Chapter 18
Everything was a blur of pounding fists and booted kicks. I didn’t have a chance to even attempt to flee before Terym’s weight settled over me. He straddled my waist, his weight suffocating as fists assaulted me.
My ribs. My stomach. My face.
I struggled underneath him, kicking my legs uselessly. The lamp in my pocket thudded against the floor. His body pressed down on me, restricting my movements.
Agony coursed through my body in never-ending waves. I raised my arms in an attempt to block the blows, but it did little against the strength of the man above me.
I didn’t make a sound, couldn’t breathe enough through the pain to release the screams stuck in my throat.
Still, the king pummeled me. Had it been minutes? Hours?
The room spun again, and birds fluttered along the walls. Even they couldn’t stand the sight of such violence, abandoning me to the king’s torture in a flock of gold. I shut my eyes against their desertion. I would never be able to look at them and not recall this moment, if I even survived it.
Visions of the past filled my mind, and in the haze of pain, I could do nothing to stop them. Vacant eyes stared, unseeing. Warm red liquid coated my hands. Those final rattling breaths.
The flashbacks halted my poor attempts to fight back.
Terym released a grunt with his next hit, and something cracked in my chest. Sharp pain lanced my side, and I managed a small hiss.
The hits stopped and the king sat back, chest heaving. He stared down at me, a monster inspecting his prey. His pupils had swallowed blue irises, nothing but dark intent within them. I could barely make out anything else through the swelling of my own eyes, but that gaze would haunt me forever.
The king rose to his feet, straightening his jacket, then ran bloodied hands through his loose hair, streaking the blond strands pink.
“Remember this pain, my dear Adelia, because it will become your sister’s if you dare to defy me again. We will be married before the month’s end.”
Other than a few panted breaths, his voice held no hint of the pain he’d just inflicted. He spoke as he always had, a deep and calm cadence hiding the true depths of his depravity.
The king left without a backward glance.
I tried to move, to roll to the side and sit up, but the pain was excruciating, every inhale sending more stabs lancing my side. Giving up, I stared at the white rug beneath my cheek, the deep red of my blood soaking the once bright material as I lay in the beautiful room that had become my prison.
Haunting eyes stared back at me—the vicious pleasure Terym had displayed at the end of my punishment replaying in my trapped mind.
My mother should never have entrusted me to protect Eleanor. I couldn’t even protect myself, and she was in more danger now than ever before. I should have anticipated his plans and found a way out before it reached this point.
We couldn’t come back from this. Terym had threatened her, and he should never have thought it an option. I had given him that power when I foolishly bargained for her safety.
I deserved this pain. For my failure. For everything I had done. This was the Gods’ way of punishing me for the sin I committed. The worst kind. I couldn’t let Eleanor suffer as well; she didn’t deserve it.
I wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt her.
A gentle knock pulled me from a fitful sleep, and I opened hot swollen eyes. Streaks of light danced along the ceiling from the setting sun. The blood soaking the white rug had started to dry and crust.
I’d been asleep for a while.
Knocking sounded again, and I tried to move, releasing a groan at the throbbing that ensued.
Please don’t let it be Eleanor.
“Miss Adelia?” Wista’s muffled voice reached me, and I could have wept in relief had my body not been in too much pain to even cry.
“Here,” I croaked, throat dry and hoarse despite my lack of screaming. She must have heard me because the door opened, then padding feet echoed through the otherwise quiet room.
The pounding in my head grew, and my eyes fluttered shut against the pain. Her shocked gasp was close, then soft hands brushed away hair plastered to my face with sweat and blood.
“Adelia?” Emotion clogged my throat at her pained whisper.
I opened my eyes again to find her crouching over me, brow furrowed and glassy eyes scanning me.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me like that, with such sincere concern.
Not since my father’s death, so more than eight years.
Eleanor cared for me. Loved me. But it was always me looking after her. She was so much younger when our parents died. I raised her, cared for her. No one had been that person for me since our parents’ deaths.
With Wista kneeling over me in genuine pain at my suffering, I longed for that care, a feeling so intensely heavy in my chest it outweighed the throbbing injuries.
“I’m okay,” I rasped out. A lie. I was definitely not okay. “Can you help me up?”
“Wistari?” Her head snapped toward the door, and panic flooded me at the unknown voice. I could handle Wista seeing me like this. Vulnerable. I had grown to trust her. We were friends. Anyone else though? I couldn’t bear it. Especially not Eleanor. Anyone but her.
“I’m fine here, Zuri. Miss Adelia has fallen ill and needs rest. I’ll call you if I need.” Zuri let out a huff of annoyance but left, her footsteps retreating and the door closing behind her.
Wista placed her arm under my shoulders, and with her help, I was able to stand. She carried most of my weight as I hobbled to what I suspected was the attached bedchamber. Too captivated by the window, I’d missed it when I first arrived.
Like the rest of the suite, the room was beyond luxurious. The sight of it no longer awed me. Just a pretty package. A beautiful prison. A mockery of my life.
An obnoxiously large bed sat in a prominent position in the center of the room.
The white gossamer curtains pulled aside to reveal crisp white sheets, a bed better suited for a queen than the king’s whore.
Because that’s what he wanted me to be despite the request for a marriage.
I would be a vessel to control, to create and spit out heirs.
“Let’s get you into the bath.” Wista guided me through another door into a private bathing room. I swayed on a stool while she made quick work of the bath, the one positive being the castle’s more modern plumbing. Before long, she was lowering me into a golden tub large enough for three.
The fragrant mixture of salts and oils soothed and stung.
Wista knelt beside the tub and washed the blood from my raw skin and tangled hair.
I didn’t stop her, the walk into the room tired me, and I had no energy left to clean myself.
Neither of us spoke as she wrapped my ribs, then dressed me into a loose-fitted nightgown and helped me to bed.
The walls of the room were thankfully free of birds; there was no way I would be able to sleep if they’d decorated the room.
I stared at the white gossamer hanging from the ceiling above me while she tucked the blankets around my chest. “I have an herb from my home that relieves pain and aides in healing. I’ll make you some tea with it.”
I met soft-brown eyes—it wasn’t pity or even sympathy, it was understanding staring back at me. Understanding and empathy. I didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want to be alone, not when every time I closed my eyes, depths of icy dark stared menacingly back at me.
“Your home?” I prompted. I hadn’t learned much about her past yet and speaking of something else would be a relief. She nodded, a wistful smile on her face, and I patted the mattress beside me. “Will you tell me?”
“I should really get you that tea.”
“Please,” I whispered, the plea in that one simple word clear. She sat down, careful not to jostle my injuries.
Wista spoke of her hometown, a small village in Mortremon at the base of the Demnocollis Mountain Range.
The weather was harsh and frigid, but the people were kind, the villagers banding together to support each other through freezing winters, ensuring none were without food or warmth.
She spoke fondly of her mother, a skilled healer who tended her own herb garden, knowledge she passed onto her daughter.
She paused in her story, her eyes growing guarded. “I ended up moving to Zargen and working for King Siro.”
My brows rose, sending a spark of pain through my face. Not only was she a Mortremon citizen, but she had worked directly for the king in the capital. To admit this to me, at risk of execution, meant more than she would ever realize. She trusted me with the truth, and I was beyond grateful.
“How did you end up here?” I whispered, almost afraid to ask given the shadows in her eyes.
“I stupidly followed a man.” Her smile was tight as she continued, “He left me stranded in enemy territory for another woman.”
“I’m sorry, Wista.” My heart ached for her, to have risked so much and be betrayed by a person she loved. It was clear by the pain in her eyes that it had been love.
“It’s just lucky I found work here, but I haven’t seen my family since.”
“Have you been able to get letters across the border at least?” Out of everything she told me, that made my heart ache most, to know your family were alive but unable to see them.
“I have some … connections, who have helped get word to my family.” She smiled sadly, and a lone tear tracked down her cheek. I grabbed her hands, squeezing them gently.
“Thank you for sharing your story with me. I’ll tell no one of your heritage, you have my word.” If the time came where it was exposed, I would do what I could to protect her.
“I know, Adelia. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you.”
I smiled, grateful that, for the first time in my life, I had a true friend.
“I’ll get your tea.”
It didn’t take long for Wista to fetch the healing herb and deliver the warm tea.
After I drank two entire cups of the bitter stuff, she left me with a promise to keep Eleanor away until I healed.
She would ask questions if she saw me like this and wouldn’t understand the answers without the full truth.
Although the tea helped, I couldn’t get comfortable with the throbbing pain stifling my body.
I twitched and shifted, staring at the candlelight dancing along the bare walls throwing shadows of the lamp around the room.
It rested on the small table beside the bed, where I’d placed it after my bath.
The humming vibration offered me comfort in the emptiness of the large room.
I craved Shade’s presence and the calming nature of his scent, but I didn’t want him to see me like this. Hurt. Damaged. Broken.
Guilt was a heavy weight. He had been locked away for so long already, and I loathed to keep him in there now.
I caressed the warm metal, the simple touch making me feel closer to him, then hugged it to my chest, the vibration settling into me. To my bones. To my very soul. The sound. The feeling. It was everything I needed in the wake of the king’s assault.
It was warmth and comfort and light.
Every time I shut my eyes, his black gaze stared back at me. I couldn’t escape the flashes of his abuse as visions assaulted me. Birds fluttered away, turning their backs on the cruelty dished out by their mighty king.
Silent tears left me, hot and thick, as I relived it all. Every strike. Every word. All the pain.
It filled me. A writhing snake of despair in my chest, my stomach—every inch of my body. It left no nerve untouched.
I bit my lip, trying to hold in the screams wanting to be unleashed. It stung, and another liquid joined the tears running down my face, the split in my skin opening at the rough treatment.
Sobs lurched from my chest, and I clutched the lamp tighter. Closer. Willing its hum to soothe and wash away the pain. To free me from the turmoil.
The scent of purloe flowers invaded my senses—woodsy and floral and comfort.
Fingers dusted along my cheeks, collecting my tears, and I opened my eyes to find silver orbs locked on mine.
Shade’s face was a mixture of concern and something much darker, a simmering sort of rage that spoke of danger and retribution.
His gaze traced every visible injury, and I glanced at the lamp in my hands, unsure how I released him, to find my blood-soaked tears had dripped onto the black surface.
I tried to sit up, but the movement sparked pain in the rib that must be sprained, if not broken.
I paused, sucking in a sharp breath, then strong hands cradled my shoulders, and Shade eased me back against the pillows.
The blankets had fallen slightly, exposing the top of my sheer night dress and the extensive bruises already darkening my torso.
“You’re hurt.” Shade’s voice was deeper than I had ever heard it, stormy silver eyes locked on where the bruising was darkest. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, then his gaze met mine. “Who did this?”