CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Verena
STEAM SHROUDED ME, CLOUDING THE ROOM IN A HAZE.
The spray of the shower rumbled like distant rainfall, soothing as I tilted my head back, letting the heat wash me clean.
But last night still clung.
The ball had been spun from decadence and deception. Laughter sharpened with lies, wine dark as blood, glances that promised more than they would ever give.
My gown had bound me in sin, every step a performance as they drank me in with equal parts reverence and desire.
And then there had been Ronan.
He had looked at me, a man torn in half, unsure if he wanted to worship or kill me.
A bitter smile ghosted my lips beneath the spray. If only he knew how close I’d come. How vividly I’d imagined it, how wide his smoke-choked eyes would go when his blood slid down the curve of his throat.
My fingers pressed hard into the stone, veins pulsing. And yet—he had helped me, touched me, like I was more than a monster.
“Fool,” I whispered. “You should’ve done it while you had the chance.”
But I can’t, I reminded myself. Not yet. Not until Elva is freed.
The water turned cold, goose bumps prickling my body as I shut it off, dragging a hand through soaked hair, slicking it back. The towel, damp from the winter air, did little to help the chill.
Still half lost in the echo of his voice, I padded barefoot into my room, checking for any misplaced shadows or looming wisps of fired spice.
That’s when I saw it.
A slip of pale parchment, folded once and marked with no seal, left atop my vanity where there had been nothing before.
I was sure of it.
My heart stuttered, feet swift against the floorboards as I crossed the room. Droplets traced my spine, chilling me thoroughly as I reached, unfolding it hastily.
One glance, that was all it took for the drums to start in my ears, a pounding dread moving to my chest.
I didn’t bother to dress properly, just shoved myself into the nearest clothes—dark trousers, a loose tunic, boots half on. My cloak, still cold from the night before, wrapped my shoulders as I rushed out of the cottage.
The night had gone perfectly. Too perfect.
And now the gods, or worse, had tipped the board.
Gemma’s cottage didn’t breathe with its usual comfort as I entered.
The air felt different, oddly unsettled.
Floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I crept across the kitchen, righting a fallen stool. Vials and mugs lay shattered across the table, herbs and spices scattered, some already crushed into the grain of the wood.
A shutter slammed against the window above the sink, my head whipping toward the sound, pulse jolting. Outside, the ginger-stained sky had soured, burning mauve as dusk bled in.
Run.
I swallowed the shiver rising. “Gem?” The parchment in my fist crackled as I crossed the wrecked kitchen.
No answer.
The hallway leading to her room sat quiet, the door sealed at the far end. Perhaps a patient had rushed in, desperate, pulling her away mid-preparation. That was the only explanation that made sense.
Run.
“Gem?” I called again, slipping the note into my pocket, moving faster now. “We have a problem.” My fingers brushed the doorknob, warm.
The curse heard the floorboards creaking behind me too late.
I spun, too damn slow.
The dagger kissed my ribs, skimming close enough to burn, missing my heart by a sliver. Instinct roared, and my blade was already buried in flesh.
The guard screamed, reeling back against the wall, clutching at his face as blood poured hot between his fingers.
Darkness flexed inside me, its cage rattling, then splitting, iron bars tearing open with a shriek inside my mind.
And it was free.
I struck repeatedly, the dagger driving deep, warmth spurting across my knuckles. My pupils blew wide and wild as his life drained.
I stumbled back, chest heaving, staring as the body crumpled to the floor. And then we inhaled, together, the Viper and me.
Fresh pain stung where the blade had grazed me, sending a rush of heat across my ribs. I raised my weapon all the same, red dripping slow and steady from its edge, painting my grip slick.
Movement shuffled behind Gemma’s door and without hesitation, I yanked the door wide—
And staggered.
Gem was bound on her bed, wrists knotted, mouth gagged, head thrashing side to side in a violent warning, right as cold steel pressed into the crook of my neck, the blade biting just enough.
“Drop it.” The voice was unfamiliar, though the uniform was not. The crest, the emblem, I knew who they belonged to.
“One move,” the guard said, “and I cut you open. Let you spill all over this floor and her after. Understood?”
My pulse battered against the edge of the blade as options raced, ruthless and slim. If I let the thing inside me loose, he’d likely slice my artery before it could take hold.
And I’m really not gunning to see how well a curse could mend that type of wound. And Gemma...while I was healing, he would kill her.
His teeth gritted. “Drop. It. Now.”
The dagger slipped from my hand, clanging loud against the floor. For the first time, I felt it—the terror of one wrong choice ending everything.
Gem’s eyes caught mine, terrified, but glancing subtly to the floor. He hadn’t gone for my dagger.
Her gaze flicked to it again, wary. Hide it, her eyes begged.
“Who are you?” I asked, sharp enough to cover the scrape of steel sliding beneath her bed.
Gemma shifted, pushing it deeper out of sight.
The guard yanked one of my hands behind my back, rough iron scraping my skin. “Other hand,” he ordered.
I snickered. “Say please.”
Gemma flinched, her shoulders slumping, evaporating any flash of humor. This wasn’t a bluff, this was real. They knew.
But if they knew what I’d done, why take her too?
“King Obrann requires your presence.” Sour breath skimmed my cheek and I grimaced. “Both of you,” he added. “At the palace.”
Of course. Obrann never dirtied his hands with blood, he sent the dregs to drag it back for him.
“In shackles?” I asked dryly.
A whisper brushed the back of my mind, Run.
But my body lagged when the manacles snapped shut around my wrists.
I flexed my fingers against the bite of iron, forcing a smile. “Not too tight, please.”
Manners were easy, after all. Though none of it helped the sinking feeling where my gut should have been. Something was very wrong.
He spun me, the motion purposely harsh, and I caught my first glimpse of him. Middle-aged. Scarred skin pocked with blemishes old and new. Rounded ears.
A human had disarmed me. Humiliation burned hotter than the cut at my damn ribs.
“You a talker too, girl?” Spit flecked from his mouth, close enough I had to lean back to keep it from catching my face. “I’ll gag you like I gagged that traitorous hag.”
That familiar heat surged, the one that made my vision sharpen and my pupils stretch long.
His skin lost color the instant my stare locked and I whispered, “I’d like to see you try.” He faltered a step back and I rolled my shoulder forward, an invitation, and smiled. “Shall we?”
The guard shoved me hard enough that my legs gave, stone biting straight through leather. The closest he’d dared come the entire trek to the palace.
I cursed, forcing myself upright, sneering at the grin across his scarred face when I only made it as far as my knees.
“Rodent,” he uttered.
Of course, his courage showed up only now, when we were nestled safe inside Obrann’s walls.
“Really?” I scoffed. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
He went to shove me down again, but I dodged, and spat, the glob landing against his uniform collar.
Before I’d even twitched to wipe my chin, his hand cracked across my cheek. Heat throbbed as the floor rushed to greet me once more.
These damned shackles were dulling everything in me, even reflexes. I clenched my teeth, swallowing the sting clawing its way up.
Gemma lurched forward, bound arms thrashing as if she could reach me.
Another slap cut the air, not my skin this time, and red bloomed across her cheek, a small whimper escaping the part in her mouth as she gaped up at the guard.
“You fucker—” I grumbled.
But Callum’s roar rattled the corridor, cutting me off. His fury split open as Gem crumpled under the guard, shielding her face.
I blinked at him, at the chains dragging across his wrists, his ankles. What in the gods’ names was he doing here? Our mother’s presence was damning enough, but Callum being dragged into this made no sense.
The guards flanking us didn’t flinch, only stood in perfect rows, swords untouched. Though, worry had settled in their eyes.
Callum was their commander, and that fact made it hard for them to meet his eyes. But their stillness said enough.
I forced my legs beneath me, straining to lift, barely making it an inch before the guard’s boot slammed down against my skull, crushing it against stone.
“I could squash you now.” He pushed harder, weight grinding into my jaw. “Spare the king the pleasure.”
The world rattled, creation tearing at its cage, shrieking in my veins. Just breathe, I told myself. This bastard’s boot isn’t what kills you.
I managed a snicker, blood slicking my teeth. “And you’ll still be lesser than I.”
That landed.
A crack sparked fire up my cheek and across my jaw when his boot dug deeper. My vision blurred at the edges, shouts ringing distant as the monster inside me shrieked for release.
Every nerve screamed to let it loose. But I wouldn’t survive being seen. Not yet.
Rage poured off Callum in searing waves when the guard above Gemma pulled his sword on her. In one swift motion, he turned, bound hands snaking around a guard’s throat. The chains bit into flesh as he twisted, tightening, choking the guard until his sword clattered to the floor.
And still, none of the others moved. Not one lifted a hand.
With a weak flare in his eyes, Callum drove his stare into the guard near our mother. “Drop the weapon, Alec.”
Alec? He knew him, on a first name basis, and still, that was how he was treating Gemma?