Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Go,” one of the men barked, shoving Calliope toward a carriage that rattled to a halt only yards away from where they’d been waiting for an hour or so.
She thought the ride to this location took about the same time, but she couldn’t be certain.
Time moved differently when one was in a state of panic and frantically thinking of ways to escape.
Fortunately, they never once showed any interest in her after she’d been apprehended.
She stumbled to the carriage step, her wrists chafing raw from where they’d tied her hands. Prince’s absence rubbed raw as well, a hollow ache that grew sharper with each passing mile she was dragged from him.
And not to even mention her Brighton Beast.
But she couldn’t think about him right now. She might just go mad from it.
The carriage door opened and Calliope stopped short.
Duvessa.
The nauseating sweetness of her stepmother’s perfume struck first, the same scent that had haunted her childhood.
The woman sat with imperial composure, hands folded in her lap, a faint, but mocking, smile playing upon her lips as if she had been expecting this scene all along.
The months apart had certainly not softened her stepmother.
If anything, time had carved her sharper, more harridan than lady, every inch of her draped in silks, a sight that was both familiar and sickening.
She had thought—hoped—Brighton would be far enough. That last night’s ruin had freed her from this specter of her past.
But here she was.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Duvessa snapped at the men. “Untie the poor thing. We’re not barbarians.”
The man who had pointed the pistol at Prince stepped forward and wrenched at her bindings.
The rope fell loose, leaving angry marks she rubbed without thinking.
Another shove sent her stumbling again. She caught herself, glaring at him with what defiance she could muster, before stepping into the carriage to face her stepmother.
The man shut the door and rapped on carriage, and with a lurch, the carriage rolled forward.
“We meet again, my dear. Did you truly believe I’d never find you?”
She’d certainly prayed so. “How did you find me, stepmother?”
“It took some time, but then I recalled that your mother was prone to that place.”
She was? Calliope hadn’t known. But perhaps her heart did. Perhaps that was what had attracted her to Brighton. A moot point now. “Why come for me at all? I am old enough to make my own choices now.”
Duvessa’s smile did not falter, though her eyes hardened. “Old enough? You ungrateful child. I secure you an advantageous match and you run away? No matter what you do, you are a Balfour, whether you wish it or not, and Balfours do not shirk their duties.”
“Duty! I refuse to marry a man thirty years older than me!”
“You will do what you’re told.”
“I am no one’s pawn,” Calliope shot back, though her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “Not yours. Not anyone’s.”
“Your uncle, the current earl, has agreed to the match.”
“I have not agreed.”
“Calliope, stop. You’ve had your moment of freedom; now you have to do your duty.”
“And what of you? My uncle is the earl now. What do you have to gain from this match?”
“That is between me and your uncle.”
“So nothing good.”
Her stepmother glared. “Bravery suits you ill, my dear. You may imagine yourself free, but blood binds tighter than rope. And your blood is worth more than you comprehend. Honestly, child, I am doing you a favor.”
“I want nothing from you,” she managed, fingers curling into her skirts to hide their tremor.
Duvessa’s faint laugh slid like a blade into her gut. “No, but I will take everything from you, nonetheless. And you will give it—willingly or otherwise.”
That chilled Calliope. She had to escape. If she didn’t . . . Duvessa’s games always ended in bruises, and this time Calliope sensed the pain would be greater than ever before if she didn’t find a way out. “You will not get away with this.”
“On the contrary, my dear.” The woman studied her. “How did you manage your little escape? That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to deduce. You must have had help.”
“I’ll never tell you.”
The woman shrugged. “Well, where you are going no one will help you this time.”
Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“We will be heading straight to your wedding.”
The words struck like a blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her wedding. The very sound of it made bile rise at the back of her throat. She had fled that fate once, sworn she would never again be shackled for another’s gain, yet here it loomed once more—closer, more suffocating than before.
Her pulse battered in her ears. Images flitted through her mind: a stranger’s ring upon her finger, vows forced upon her, her cage snapping shut. No shop in Brighton. No Prince. No Beast. Only Duvessa’s cold hand steering her life as though she were a puppet dangling from rotten strings.
“No,” she whispered, though the word tasted brittle. “You cannot force me.”
Duvessa’s smile only deepened, as though Calliope’s rebellion amused her. “Child, you mistake me. I will.”
Terror knotted inside her, but with it came a spark—small, defiant, furious. She pressed her nails into her palms until she felt the sting. I won’t let her win. Somehow, I will break free.
Her gaze flicked to the carriage door, to those outside, to the blur of the country beyond. Panic threatened, but she seized the spark instead. There must be a way.
She could jump. Again.
But it would prove as futile as the first time. No, she’d need to bide her time.
Perhaps where they stopped for the night.
As if reading her thoughts, Duvessa said. “Oh, and do not get any ideas. We shall not be stopping.”
Calliope kept her features schooled. She refused to show her nervousness. “You think you know every thought in my head.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “But you don’t know me at all.”
Duvessa’s eyes glittered. “I know you precisely. You are still that foolish little girl who believes she can outrun her fate. You mistake this stubbornness of yours for strength.”
“I call it endurance.”
“That is what all cornered creatures call it, I imagine.” Her stepmother’s smile curved upward. “But order is kinder than the wild, child.”
“I will never agree.” Not even in death. Not even in the next life!
“One day, you will thank me for saving you from your own silliness.”
Hah! Who was being silly now? “You will wait forever.”
“Forever?” Duvessa sneered. “Child, eternity bends more easily than you think.”
“Well, I’m honored you came all the way here to collect me yourself.”
A scoff. “You are quite slippery.”
Calliope drew a slow breath, forcing her shoulders back.
It would be easier facing Maxen’s enemies than holding a conversation with this woman!
She had been kidnapped before, so she’d learned not to make a hasty decision.
She’d strike when the time was right. All she had to do was to appear small and unthreatening as much as she could.
Which was extremely hard. She worried about Prince. Was he hurt? Had someone gone back and shot him? Her heart gave a painful twist. And Maxen? By now he would have found her gone. Was he angry? Would he try to find her? Would he even know where to start?
“You will learn your place,” Duvessa said softly, mistaking her silence for surrender. “It is the only way your life will show you any kindness.”
Wrong.
Her stepmother was so wrong. Life will show you precisely what you allow it to show you. Her nails dug crescents into her palms, but she refused to respond any longer.
I shall show you exactly my place, stepmother.
*
The hinges shrieked as Maxen slammed the door of the dungeon wide. He glared at the man bounded and gagged on the floor. They hadn’t even provided him a chair. Everything, even the table, had been removed.
Good.
This man was not to be underestimated.
Maxen stalked forward, Drake slipping in behind him with a torch held high, its light slashing across the damp walls. Peregrine shifted, dragging himself upright against the stones. His face was a ruin of bruises, one eye swelling shut, yet that damned cocky glint still clung to him like a fool.
His hands flexed open and closed, as though eager for a throat.
“So you are the enemy in the shadows. I should have bloody known.” He crouched before the man, yanking the gag that covered his mouth down. “I just didn’t think you to be this damn eager to be shipped off.”
“Fury,” Peregrine drawled. “What a pleasure. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have ordered better accommodations.”
“Mocking me won’t work. Who are you working for?”
Peregrine grinned. “You don’t think I’d take you on alone?”
“Who,” Maxen’s eyes bored into Peregrine’s swollen face as he repeated, “are you working for?”
Peregrine spat blood to the side, sneering, “Working for. You make it sound as though I take orders like some common thug.”
Maxen’s hand shot out, fisting Peregrine’s cravat and jerked him forward so violently the man finally grimaced. “Answer me.”
“I don’t work for anyone.”
“You think me a fool? You think I don’t see another’s hands in this?”
Peregrine’s eyes flashed. “I should think you see very little, Fury, with that storm cloud forever across your brow. And yet here you are, gnashing your teeth at me like a beast with no prey left. Has the girl got you so on edge?”
The mention of her was the spark on dry gunpowder.
Maxen flung him back against the wall so hard Peregrine coughed, still laughing even as the stone knocked the wind out of him. “So you fell by the hand of a woman.”
Maxen’s boot came down hard on the Peregrine’s ribs.
Peregrine grunted in pain.
Served him damn right.
“You think this is amusing?” Maxen leaned in, eyes burning. “You think a thousand men haven’t tried to claim our throne? You breathe because I allow it. And right now, I’m less inclined than I’ve ever been.”