Chapter 4
The BEAST
The steady drip of water woke Adalia from her sleep. Her entire body ached. She gingerly touched the dry blood crusted over the wound on her face and winced. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She was lying on the floor of a damp stone cell with no clue how long she’d been there. They had bound her wings with leather strapping and chained her hands together.
Groaning, she pulled herself up to lean against the wall. The movement alone drained her of what little energy she had left. The room was tiny, with no bed or windows, only a wooden door with a small hole at head height.
Panic hit her like a tidal wave as invisible hands tore at her throat. Breathing Oscuro air felt like betraying her very soul. But she knew if she didn’t, she may as well lay there and let them take it from her body. She was in the enemy kingdom.
The memory of the female Thorn sneering over her flashed across her mind. Scrambling thoughts raced as she tried to piece together exactly what had happened.
It should have been a simple mission.
Did her station know she was missing? And if they did, would they have told her brother or her parents? Would they come looking for her?
She hoped they wouldn’t. There was no need to endanger more lives.
She needed to be smart.
Wrong moves, dumb decisions, and feelings couldn’t be allowed to get in the way. If there was a time where wisdom needed to be her identity, it was now.
The jangle of metal keys sounded through the small space and Adalia closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever was about to unfold. A female guard entered the cell, crossed the room, and roughly pulled her to her feet. It was at this moment she realised they’d exchanged her Lightner leathers for garments that barely covered the essentials. How dare they unwillingly strip her and change her clothing while she was unconscious? Who did these creatures think they were?
Disgusted, and barefoot, they pulled her up through dark stairwells and into dreary halls, causing her to wince in pain with every step she took.
Fear gripped Adalia as two guards opened black wooden doors upon their approach, a Thorn shoved her over the threshold and into the large expanse. Adalia stumbled forwards, nearly falling face first into the ground, but she composed herself. As her captor pushed her again, she noted the layout of the room, looking for every escape route.
Not that she found any.
It must have been meal time, as the table was laden with food of various kinds and there was an abundance of Thorns who were stuffing their faces.
Adalia felt sick.
These creatures were off-putting with their mannerisms—licking fingers covered in grease and wiping them on their clothing. Something about them seemed wrong. As if, for all their elegant attire, they were still only beasts underneath.
“Ahhh, so kind of you to join us, Lucius filth. I trust your accommodations were up to your standards?” The king’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Adalia refused to meet his eye or waste her breath on him.
“Still playing the silent, brooding prisoner, are we?”
A chair scraped across the stone floor as the king rose from the table. He sauntered over and took the chain from the male that held her. “We can make this as horrid as you like,” he sneered as he yanked on the metal binding her wrists. The iron bit into her skin and Adalia closed her eyes against the pain.
“Until you answer all my questions, you will serve me wine at each meal so that not only can I drink to my heart’s content, I can drink you in with my eyes as well,” the king purred before licking the side of Adalias’ face, his black hair brushing her neck—his hot breath burning her skin.
It took every ounce of her willpower not to respond to the stomach-curdling sensation.
“Now, be a good girl and serve the wine,” the king growled at her.
Adalia squared her shoulders and picked up the bottle of wine. Every part of her wanted to resist—to fight, but there were too many abled bodies in the room. She would bide her time and come up with a plan. Adalia tried to still her trembling hands as she poured the king a glass—he watched her with an insufferable smirk.
Once she’d finished, she moved on to the Thorn seated next to the king. He was staring at her with yellow eyes and a lopsided grin on his oddly beautiful face. Adalia shuddered as his fingertips grazed her bare thigh below the table. She made her way around until she reached the last person.
The male placed his stringed instrument down as he offered his cup. Adalia met his gaze as she poured the liquid. He didn’t smile or offer her any form of sympathy, but something in his eyes made her linger a second longer.
They were cloudy grey in the centre, bleeding out into ice blue, framed with dark lashes. His pale coloured skin was a striking contrast against her own. Adalia’s eyes flicked to the small, golden nose ring in his right nostril. It was the first time she’d seen a male with jewellery in their nose, and she didn’t want to admit to herself that she liked it.
His dark-brown hair was short at the sides but held a tangle of curls on top. Adalia wondered how it might feel beneath the touch of her fingertips.
His face bore a small black marking etched just below the outer corner of his left eye—a waning crescent moon. As Adalia’s eyes travelled further, she saw it wasn’t the only marking upon his skin.
Peeking from the collar of his shirt was a huge moth, drawn in fine detail across his throat, its wings stretching over either side of his neck. The muscular hand that held the cup was covered in tattoos as well. Adalia wondered if there was any skin on his body that an ink filled needle hadn’t touched.
Her eyes travelled to the black feathered wings that fell over the back of his chair, the tips laying against the floor, still and unmoving like the gaze that hadn’t wavered.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Adalia back to the current situation. The male dropped his stare, and she shuffled her feet towards a dark-haired woman who was throwing daggers with her eyes. Adalia poured her wine and placed the bottle down on the table.
“Eyes on the floor, Lucius filth,” the woman hissed before returning to her glass.
Adalia flinched at the woman’s harsh words. No one had ever spoken to her in this manner before, not until Oscuro. Perhaps this woman was the queen? The green-eyed beauty certainly looked like she could be a queen, not that a royal status gave one permission to be rude.
Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself, Adalia backed away from the table, her chains dragging along the floor as she shuffled her feet. Closing her eyes, Adalia imagined she was back in Lucius—seated with Nikolas and Shiloh around her table. Everything was safe and warm. There were no glaring eyes or offensive words—just peace.
What if she never experienced that again? What if True Death found her here?
The room filled with the hum of chatter and utensils clinking against crockery as people ate and drank.
Adalia stole a glance towards the king as he picked up his stringed veslo and started strumming. It looked identical to the one the blue-eyed male had played earlier. The king’s arms circled the instrument, and he hummed a tune while the rest of the table ate or drank, throwing insults at one another or laughing at crude jokes. Adalia eyed the doorways and windows, but knew trying to run for one would cause more pain or even death.
Flicking her gaze across the room, they fell on the blue-eyed male. Adalia noticed he was barely touching his food or partaking in any conversations as his tall frame slumped in the chair. He seemed bored, perhaps annoyed even.
Who was he? And why did it seem like he didn’t belong here?
As if he could feel her watching him, he looked up and caught her gaze.
Her body warmed in response and she inwardly scolded herself.
Breaking the trance she seemed to be caught in, Adalia looked down at her feet as she stood awkwardly in the corner, feeling weaker with each second that passed. She hadn’t eaten in what seemed like forever, and it was taking a toll on her body.
“Are you ready to answer my questions, girl?” The king’s sharp voice drifted to her ears.
She wanted to speak; she wanted to ask for water, but Adalia was fading fast, her mouth struggling to form words. Her ears began ringing and before she could steady herself, the surrounding room turned black.
Adalia’s coughing woke her—she needed water.
She was back in the cell, her body free of chains, yet her wings were still bound. Not that it mattered. She didn’t have the strength to use them, anyway. A dull ache throbbed in her ribs and she lightly brushed her fingers over the area, wincing in pain. Her memories returned. How could she forget the feeling of a solid boot as it contacted her body, cracking bones and rupturing blood cells? When the Thorn had pushed her into the cell, he’d kicked her in the ribs, causing her to black out once again.
She spied a small tray near the door with a cup of water and a piece of bread. Adalia scrambled, pain erupting from her body as she did so. She devoured both in seconds. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.
Dragging herself backwards, she rested against the wall and closed her eyes. How did this happen? One minute she was freeing the Thorn woman and the next minute she found herself trapped inside the very walls she vowed to never enter.
If only Nikolas were here. Tears pricked her eyes, and Adalia quickly wiped them away. She needed to focus if she was going to make it out alive. Maybe she could just answer the king and he would let her go.
Pain washed over her in waves and Adalia gave into it, unconsciousness claiming her as she slumped to her side, not waking until the sky was black, and serving wine to the royals was the theme again.
It had been the same routine in the dining room that evening. And the next. And the next.
The king would question her, Adalia would refuse to answer and then she was forced into serving them liquor while scantily clad. She was thankful when the king pulled out his veslo and started playing a tune. It meant that the focus shifted away from her, and they would return her to the dungeon.
Chains clanked together as she walked, her head hung low. Adalia wasn’t sure how much more of this she could endure. In Lucius she was a major, one of the highest rankings in the King of Lucius’s army, and years of training had helped her to channel pain and turn it into resilience. This kind of pain was different, though. Not only was it physical, it was mental, too.
If one of her soldiers, or someone of her ranking for that matter, became trapped in Oscuro, would she come for them?
Would the King of Lucius come for her?
The Thorn shoved her into the damp room so roughly she fell to her knees, the sound of them crunching against the hardened ground echoed in her ears, and she fought back instant tears.
The Thorn slammed the cup of water down and left her cell, shutting the door behind him and locking it securely.
No bread today. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was worth talking if it meant she could have some food.
Adalia crawled on her hands and knees towards the water and drank it all. Wishing there was a small crust to eat.
Her mother made the best bread, warm, fresh, covered in butter and honey. Her stomach growled. Pulling herself into a sitting position—wincing with every move she made—Adalia softly groaned and leant against the icy surface of the stone wall.
Sighing, Adalia let her head gently fall back until it rested against the wall.
Movement caught her eye as someone stepped out from the shadows in the corner of her cell. Adalia’s head whipped around, and she met the steely gaze of the blue-eyed male that sat silently at the table with every meal. How had he suddenly appeared in the room without making a sound?
Something about his presence brought fear. How did he get in here? How long had he been watching her? Yet, as her shock settled, a strange sense of peace followed.
“Who are you?” she asked, pushing herself against the wall and standing to her feet.
“No one of interest, but at your service, my lady,” he answered as he took a small bow.
Adalia shook her head. “I don’t need your services. I need to go home.”
The stranger placed his hands in his black trouser pockets and paced the room. “I’m sure you would, but you see, my father simply will not allow that.”
“Your father?”
The stranger stilled, distaste flashing across his face. “The king.”
Trepidation washed over her as she realised that the man standing before her, mysterious and handsome, was the prince of the dark world in which she was currently held captive. Adalia swallowed her fear and stood as tall as she could.
“Why won’t your father let me go? What use am I to him?”
The prince shrugged his shoulders, “Who knows what the king’s plans are—but I can guarantee you won’t be getting out of here until he gets what he wants.”
Adalia felt the crack in her heart widen. Hope was bleeding from her body, and she feared she may never see her family again.
“What were you doing in Oscuro in the first place? There are rules for both kingdoms, and there are consequences for those who disobey,” he mused as he strolled towards her slowly. Too slowly.
Adalia held her breath when he reached her. His scent enveloped her body. A mix of juniper berries and sandalwood.
He leaned forward. “You stay out of our kingdom, and we stay out of yours. It’s that simple,” the prince murmured.
“You’re insane if you think I willingly stepped into this life-destroying realm and placed myself in this putrid cage. If you must know, I’d just released one of your kind back into this horrid kingdom. And after locating the tear she’d snuck through, I was ambushed and kicked through the Veil. I see now that the goodness in my heart has done me a disservice. Perhaps I should have just killed her when I had the chance,” Adalia replied through clenched teeth.
The prince pulled back and chuckled. It made Adalia see red.
“You poor little dove, locked up here in this putrid cage. Wings bound and heart broken—how will you escape?”
He reached down and gripped her face in one of his hands. “Why don’t you fight back if you don’t wish to be here? Show me the strength and power of a Lightner soldier.”
Adalia turned her head away from him and stared across the room.
The prince retreated and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “No? Hmm . . . Then you may never get out. Unless . . .”
The word brought on a peculiar mixture of hope and dread. “Unless?” Adalia asked.
“Unless we made a deal.”
Nearly choking on her spit, Adalia threw him a wary look. “I don’t make deals with the devil.”
“Ouch, you wound me, little dove. Don’t you want to hear what I have to offer first?” the prince asked as he took a turn about the room.
“Stop calling me that!” Adalia demanded. “I have a name.”
The prince raised a brow. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“My name is Adalia, and what could you possibly offer me? I certainly have nothing you need.”
The blue-eyed prince placed his hands behind his back, his huge black wings towering over his head as he walked towards Adalia once again. “Well, Adalia.” The way her name rolled off his tongue sent little bumps across her body. “I will give you your freedom, in exchange for one small token.”
Adalia held her breath for what seemed like a century as the prince neared, his blue eyes never leaving her face. “Is that token my life?”
He chuckled again and shook his head. “Your freedom . . . for a kiss.”
A kiss? He was joking, right?
“You mean to tell me you will defy your father and set his captive free in exchange for a kiss?” Adalia folded her arms across her chest, gritting her teeth from the pain.
His gaze followed her movement, and she was suddenly very aware that there wasn’t a lot of fabric covering her body. Heat rose in her cheeks.
The prince nodded; a smirk plastered across his face.
“Over. My. Dead. Body.” Adalia spoke each word with firmness.
“Have it your way, little dove.” The prince grinned. “But let me say, as soon as I walk out of this room, the deal is off the table.”
“You’re a beast,” she hissed.
The prince laughed. “Call me what you like, but at least this beast has freedom.”
Adalia lunged for him, but she lacked strength, so just fell at his feet. The prince moved just out of her reach and looked her over. “Last chance.”
“I would rather die a thousand deaths than ever touch my lips to yours,” she said to his feet.
“Have it your way, little dove.” And with that, he vanished from the room.
Adalia slumped, finally succumbing to the emotion that had been building since the moment she fell into Oscuro, and she wept.