Chapter 27
27
T he fetid air of the palace dungeon clung to Skylar’s skin, seeping through her torn and bloodstained clothes. Each step sent shockwaves of pain through her battered body, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness. The coppery tang of dried blood—her own, mingled with that of her attackers—lingered on her tattered garments, a grim reminder of the night’s horrors.
Arye’s determined stride led the way, his grip on Princess Quince’s arm white-knuckled. The princess stumbled, struggling to match his relentless pace, her once-pristine gown now a filthy, torn mess. Captain Knox and a handful of his men trailed behind, their armor clanking with each hurried step. Flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, transforming the familiar corridors into a nightmarish labyrinth.
Skylar’s mind raced with conflicting emotions. Anger burned hot in her chest—at the princess for orchestrating the attack, at herself for being so vulnerable, at the world for its cruelty. Shame coiled in her gut, a poisonous serpent whispering of her weakness. She, who had faced down armies and controlled a Divine Beast, had been reduced to a trembling victim in that alley. The memory of those rough hands on her body made her skin crawl, and she fought the urge to scrub herself raw.
But beneath it all, a cold fear gripped her heart. Had Arye seen? In the chaos of the attack and rescue, had he noticed the bindings that concealed her true form? She studied his back, searching for any sign, any hint that he knew. But his focus remained solely on the princess, his jaw clenched so tight she could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“Your Highness,” Captain Knox ventured, his gravelly voice echoing off the stone walls. “Perhaps we should?—”
“Silence,” Arye snarled, not even bothering to look back.
Skylar exchanged a worried glance with the Captain. She’d rarely seen Arye like this, consumed by a cold fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves. It was a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath his princely facade—one that mirrored her own.
They reached a heavy iron door, its hinges groaning in protest as Arye wrenched it open with his free hand. He unceremoniously hurled the princess into the cell. She stumbled, falling hard onto the dirty stone floor with a pained cry that echoed off the walls.
Princess Quince’s servants and guards, who had been herded along behind them, huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. One of the maids, a young girl with tear-stained cheeks, whimpered softly.
“What should we do with her retinue, Your Highness?” Captain Knox asked, his hand uneasily clutching the grip of his sword.
Arye’s lip curled in disgust. “Kill them for all I care.”
Captain Knox’s face paled, and he looked to Skylar, silently pleading for intervention. The guards shifted restlessly, hands tightening on their weapons. Even they, men accustomed to violence, seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of slaughtering unarmed servants.
Skylar felt the weight of their gazes, the expectation that she would be the voice of reason. It was a role she’d played countless times before, tempering Arye’s rage with cool logic. But a part of her, still raw and aching from the attack, wanted to let Arye’s fury run unchecked. To watch as he tore apart those who had dared to harm her.
She swallowed hard, pushing aside her own desire for vengeance. “Put them in a separate cell for now,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “We might need them later.”
Arye’s gaze snapped to her, storm-gray eyes boring into hers. She feared he might object, might see her intervention as a challenge to his authority. But then he gave a curt nod. “Do as the Duke says.”
Captain Knox sagged with relief, quickly motioning for his men to lead the servants away. Their soft whimpers and shuffling feet faded down the corridor, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake.
Arye stalked into the cell, looming over the fallen princess. Skylar followed, her heart pounding. It was small, the air thick with the stench of mold and sweat. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady rhythm that grated on Skylar’s nerves.
“You were trying to flee,” Arye said, his voice dangerously soft. “Packing when we found you. Guilty conscience, Princess?”
She struggled to her feet, chin raised defiantly despite her disheveled appearance. Her emerald gown was torn and stained, her auburn hair a tangled mess. But her eyes blazed with a haughty fire that made Skylar’s blood boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she spat. “This is an outrage! When my father hears of this?—”
“Your father?” Arye laughed, the sound devoid of any warmth. It echoed through the dungeon, making Skylar shiver. “Your father will be lucky if I don’t raze Thorncrest to the ground for this.”
“For what?” she demanded. “You have no proof of anything!”
“Don’t I?” Arye’s hand shot out, gripping her chin roughly. Princess Quince gasped, trying to pull away, but Arye held firm. “One of your men confessed before I gutted him like the pig he was.”
Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking through her haughty facade. “He… he was lying. I would never?—”
“I don’t play games of deceit,” Arye snarled, his face inches from hers. “You cross me, you cross Regalclaw. And believe me, Princess, you will pay dearly for that mistake. Your whole kingdom will.”
Skylar watched as Arye’s hand moved to Princess Quince’s throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. She clawed at his arm, panic blooming in her eyes. Part of Skylar reveled in the sight, a dark satisfaction curling in her gut at seeing her tormentor brought low.
But another part of her, the part that had led armies and protected the kingdom, knew this wasn’t the way. It pained her to admit it, but they needed the princess alive.
For now, at least.
Arye’s grip intensified, his strong grip slowly compressing the vulnerable windpipe beneath. Princess Quince’s eyes bulged, her face draining of color as her fingers desperately scratched at Arye’s arm. But to no avail. The moist squelching of his grasp reverberated through the confined space as he methodically increased the pressure, seemingly savoring this moment of power.
Skylar’s heart thudded violently as she witnessed the atrocity unfolding before her. It wasn’t the first time they had been forced to take such measures, but it was clearly the first time Arye didn’t do it just because he had to.
He wanted it.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something the Gryphon inside her relished.
Or was it herself? She didn’t know for sure.
The princess’s kicking and twitching gradually subsided, her struggles growing weaker with each passing second. Just when Skylar thought Arye might actually kill her, he released his grip. Princess Quince collapsed to the floor, coughing and gagging, clutching at her throat where a bruised and reddened collar was already forming.
“I’m not done yet.”
Arye waved a hand, and one of Captain Knox’s men stepped forward with a large, battered trunk. The guard’s face was impassive as he unlatched the buckles, but Skylar could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly. He threw open the lid, revealing a collection of instruments that made Skylar’s stomach turn.
Arye’s fingers trailed over the countless saws, blades, and other items with excruciating slowness, each movement deliberate and threatening. The princess’s terrified eyes darted around the cell, landing on Skylar with a beseeching gaze, pleading for help. Their gazes locked briefly, and Skylar felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Hatred for what this woman had done, satisfaction at seeing her brought low, but also a creeping unease at the brutality of it all.
The Gryphon stirred within her; it whispered dark promises of vengeance, of letting Arye extract payment for every bruise on her body, every second of fear, every insult, she’d experienced in that alley. Everything that happened and that could have happened.
But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
“Your Highness,” Skylar said softly, reaching out to touch Arye’s arm. He flinched at the contact, his eyes wild when they met hers. For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize the man before her. “This isn’t the way.”
To her dismay, he shrugged her off, his gaze once more focused on the trembling princess. “I will kill you,” he hissed. “Slowly. Painfully. Make you suffer more as you intended for the Duke to.”
The Captain shifted uncomfortably behind them, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. The tension was palpable, like a bowstring pulled too tight and ready to snap.
This was bad.
Skylar’s mind raced. If Arye went through with this, if he tortured and killed the princess, it would have dire consequences for Regalclaw. War with Thorncrest would be inevitable. It was too early. They needed more time to prepare their troops, to produce armors and weapons, to secure enough food for the commoners to survive the winter.
She had to stop this before it went too far, before Arye did something they couldn’t take back. Despite her own hatred for her, despite the part of her that longed to see Princess Quince suffer, Skylar knew this wasn’t the right course of action.
She stepped between Arye and the princess, forcing him to look at her. “We need her alive,” she said, her tone low and urgent. “Think about it, Your Highness. She’s more valuable to us as a hostage. If Thorncrest starts a war, we’ll have leverage.”
Arye’s grip on one of the rusty pliers loosened slightly. “Go on,” he said, his eyes locked on the princess’s face.
Skylar took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “We can always execute her publicly later if need be. But for now, she’s our insurance.” She paused, allowing a hint of dark humor to creep into her voice. “And besides, killing her here would be… anticlimactic, wouldn’t it? Surely the Crown Prince of Regalclaw can devise a more fitting punishment.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across Arye’s face, gone so quickly Skylar might have imagined it. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Everyone should watch her fall. Hear her scream.”
Behind her, Skylar heard Princess Quince’s sharp intake of breath. She felt a twinge of satisfaction at the princess’s fear, even as she silently berated herself for it.
“There’s something else to consider,” Skylar continued, pressing her advantage. “His Majesty doesn’t know about this yet. If word gets out that we’re holding her in the dungeon, it could cause problems. Both with your father and with Thorncrest.”
Arye finally lowered the torture instrument, his expression thoughtful. “What do you suggest?”
“Confine her to her chambers for now,” Skylar said. “Under heavy guard, of course. It’s safer, politically speaking, and it gives us time to decide our next move.”
For a long moment, Arye said nothing. The only sound was the princess’s ragged breathing and the steady drip of water. Finally, Arye nodded. “Captain,” he called over his shoulder. “Escort her back and post guards at every entrance. She’s not to leave or communicate with anyone without my express permission. Not even my father.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Captain Knox replied, relief evident in his tone. He motioned to his men, who moved to help Princess Quince to her feet. She flinched away from their touch, her eyes never leaving Arye but seemingly too afraid to scream at him.
As Captain Knox and his men led the shaken princess to her chambers, Arye and Skylar were left alone. The silence stretched between them.
Suddenly, Arye pulled Skylar into a fierce embrace. She stiffened initially, surprised by the sudden contact. Pain flared through her body where his arms pressed against her bruises, but she suppressed a gasp. She wanted to pull back, to keep her distance, to protect her disguise. But beneath all this, she felt Arye’s vulnerability, his need for connection.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. “For reminding me who I am.”
Skylar relaxed into his embrace, allowing herself this moment of comfort despite the voice in her head screaming about the danger. “I’ll always be here for you,” she whispered, her words muffled against his collarbone. “Just like you’re there for me. When we’re on the brink of losing ourselves.”
Arye pulled back slightly, his eyes searching her face. “Will you?” he asked, the question barely audible. “Always be at my side?”
Skylar felt her heart constrict. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, but she knew the impossibility of that promise. Her time as Duke Anathemark was coming to an end. “You know what I mean,” she said, unable to meet his gaze.
Arye released her, taking a step back. His eyes raked over her, intense and searching, making her shift uncomfortably. She pulled his cloak tighter around herself, suddenly feeling exposed.
With a heavy sigh, Arye ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m torn,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Between locking you in a golden cage or tying you up in a dark dungeon. To keep you safe. To keep you with me.”
Skylar forced a laugh, trying to treat it as a joke despite the goosebumps on her skin. “I’d like to see you try,” she retorted, aiming for a lightness she didn’t feel.
In an instant, Arye was in her space again, his face mere inches from hers. “Don’t tempt me, Sky,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Before she could respond, he was gone, striding out of the cell and leaving her alone. Skylar stood frozen, her cheeks flushed and her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from her thoughts.
Yes, she wanted to be entirely his.
As much as she wanted him to be hers.