Chapter 41
Ellaryn slipped into the castle silently. Knights passed her, unsuspecting. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe that blast from Xander had slowed Damien down. Maybe he hadn’t made it to the castle yet.
She needed to check on Sailen.
She needed to know he was safe.
Tiptoeing down the prison stairs, past the Defiers standing guard, she walked over to Sailen’s cell, her heart thrumming in her chest and peeked through the hatch.
But her stomach dropped instantly.
“Looking for someone.” The King’s voice bounced off the damp stone as he emerged from what seemed like a veil of shadows.
Ellaryn froze, her body stiffening as she turned.
“You know I just had the most interesting conversation with Damien.”
Shit, Ellaryn thought.
This was it.
This was how she died.
“Where is he?” she ground out through clenched teeth.
“He’s safe,” the King drawled. “For now.”
Ellaryn lunged, but he twisted on her soul. Pain ripped through her, folding her to her knees.
“Did you forget who owns you, little Ruin?” he taunted, crouching as he yanked again.
“Don’t you hurt him,” she sobbed, pain writhing within her.
“I won’t,” he said, finally releasing her. “If you tell me where to find the Potential Damien spoke of.”
“O-Okay,” she gasped, trembling. “And you promise you won’t hurt him?”
“I promise,” the King drawled, cupping her face with a cold, possessive touch.
“He’s at the old temple. The one burned down,” she lied. “That’s where he’s hiding.”
The King’s eyes drilled into hers, searching for lies. In that moment, she hoped with everything she had that her eyes hadn’t given her away.
“See,” he said smoothly. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Tears streamed down her face, unstoppable.
“Can I see him now? Sailen?” she begged, voice breaking, years of fear and desperation spilling out.
The King laughed, a sound that made her bones tremble.
“P-Please,” she whispered again.
“What did I tell you about begging?” His tone was mocking. “No one likes a beggar.”
He dragged her upright.
“It seems you need a lesson in discipline,” he said, and she shrank instinctively.
Every step she took back, he mirrored forward, until the damp stone wall pressed against her spine.
“P-Please,” she pleaded again. But he didn’t slow, didn’t flinch. He would make her pay.
His fist slammed into her temple. White fire exploded behind her eyes as pain detonated through her skull.
A boot followed, then another—into her stomach, her ribs, her arm.
The cracks echoed before her body could register them. His boots were metal-lined. Bone shattered on impact.
By the time he finished, she drifted between consciousness, her body no longer fully her own.
He leaned close, voice a whisper against her ear.
“Remember who you belong to, Ruin.”
She shuddered, broken.
“Stiffen up,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t want people thinking you’re weak, now, would we?”
He snapped his fingers, and the Defiers obeyed immediately.
“Take her to the dungeon,” he ordered.
He leaned close again. “You better hope your Potential is where you say he is. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long night for Sailen.”
Slaves rushed in, brooms and brushes in hand, scrubbing the blood from the floor as if the atrocity could be erased.
Defiers lifted her limp, shattered body.
The last thing she felt before the darkness swallowed her was the King’s cold gaze lingering, promising torment yet to come.