45
Ren
T he soldiers guarding Broadcove Castle treat Geneva Deragon like she isn’t, in fact, a Duchess of the continent—and I know it’s in efforts to further torture me.
The ruthless beatings I undergo right as my wounds begin to mend are tolerable, or at least they would be if, just once, they wouldn’t force her to watch. The depth of Genny’s worry hurts more than it does when they crack another one of my ribs, and every last scream she emits as they do haunts my sleep.
The only forgiving sentiment is that while they keep Genny locked in here with me, they feed her well. Three full meals as opposed to my meager one—though Geneva always makes a point of apportioning most of her servings onto my tray. “To keep you strong for when they come back,” she told me the first time. Every morsel she gave me managed to keep me alive. I know that. But it doesn’t quell the rage I feel when her growling stomach returns.
I don’t know what day it is, only that the main door unexpectedly flies open, casting the first beams of daylight Genny and I have seen in a long time. She shields her eyes from the sudden harshness of it, and three uniformed men appear, two of them flanking the guard that had taken me down back on the docks of Mosacia Proper.
“Get up, Setare,” he barks.
“Watch your tone when you speak to him,” Genny sneers.
The look in his eyes at her reproach reminds me that Genny knows him. Had likely grown up in the same circles of influence. And now, they both stare each other down, feeling as though they each betrayed one another in the worst possible manner.
“I don’t take orders from you,” he counters. “Even if you were still Duchess.”
Were . The implication sinks in immediately—she’s been stripped of her royal title.
I expect Genny to appear dumbstruck. Heartbroken, even. But man, am I dead wrong.
“Nadine would be embarrassed to see the person you’ve become,” she comments without hesitation, and the casualty in which she says it is downright cruel. “But you don’t need me to remind you of that. You already know.”
I connect the dots quickly enough. His wife. Genny just brought his wife into this.
My admiration for her swells within me, even as Henry unfastens my chains from the notch on the floor. I know better than to struggle free or fight his hold, but I don’t exactly make it easy for him. I stay true to my role of the damaged prisoner, going limp in his grasp to where Henry must call on his reinforcements. Genny and I share a secret smile at the fact before they carry me into the bright hallway and shut the door, sealing her back in the darkness.
They trudge us towards what I assume is one of the outer edges of the castle, and as we ascend a set of stairs, Henry’s breath starts to come out labored. “You’d think slowly starving you out would make you a bit easier to carry.”
“Maybe you’re just old and rundown.”
The comment ought to earn me a kick in the ribs, but Henry seems to find my audacity laughable. “Makes sense, now. Genny never had a mean streak, not before you.”
“Go pout about it after you throw me over the balcony,” I retort, guessing at the fate I’m swiftly approaching.
But that, too, gets Henry to laughing. Then, we pass through a connecting pathway from the stairs and into one of the wisteria- lined promenades. The guards throw me onto the floor, and when I glance upwards, I realize that falling to my death would be a mercy compared to what I must face now.
The gold shimmer of an illustrious crown perched upon a dark, royal brow.
And then, in her complete formal regalia, the Queen Inherit of the Damocles crouches down to my level and bares her teeth like an animal. “What the hell have you done to my sister?”
That is perhaps the most loaded question on the planet.
In my mind, there’s two ways that I can go about answering this—the first being brazenly. That involves me telling Venus Deragon exactly what I’ve done to Genny, particularly when we were in the Sacred City. The devil on my shoulder grins manically at the thought, especially knowing Genny would get a kick out of seeing the look on her sister’s face.
To my dismay, rationality kicks in and I choose option number two. “Is there something in particular you’re referencing?”
“My guards informed me that you were aiding the duchess in escaping our forces, who were attempting to bring her home safely—”
“Guard,” I correct.
“What?”
“ One guard, Your Majesty. We picked off the rest easily enough.”
The remark has her fuming, and despite never hating the Urovian monarchs the way most Mosacians do, the loathing in her eyes feels like pure bliss.
“But when Tolcher got to you first,” she seethes, “Duchess Geneva came running after you. She insisted that the two of you be treated as equals. As traitors .”
I merely shrug.
“You’re only alive right now because of her.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then be aware of this , Mr. Satare.” Her lip curls as she snarls at me, her words primal and fearsome. “You will tell me what you did that inspired Genny to turn her back on her family, or I will show her what it costs to fraternize with the enemy.”
“What I did? You’re terribly mistaken, Your Majesty—because, you see, I did not drive her into enemy lands out of desperation. I did not refuse to help her find her daughter. You did that. All I did was treat her with the decency she expected her family to extend to her.”
Venus crosses her arms over her chest, but the unimpressed look on her face is melting into rage once more. “The way you carry yourself makes me think you did more than just lend Genny a hand.”
“Maybe, but it certainly didn’t start out that way. In fact, when she approached me —alone and at the mercy of strangers who could’ve easily chosen to take advantage of her—I didn’t even know she was a Deragon. Even now, I’m not so sure. After all, how could someone as kind and sacrificial as Geneva be related to poison like you?”
Venus strikes me across the face, and I let her. She certainly has an arm on her, and I will myself not to ease the sting.
“You don’t get to tell me about sacrifice,” the queen says through her teeth. “Not when I’ve bled Mosacia dry to make up for the treacheries it carried out against my husband.”
“And you’re proud of that?” I counter.
“The truest testament of love is killing on its behalf.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if the greatest act of love is showing mercy?”
The Queen Inherit of the Damocles stares at me like I’ve just pulled a weapon on her, like the very concept of mercy is foreign to her, appalling.
With lethal grace, Venus crosses the remaining distance. I physically feel the heat in her eyes as she tells me, “Merciful love always ends in defeat, but violent love conquers worlds. Tell me which you would rather place your faith in.”
“Whichever ensures Geneva’s and Pandora’s happiness. You certainly can’t say the same.”
Venus smiles, but her words carry venom. “Lock him up.”