Chapter 23 Of Blood & Defiance
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
OF BLOOD & DEFIANCE
Iheard them before I saw them—boots scraping against stone, the jangle of keys, the low murmur of men who’d been ordered to prepare a woman for torture.
I sat with my back against the cold wall, knees drawn to my chest beneath the thin fabric of my shift, and watched the shadows stretch across the floor as torchlight flooded the corridor.
Sleep had eluded me since my conversation with my harbinger.
Instead, I’d spent the night mapping every crack in the floor, every chip in the stone walls, anything to distract from the knowledge that today, the God of Blood would begin his revenge in earnest.
I would not surrender.
Three guards appeared at my cell door, their faces obscured by the dancing shadows cast from their torches. One fumbled with the lock while the others stood with hands resting on their weapons, as if I—a lone woman in a stone cell—might somehow overpower them all.
“On your feet,” barked the one who’d unlocked the door. The other two entered, moving toward me with practiced efficiency.
I didn’t move. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, thank you.”
One guard lunged forward, grabbing my arm. “The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“How unfortunate for him,” I said, jerking away from his grip. My resistance earned me a backhand across the face that sent my head snapping sideways, the taste of iron blooming in my mouth.
“Release me,” I hissed, spitting blood onto the floor at their feet. “I’m already in a cell. What more does your master want?”
They didn’t answer. Instead, they hauled me up by my arms, my bare feet scraping against the uneven stone floor. I thrashed against their hold, landing a kick to one guard’s shin that drew a satisfying grunt of pain.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, twisting my arm until I felt something in my shoulder strain dangerously close to breaking. “Hold still or I’ll break it.”
The third guard approached with iron manacles attached to chains that hung from the ceiling—chains I hadn’t noticed in my previous examinations of the cell.
When had they been installed? The thought that Valen had been planning this, preparing my cage specifically for torment, sent a chill down my spine that I refused to let show on my face.
“String her up,” ordered the guard who seemed to be in charge.
Their hands were rough as they positioned me in the center of the cell, shoving me onto my toes as they wrenched my arms upward.
The cold metal bit into my wrists as they secured the manacles, pulling the chains taut until I was stretched uncomfortably, my toes barely brushing the floor.
Every muscle in my shoulders and arms immediately protested the unnatural position.
I refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing me plead, so I turned my contempt into a smile. “Is this the best your king can do? Hang me like a side of beef?”
One guard snorted. “You won’t be so smart-mouthed when he’s done with you.”
“We’ll see.” I tilted my chin up, the gesture of defiance costing me as the movement shifted my weight and sent a jolt of pain through my strained shoulders.
They stepped back to admire their handiwork, and I caught one of them running his eyes over the thin shift that was my only covering. I stared back coldly until he looked away. No matter what indignities Valen had planned, I would not cower before his lackeys.
The sound of approaching footsteps silenced them. These steps were different—measured, deliberate, the stride of someone who never needed to hurry because the world would wait for him. The guards straightened, their earlier bravado replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like fear.
King Valen appeared in the doorway, his tall frame nearly filling it.
He wore no crown, but he didn’t need one—power radiated from him like heat from a forge.
Unlike the rough soldiers, he was dressed impeccably in dark clothing that absorbed the torchlight.
His face, with its sharp aristocratic angles, betrayed nothing of his thoughts as his eyes swept over the scene before him.
“Leave us,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying an edge that made the guards practically trip over themselves in their haste to obey.
He didn’t enter immediately. Instead, he stood at the threshold, watching me as the guards’ footsteps receded down the corridor. The silence expanded between us, thick enough to choke on.
“Your hospitality continues to be exemplary,” I said into that silence, my voice steadier than I had any right to expect.
Valen’s lips curled into something that resembled a smile. He stepped into the cell but left the door wide open behind him—a taunt, I guessed. A notion that bound as I was, I would have no option to escape.
“Did you sleep well, Princess?” he asked, circling me slowly, his footsteps nearly silent on the stone.
“Splendidly,” I lied, sarcasm bleeding from my tone. “The accommodations are so very warm and peaceful.”
He completed his circuit, coming to stand before me again. His eyes traveled over my suspended form with clinical detachment, as if assessing a particularly interesting specimen. I forced myself to meet his gaze, refusing to show the fear that twisted my stomach into knots.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Rest is important before undertaking... strenuous activities.”
My muscles were already screaming from the unnatural position, but I kept my face neutral. “Is this where you tell me what horrors you have planned? A continuation of your grand speech about vengeance and justice?”
Valen tilted his head, studying me. “Would you like that? A detailed accounting of what awaits you?” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the unnatural heat radiating from his skin.
Close enough that I could see the pupils in his dark eyes begin to expand.
“Would you like me to talk you through every single thing I will be doing to your body?”
“Some might mistake that for mercy,” I said, trying not to flinch from his proximity. “Giving me time to prepare myself.”
He laughed then, the sound sharp and biting.
“There is no preparation for what I have planned for you, Princess.” His dark, humored eyes studied my face, then narrowed, his fingers coming up as if to touch my lips.
They hovered there, just shy of my mouth, and I realized he wasn’t looking at my lips but at the bruise blooming across my cheek.
“Who?” The word was rigid, cutting through the silence with a violence that made me flinch.
The change in him was instant and terrifying—his cold amusement vanished, replaced by a fury that darkened his features and seemed to swell within the cramped cell. His hand dropped to his side, clenching into a fist as if crushing something fragile and insignificant.
“Who dared lay a hand on you?” he demanded, each syllable like a lash.
I stared at him, bewildered by his anger. This was… unexpected. “Aren’t you supposed to be breaking me?” I spat back. “I assumed pain was part of the process.”
His eyes were completely black now, and they pinned me with a force that was suffocating. He growled, his voice low and dangerous, “I do not share my toys.”
Without another word, Valen turned and stalked out of the cell, his footsteps echoing with violent purpose down the corridor. The door remained open, a mockery of freedom that only emphasized my helplessness as I hung suspended from the ceiling, my mouth dropped open in surprise.
Time stretched like a thread pulled too tight.
Minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell which passed as my muscles screamed in protest. The strain on my shoulders became a constant, throbbing agony that radiated down my spine.
My fingers grew numb, then painful, then numb again as blood struggled to reach them.
I tried shifting my weight, rising on my toes to relieve the pressure, but each small movement sent fresh waves of pain through my overtaxed limbs.
The hollow emptiness in my chest seemed to pulse in time with the pain, as if the missing piece of my soul might have helped me endure this torment. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breath. In, out. In, out. Each breath carefully measured, carefully controlled.
When I heard footsteps again, I forced my eyes open, schooled my features into a mask of indifference despite the pain radiating through my joints.
Valen filled the doorway once more, but he had changed.
His immaculate appearance was disrupted—hair disheveled as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, clothing rumpled.
But it was his eyes that sent ice through my veins.
They glittered with a feverish light, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of iris remained visible.
His breath came in quick, shallow pants, and a faint tremor ran through his hands as he absently wiped them against his thighs.
Blood. Dark and viscous, it stained his palms, was smeared across the rich fabric of his clothing. Droplets splattered across his face like macabre freckles.
“Your guards won’t be bothering you again,” he said, his voice pitched low and deep, before a smile spread across his face as he stepped further into my cell.
His smile was a terrible thing—a rictus that stretched his lips too wide, showing teeth that seemed sharper than they had before.
“Justice,” he hissed, stepping close enough that I could smell the metallic tang of blood on him.
“Divine retribution. It is the only path that truly matters. It comes for all, and it does not discriminate.”
I refused to flinch, though every instinct screamed at me to recoil from the blood-soaked god before me. The way he looked at me—a mixture of rage and satisfaction—told me everything I needed to know about what had happened to the guards who had dared to mark my face.