The Savior’s Army (The Savior’s #3)

The Dungeon

A fist barreled into his jaw, blackening the world around him.

Tobias struggled to right himself, but the soldiers grabbed hold of his arms, dragging him across the dirt floor and tossing him against the wall.

Hinges screeched behind him, and he spun toward the noise in time for a blow to land in his gut.

The assaults continued as pain burst through his nose, then again in his temple, small explosions radiating past muscle through the thin veil of his flesh.

Tobias went limp while armored soldiers shackled his wrists. A wheel turned and squealed, and his body lurched upright, tall and spread wide, a blank canvas. The soldiers hurried into formation, standing in a line against the stone wall while he remained suspended. Waiting.

The sovereign.

Brontes stalked toward the cell, slow and self-possessed.

His deep bronze skin was adorned in a golden-stitched drape, his crown placed amid his black curls, but his one-eyed glare spoke of violence barely contained.

Tobias thought to lift his head but hadn’t the energy, hanging limp from his chains, gaze pointed at the ground.

The cell door creaked open, and sandled feet shuffled into view.

“You’re here,” Brontes said. “How unsurprising.”

Dank heat filled Tobias’s lungs, smothering him with each breath.

“Have you nothing to say to me? No explanation for your king?”

Tobias’s silence was met with a jab to the jaw, a hook to the belly. One by one, the strikes continued, leaving him battered and broken, swollen and bruised.

Once Brontes stepped back, Tobias spat onto the floor, crimson spraying the dirt. Gripping Tobias’s chin, the sovereign looked him in the eye. “I’m going to kill you now. You know that, yes?”

Tobias mustered a chuckle. “You won’t kill me.”

“And why’s that?”

Brontes’s eye narrowed, penetrating. The taste of iron and sweat coated Tobias’s tongue. He licked the blood from his lips.

“Because I know where The Savior is.”