavern in Iaspus. I knew that silk-lined cloak of his looked familiar—and if I had checked, I would have found three inches missing from the bottom, where it tore beneath my heel that night.
“Get out,” I retort, my voice like sandpaper. It takes effort to sit up and prop myself against the cell wall.
He lowers himself to a crouch, his vacant eyes traveling over me.
“If you’ve come to torture me at last, then at least spare me the dramatic looks and be done with it.”
I cry out as he yanks me to my feet by my hair and starts to drag me down the corridor.
“Get your hands off me, you fucking traitor.”
“There has been no betrayal. My loyalty is and always has been to my queen.”
“And who is her loyalty to? You don’t actually think it’s to you, do you? All she cares about is herself, that horrid bitch.”
Crack.
My head slams into the jagged stone wall so hard my eardrum pops. I grunt as stars explode across my vision, the entire right side of my face vibrating with the impact. He leans in close, his fist tightening in my hair as I sag against the wall.
“You will mind your tongue when speaking of her majesty. Or I will have it removed.”
“Kylian ripped out a girl’s heart for touching me,” I mumble through the wave of dizziness. “I think he likes my tongue where it is.”
Snarling, he rips me from the wall and tows me from the bowels of the keep. Minutes later, he tosses me onto the floor of a damask room with walls the color of dried blood.
The door slams shut behind me as I sit up and look around at the glossy black furniture and massive silk-covered, four-post bed. A flash of gold catches my eye on the dressing table.
A crown inset with rubies.
Kylian’s crown.
I’m in his fucking room.
A pit forms in my stomach. I shove to my feet—on high alert—and freeze when I see movement in the gilded mirror leaning against the dark wall.
I look haunted.
My face is a pale sheet between a curtain of dark hair—my cheeks sunken in from starvation, my eyes hollow.
All that beautiful, strong muscle I spent months carving with Jace in the training ring has fallen off my bones, leaving behind a skeletal, emaciated shell.
My skin is no longer luminescent. As if the blood ore has dulled me from the inside out.
My hand smooths over a bony cheek, and that’s when I feel it.
The slight buzz of energy rolling off the mirror.
Its arched frame is smooth and polished, with whimsical curving lines and dips. I step closer, enthralled.
It sings to me—a song both ancient and dark.
Touch me.
Like a moth to a flame, I draw closer, my fingers reaching out to brush the clouded glass. It begins to ripple like the echoes of disrupted water—liquifying around my fingers.
“What are you?”
The door swings open, breaking my trance. I jump back as two veiled maids in dark sleeveless shifts glide toward me, silently taking hold of my arms. I struggle against them as they drag me into a bathroom of floor-to-ceiling gold, strip me naked, and throw me into the pool of fizzling water.
I break the surface gasping before they wrestle me from the tub and into a two-piece gown.
The neckline of the red metal breastplate starts where my ruby choker ends, suctioning to my skin and cinching in every part of me.
The skirt’s sheer red panels leave little to the imagination, exposing the sides of my legs from my hips down to the strappy golden heels laced up my calves.
My hair is pulled and twisted, my face prodded with tiny brushes.
Every bit of exposed skin on my body is slathered with gold powder.
The final touch is a golden tiara dotted with rubies.
The maids exit, never having said a word.
Kylian appears a moment later, the very definition of a siren, his tan chest and washboard abs on display in nothing but a pair of low-slung black linen pants.
His hungry eyes appraise me as he saunters over to the dressing table and flings the crown on top of his head, adjusting it in the vanity mirror. His reflection smirks at me.
“That color suits you,” he says, walking back toward me.
I cringe as he grabs my hand and tugs me forward. “What happened here?”
His thumb skims over the bruise Mal gave me when he bashed my head into the wall. I wince, recoiling from him. “I asked you a question.”
“Your little handyman happened.”
He blinks, and a muscle in his jaw flutters. “Mal?”
I nod. His eyes flare, darkening a shade. Letting out a tight sigh, he grips me by the wrist and tows me down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, leading me to an unfamiliar part of the castle.
“I hate surprises.”
He lets out a dark chuckle, and the snarl on his face subsides. “This one promises not to disappoint.”
The beauty of this place still floors me each time I’m removed from my iron cage. I expected a palace of dark decay, of death and chaos and evil. I was surprised to find it couldn’t be more opposite.
The alabaster palace is a seaside dream, all natural light and open archways that overlook the most incredible pink sand beaches I’ve ever seen.
Streams of seawater run directly through the castle like a network of veins spidering out through the main floor.
It smells like salt air and endless summer.
I have no idea what to expect as we tread down flight after flight of curling cream-colored steps and enter a space as large as a Roman colosseum.
“Welcome to my Underground Theatre.”
The Underground Theatre is hewn entirely from pale white coral, like a waterless reef.
Porous beams are erected throughout the massive space, and seats of matching make are carved into the tiers to accommodate row after row of scantily clad courtiers.
I almost gasp at the size and magnificence of the chandelier.
The gargantuan dome hangs like a golden sun above the audience, suspended mid-air, lit with thousands of warm white candles.
We make our way up the endless steps toward an opulent box where two thrones wait. Curious stares and hushed whispers follow us, blending with the orchestra tuning up beneath the red-curtained stage.
Ilspeth is already seated on one of the thrones, Mal hovering at her side. Kylian sits me down to his right and slides into the empty throne.
“What is this?” I demand.
“A little performance I put together in honor of my future queen.”
His thumb glides over my cheek, and I hiss, bearing my fangs. He snickers, amused, as the lights inside the theatre dim, and the crowd falls silent. Then the velvet curtains draw back as the stage lights flare, illuminating a male form.
I gasp when I see Kai strung up by his arms, barely conscious. His knees sag, his weight tugging at the rope suspended from the ceiling.
The orchestra breaks into a lively fanfare as the audience in all their finery begins to hurl small gray objects of varying sizes at Kai.
Rocks.
The first one strikes his temple with a sickening thud before the stones start raining down upon him like a swarm of locusts. He takes each one, wincing and grunting. The crowd laughs as crimson streams trickle down his head and neck, staining his broken body in their wake.
“STOP!” I cry, lurching out of my seat to lean over the balcony. “Stop it! Kai!”
He thankfully loses consciousness, but as his full weight sinks and his body goes limp, his shoulders dislocate. I scream, unable to look away as his head droops. It’s a pitiful sight.
I watch in helpless horror as the stones begin to leave deep gashes and dents in his head and face, and parts of him become visible that should never be visible.
I dash toward the exit and am met with a wall of guards, shoulder to shoulder. I whirl back to Kylian.
“You need to stop this now. You’re going to kill him.”
Kylian has the nerve to ignore me and laugh as another large stone collides with Kai’s mouth, causing blood to pool out from his slack jaw.
I twist toward Ilspeth sitting there, cold and unfazed. Fully unaffected as she watches her son’s brains revealed beneath that beautiful head of dark hair. Rage like I’ve never known courses through me, and I don’t need magic for what I do next.
In one stride, I close the distance between us, lifting my heavy, ore-bound hands and bringing them across her face at a downward angle.
I barely have time to appreciate her wide-eyed reaction before I’m toppling her back, throne and all.
Satisfying red gashes appear on her smooth face as I unleash the feral animal inside of me.
“That is your son, you fucking monster!”
I claw at her, shredding her skin with my nails before Mal has me pinned to the ground by my neck, fangs bared.
Kylian’s laughter fills the box before Mal’s fist connects with my face and bright light explodes across my vision.
He pulls his hand back again, but the blow doesn’t come.
I blink up to see Kylian holding Mal by the throat, suddenly seething.
“Strange. I don’t recall giving you permission to touch her face.”
Kylian shifts, and then Mal is bent backward over the railing, his feet kicking for purchase. He clutches Kylian’s wrist—the only thing keeping him from his waiting death below.
I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing. Is Kylian actually defending me? Is this some kind of sick, possessive thing? Only he’s allowed to torment me?
“Kylian.” Ilspeth’s icy voice is a sharp command. “Let him go.”
Kylian dangles Mal a moment longer before wrenching him away from the ledge. Before he can even recover, Kylian snatches up his collar and yanks him forward to whisper something in his ear, his expression lethal. Just like it was when he ripped out that girl’s heart for slapping me.
He shoves Mal aside, and without a word, bends to toss me over his shoulder. I scream my head off, shouting Kai’s name all the way back to Kylian’s room.
“You killed him.” He shrugs me off his shoulder, and I fall to the ground in a heap. “You killed him,” I repeat over and over, a broken record, unable to rid myself of the image of Kai hanging there, lifeless, brains exposed.
“Oh, spare me the dramatics. My brother will be fine. I can’t say the same for Mother’s face.”
“I hope it scars,” I seethe. That bitch had it coming.
He drops to a crouch before me, elbows resting on his knees. His hand reaches toward my face and I cringe back.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Let me see your face,” he snaps, grabbing it and turning it to the side where Mal cold-cocked me.
“Why are you so obsessed with my face?”
He shoots me a dark look before assessing my cheek. It hurts like hell already, and I can feel my eye swelling shut. Kylian cradles the side of my head, smoothing over the growing bump on my brow a few times. Warm light dances around my periphery as I watch him, my chest heaving.
“What are you doing?”
“That should feel better by the morning,” he murmurs.
“Did you just heal my face?”
He drops his hand. “Have dinner with me.”
The request disarms me as I stare up at him from the floor. “What?”
“I said, have dinner with me. Tomorrow.” My expression remains embittered. “I’m not a monster.”
“That fact remains to be seen.”
“I could have killed my brother so many times. I haven’t. I could have let Mal ruin this pretty face of yours with no effort whatsoever, but I didn’t. I could take what I want from you, but I haven’t.”
“Yet. You haven’t yet. That doesn’t mean you won’t.” I steel myself, looking up at him. Those ocean eyes twinkle, flickering over my face with budding curiosity.
“Have dinner with me,” he repeats, battling a smirk.
Behind him, candlelight bounces off the gilded mirror leaned up against the wall, its unearthly presence demanding my focus.
Stay with me, its lullaby entreats.
“In here, in your room?” I ask, peeling my gaze from our reflection. He nods patiently.
I want to know what that mirror is and why it trembles in my presence. It wants me to know. I shove to my feet.
“I’m only agreeing because I don’t know the next time you’ll feed me,” I bite.
He chuckles before having his guard escort me back to the dungeons.