Chapter 29
Hours later, my shoulders finally went numb. I tugged at the restraints, wishing the cramping and pain would return.
It was my only distraction from the three bodies still strewn across the floor, a lake of blood around them.
Some na?ve part of me had thought Koerlyn would remove the bodies when he left the room. Instead, he’d locked them in with me, a stark reminder of what any disobedience would accomplish. I’d made the mistake of looking over at them once and nearly vomited.
I hadn’t made that mistake again, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead.
But now, the metallic scent of blood was beginning to thicken in the air. Whether it was born of my imagination or not, evidence of the deaths I’d caused was now in every choking breath. There was no escaping it.
I yanked at my wrists again, needing something, anything else to focus on, but felt nothing in my shoulders. Despair threatened to seize my chest for the hundredth time.
There was no way out of the room. I’d searched for ways to free myself, but the straps on my wrists might as well have been iron manacles.
Unless I was willing to crush the bones in my hands, I was stuck here.
And I wasn’t desperate enough to take such extreme measures.
At least, not yet. So I would be trapped here with the bodies until Koerlyn decided to move either me or them.
Or until Harthon came for me.
And he would. I knew he would. He would probably throttle me for delivering myself to Koerlyn, and things would never be the same between us, but he would come and keep me safe. Physically, anyway.
Hope mixed with something sour at the thought, and I welcomed the muddied emotions. It was far better than thinking about the corpses.
Footsteps sounded outside my door, and the heavy wood suddenly swung open. I craned my neck toward the entrance and froze.
Moss green eyes. Short, cropped hair. A vein that stretched against the skin of his forehead.
It was the tree man. The one I’d stabbed so many weeks ago.
Only now, his face wasn’t covered in mud, revealing strong angles and lines that reminded me a little of Harthon.
The man’s skin was a shade darker than Harthon’s, though, and texture by his eyes made him seem slightly older.
A simple black tunic sat draped across wide, muscled shoulders, giving him a clean appearance that was so at odds with the barbaric image of him in the woods.
His face a blank slate, he stared at me for a moment before glancing down at the bodies before him.
He frowned, looking somewhat disgusted, and began to skirt the pool of blood.
When he stopped beside the bed, his eyes roamed over me from hands to feet.
My legs tensed under his watch. If he was planning on exacting revenge for what I did with my knife, I would kick him in the throat before he could do a thing.
I would try, anyway.
He finished his perusal, and the corner of his lips lifted. “No daggers,” he said in that low, guttural voice.
“Unfortunately.”
He shifted. I prepared to kick out, but all he did was reach for my wrists. With efficient movements, he released the cords from the bed frame. Still bound together, my hands fell to the bed above my head. I couldn’t move my arms.
“This will hurt for a minute,” he said frankly, and then he grabbed my forearms and unceremoniously moved my hands to my stomach.
I clenched my teeth through the pain in my shoulders, eyes watering as fire licked through the frozen joints.
Then he produced a small burlap sack from his pocket, and I scrambled to a seat.
A second later, the sack was over my head, encasing me in darkness.
Immediately, my hands flew to the fabric, ready to tear it off.
A big, warm hand snatched mine, shoving them back down. “I didn’t just put that on so you can take it off.”
I considered fighting him for a moment, but it would be useless. I couldn’t overpower him with my hands tied. I wouldn’t have many opportunities to make a move, and I couldn’t afford to waste one.
“What’s going on?” I bristled as he pulled me to my feet.
“Princeps Koerlyn wants to see you.”
Had he already figured out my lie? No—there was no way. It wasn’t like he’d gotten someone to go to Sixth and back in just a few hours. But if not that, what could he possibly want me for? Information about Harthon? More senseless killings?
Forcing a bravado I didn’t remotely feel, I said, “You really call him Princeps when he’s not around?”
Tree man’s hand wrapped around my bicep and tugged. I followed, trying not to trip over my feet.
“He has a thing for respect. It’s something you should remember,” he answered dryly.
My boot hit something wet—the pool of blood—and my foot slipped from beneath me. He caught me with his grip, yanking me to my feet. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Then he promptly swept me into his chest.
Stiff as stone, I went silent, trying to understand who this man was.
I’d stabbed him. He was the enemy. He should have let me fall. Why didn’t he?
Probably because Koerlyn doesn’t want you covered in blood.
A few steps later, warmer air and the scent of roasted meats washed over me.
Cautious hope sparked. There had to be a kitchen nearby.
Kitchens typically had exit points that led outdoors, enabling easier food deliveries.
It could be a viable escape route. The tree man planted me on my feet, that hand back on my bicep as I found my balance.
The moment I was steady, he was tugging me again.
We went straight, then right, and then left, the scent of food growing stronger with every turn. By the time he jerked me to a stop, it smelled like I was in the actual kitchen, but there were no sounds of bustling cooks—only quiet. The bag was ripped from my head a moment later.
I was in a small, candlelit room, a long table brimming with food standing between me and Koerlyn, who smiled.
My already shaky optimism faltered. There was a kitchen here, but it was nowhere close to me.
“Etarla, how nice of you to join me for dinner,” Koerlyn said pleasantly.
Like I had a choice. I stemmed the response before it came out.
Various meats, vegetables, and breads were piled high on platters that could feed ten men. Another Princeps, wasting food and resources while his people starved. Frankly, that seemed to be the least of Koerlyn’s flaws.
Koerlyn dipped his chin, and the tree man sliced the bindings from my wrists. Then he departed without a word, leaving me with the two guards at the door and the most vile man in the Territories.
“Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair adjacent to him, fine dishware set before it.
I complied, only because I knew my defiance would very well result in more senseless deaths. Holding my chin high and spine straight, I calmly walked to the cushioned chair and sat, staring hard at the stone wall across from me.
“I hope you brought your appetite,” he commented, reaching for a platter. When I didn’t answer, his hand froze. “Did you, Etarla?”
I hesitated, not knowing what the correct answer was. Would no be disrespectful? Would he see through my lie if I said yes? If he did, what punishment would he deal this time? “I wasn’t expecting dinner, Princeps. So I don’t quite have an appetite,” I answered carefully, meeting his frosty eyes.
“I don’t suppose the bodies would have anything to do with your lack of appetite, would they?” He spoke casually, as if he were simply asking about the weather and not the cruel horror he’d committed in my room.
“They might have some role, Princeps,” I managed as neutrally as I could.
He simply shrugged and began to build our plates with an easy grace. The food was steaming and smelled of rich herbs and butter, but my stomach only roiled in response. Hungry as I was, I wanted nothing from this monster.
“It wasn’t my wish to bring you here and punish you, you know. But it’s important that you know your place.” He finished serving us and rested back against his chair. “Do you know your place now?”
For a moment, I thought about taking the dinner knife at my fingertips and jabbing it into his eye.
It would kill him. It would end his reign of terror.
End this. I could do it so quickly—too quickly for the guards at the door to stop me.
If Koerlyn had any form of training, he might be able to stop me, but he seemed far too snobbish to ever grapple with anyone or throw a punch.
But I’d only had a few weeks of training myself, and if he did manage to stop me, what he did in my room today would be mere child’s play in comparison to the consequences I would face.
It was only that thought that made me dip my chin and say, “Yes, Princeps.” I would cooperate. I would allow him to think I was beneath his thumb. And I would use that to my advantage when it was time to escape.
Koerlyn smiled brightly. “Very well, then. We eat.” He cut a small piece of carrot in two as I gripped my utensils, trying to calm my stomach. “Eat, Etarla,” he hummed, spearing the carrot and elegantly bringing it to his lips.
I cut a potato with mechanical movements and stuck it in my mouth, willing myself to chew. It was easily the richest tasting food I’d ever eaten in my life, but it felt like cotton going down my throat. I forced myself to eat more.
If anything, food would keep me strong for whatever was to come.
“Harthon and I aren’t all that different, you know,” Koerlyn commented minutes later, breaking the silence as we ate.
A piece of potato lodged in my throat. Apparently, Koerlyn was as delusional as he was evil and cruel. I’d assumed he was smarter than Ellan.
As if sensing my doubt, he continued, “He kills. I kill. He wants power. I want power. He’s…
how do you say it…committed a fine number of cruelties both before his reign and now.
The same goes for me. Not for no reason, of course.
” He paused to take a bite of meat, chewing for an unnecessarily long amount of time.
“He’s just glamoured you, whereas I have not. ”
Harthon and Koerlyn were vastly different men, different leaders. I shoved a hunk of tender meat in my mouth, not knowing how to respond.
“Even now, you’re still glamoured.” He grinned around a sip of wine, like I humored him. “What do you think he plans to do when he enters the Domus, hmm? What has he told you, Etarla, dear?”
The endearment burned my ears.
“He’s going to use the resources in Centralis to help our people.” Unlike you.
“And what else is he going to do?”
I placed my fork and knife on the table and met his eyes with a steady gaze. “With access to those resources, he might become a king, a ruler of all the Territories. He’ll improve the state of things, not only for him and the elite, but for everyone.”
Koerlyn gave me a pitying look, shaking his head in disdain. “You really believe that. I can see it in your eyes. I thought you might be smarter than that. The small-sighted villager in you is showing.”
I might have been such a person once, but not any longer.
I softly smiled against the insult. “I can’t escape how I was raised, I suppose. Would you care to educate me, Princeps?”
“It would be my pleasure, darling.” He took another bite of his meal, once more chewing for ages before daintily swallowing.
“Harthon was raised in his father’s mercenary group, taking part in atrocities and thereby learning what happens to those with power, and those without.
When he departed from that group, he killed his father, who until then was his greatest competition.
This established his merry little band as the most powerful mercenary group in the Territories.
Then he killed Princeps Tamen to take his throne, increasing his power yet again through violence.
Now, he wishes to proceed forward once more—to enter Centralis, to take more power, and to become a king like Donan.
As I’m sure you well know, maiming and killing mean nothing to him.
I’m sure violence will be involved in this next acquisition. ”
I’d never thought of Harthon’s history in such a negative way. But Koerlyn was simply presenting facts in a way to intentionally scramble my mind. Acquiring power in the ways Harthon did was necessary. It was the only way to be in a position where he could help his people.
“Harthon wants power. I want power. Neither of us care very much for anything more. Any promises he makes of benevolence are lies to gain cooperation from you or his people. The only difference between me and Harthon is that he also wants the victory of fucking you before you fulfill your purpose and he tosses you aside.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to rile at his crude statement.
“Harthon takes women and quickly disposes of them. Simply ask his minister, who once tried to win his heart before realizing it was a fruitless endeavor.”
It was like a punch to the throat. Ana—he spoke of Ana. The Ana who Harthon still spoke warmly to. My lips parted.
He hummed. “Yes, that’s right. They were together for a long time.
Years, apparently. She was under the impression that she had his heart.
” He scoffed. “She didn’t, of course. Anything like a relationship would weaken his power.
I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, Etarla, but you are simply a means to an end for him, just as you are for me. ”
His apology was a mockery. He knew exactly the response those words would elicit—watched as they hit home, striking me even as I fought to remain stoic.
He’s trying to rattle you. Or, maybe he was telling the truth.
Ana was the perfect type of woman for Harthon.
I’d thought so from the very beginning. She was beautiful, smart, strong, witty, and made for his world.
I could easily see them being together. And if they had been together, how could he not want to be with her forever?
Why would he kiss me instead, when she still stood beside him, as beautiful and strong and perfect as ever?
I didn’t compare to her. Not in the slightest. If Harthon couldn’t give his heart to her, he surely couldn’t care for me.
Those kisses couldn’t have meant a thing.
Maybe you are just temporary. A convenient body. A distraction.
Koerlyn reached for his wine. “Not that it matters, of course. Because now you’re with me. And the next time you see Harthon, I’ll make certain it’s with his head removed from his body.”