CHAPTER 133: ONE HUNDRED & THIRTY THREE

Valka

It happens during the breakfast hour.

I am being prepared by the maids, their hands finishing the curls in my hair when the guards barged into my chamber and grabbed my arms. I take several deep breaths, steadying myself before asking, "What is the matter?"

I am awarded no response, the guards’ grips icy as they force me down step after step. The hallways of the castle are scantier than they were last night and the few maids and courtiers traipsing the halls cast off shadowed, haunted looks as they watch me go by, not at all bothered by this new development.

We stride through two enormous stone doors--not the breakfast halls--but the throne room and I start at the sight of Rafael who lounges in his throne. Between last night and this morning, he’d taken a bath and worked on his appearance. There is more clarity in his eyes than I’ve seen in them in all the weeks I’ve been stuck here, and his head is cocked at an observant angle as his eyes trail lazily over me.

Something about the lack of a goblet in his hands and the pleasant smile on his face sends all my alarms wailing, but I am hurled forward anyway.

The cold marble floor is unyielding as I slam into it and I wince, holding myself up by my hands and knees. But I remain there, before the dias, as that chilling silence echoes louder than the sound of whispers in the hall.

I lift my head then, to meet clear grey eyes.

Rafael leans forward in his seat. "Of course, it never did occur to me that all of our plans came to wither with your presence. A slight on my end," he muses. "Letting myself get swayed by your seemingly innocent face and false support. But I do suppose all’s fairplay in war, and you Valka, have cost us this war."

My arms buckle beneath me, but I keep my face smooth, forcing confusion to crease my forehead. "I’m not sure I understand what I am being accused of--"

"Accused? No." He chuckles, soft and dangerous. "Sentenced."

"Sentenced?" I echo, every act of subservience completely gone. "For what crimes, exactly? You give a dog a bone, and he’ll chew it. I agree. It was your slight. Your mistake for thinking that granting me luxuries, giving me a title, parading me before your court, and stripping me bare over and over would somehow remake me into something I am not. You were the fool who wanted to believe that I, Lyra Draemont, the Queen of ’beasts’, mate to your enemy, would ever want a place in your court or your bed."

For a moment, he does nothing but unnerve me with that unblinking stare. And then...

"Do you know why I like you, Valka?" At my lack of care for a response, he says, "Because I can never quite tell what you might say or do next. Because you cannot, are incapable of being subjugated." He grins. "We shall have so much fun together, you and I."

"Cute," I say humorlessly, my gaze snapping to the entrances and exit of the halls. This is bad. This is really bad.

He traces the curve of his moustache with a casual finger, as if playing with a toy, his face taking up a contemplative look. "We’re close to siege. There is a camp outside of gathering barbarians from across the seas and more coming from what our sources say. We’ve been forced to barricade the inner walls to prevent your monster from ripping through the keep. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?" His eyes flick to mine again. "In a straight fight he could win, but with you here we hold the leverage that turns the tides."

A small, delighted light ignites in his eyes. Dread claws at my stomach. "We’ll send you to him."

My brows furrow, but then he adds, "Piece by piece." He rises, his coat dusting the ground by his feet as he approaches. "Wear us down, he might, but there will be nothing left of you to recover once he is done with his rampage. If he cares enough for you to paint my walls in blood, then a surrender must not be too much of a sacrifice."

I bare my teeth at him, hot, angry hatred at him, at myself on taking pity on him. I should have killed him last night. I should have stabbed him over and over and over, until there was nothing recognizable about him. I should have taken that chance, even if it was treason. Even if it meant Lilith would become Queen and sentence me to death, just so she could gain the sympathy and support of her people. I should have taken the chance and killed the motherfucker.

As if hearing my thoughts, he croons, "You should have."

And then his wrist snaps and I flinch, expecting a blow, but it is much worse.

Pain flares white-hot on my face as his claws tear across my cheek in a brutal slash. I gasp, grasping at the shredded skin as I try to get away from him, fear numbing the fire in my blood. He is going to kill me in the same manner he killed his grandmother.

The guards hold me in, but Rafael does’t raise his hand again. Instead he crouches, eyes fixated on the blood running down my skin. And he reaches forward ever so softly and prods the gash.

No. Not prod.

He holds it open with a finger and, with a calmness that feels worse than madness, tilts a small ink pot beneath it and lets my blood spill into it like a dark, glossy dye.

He watches the pot fill like an artist inspecting pigment. "Beautiful," he murmurs. "While a letter written in your blood might be proof he cannot ignore, I believe he needs a little more of an incentive to force him here for a chat." He sets the pot aside and with the same clinical serenity, he gives the next order. "Tear out each nail from her right hand. Do not wipe them. We’ll send them first--a souvenir to start the negotiations." He pauses and without any warmth, he points at my neck, at Lucien’s mark. "Here." He taps twice. "You will brand her here. Unclean."

***

"I tried to warn you, you know."

I don’t look up from my bandaged fingers. The blood doesn’t stop. Nails. Such small things. You never think about them, not really. They’re just there, a quiet part of you. Until they’re not. Until they are torn out with pincers. Until they start to grow again, only to have the flesh bed torn out, too.

They say they’ll come for my fingers next. And then, my toes. And then, my limbs.

"Don’t touch the pup," Rafael had said. "In any case, you do not have to be whole to push a child out of your cunt. Hopefully, he’ll take a bit of time before he gives in to my gentle request. Which by then, I will have sent him your beautiful legs. Even better. You’ll never be able to run from me again. Oh, but the thought already excites me enough to make me consider doing that first. Just for the pleasure of it."

I am such an idiot. What did I think granting him one more day was going to do? Change him? Since when did I give villains chances? How could I have let that get to me?

And now, I have put Lucien in danger again. I hope he wouldn’t come.

But I know better.

Gods, I’m such a fool.

Lilith crouches, pushing a plate of healthy food in front of me. "I let you have your fun with him because it kept him away from my bed. Having his affection is not a good thing," she murmurs and lifts her skirts, uncaring of the leering gazes of the guards.

My stomach twists and it is an effort not to throw up all over the floors.

I’d thought the ache of being branded unclean was visceral. But Lilith is covered in welts. Her skin blotched red. There are burn marks, bruises, and the stings of brands, all the way up her thighs. She shrugs, letting the lovely purple tulle cover her once more. "He insists before he fucks me that I must be ’clean’ and ’absolved’ of the crimes of our ancestors."

Oh gods.

"And you choose to remain by his side."

She looks at me funny, and then lowers her voice so only I can hear. "Choices, Lyra. Choices."

My brows furrow. "You don’t have to. We could leave. I could talk to Lucien to grant you clemency. We could leave this all behind and go back home--"

Her cruel laugh echoes in the air. "I do not want clemency anymore. After talking to you that day, something shifted. I stopped blaming my parents for what I became and realized... I like it. Craved it. Power. The hunger of it. I went to Lucien’s bedroom that night, not just to spare my life, but because gods, I wanted it so badly. All that power that he didn’t even care for. For the taking. And for as long as he lives, I can never have that."

Her lips curve. "So let them fight and kill each other over you. I will be queen of Silvermoor when Rafael dies and you will be useless. House Nythorn isn’t large enough to support you as regent. House Blackspire’s influence, however, is unrivalled. I’m sure my father has cut me out, but if I return with a kingdom in hand and Lucien’s heir, I’m sure I’ll be welcomed back home with open hands."

I stare at her, the horror dawning on me slowly. "Lucien’s heir?"

Her gaze drops to my belly. "Yes. I will take him with me. After I have cut out your heart."

My heart stills. At the look on my face, she laughs. "Oh Lyra. I don’t give a fuck about you. That baby, however, matters a whole lot to ensure everything goes according to plan for me. He will be crowned prince. And I, whom you have entrusted him with, will rule as regent."

I am lunging for the gates, grabbing the front of her dress and hurling her forward before I can even think. "I would die before I let you take him from me."

She grabs my wrist and an awful burning sensation encircles my wrist, growing worse by the second until I snatch my hand back. "We’ve all deciphered at this point that you are all bark and no bite. Eat the food, Lyra. For our child. You must stay healthy."

And with that, she leaves me.

I grab the tray and hurl it against the wall, exhaling in sharp pants. I reach for the collar on my throat with my uninjured hand, tearing at my skin in frustration as I try pulling it off. It doesn’t budge.

Useless. I have so much useless rage inside, none that I can exert or do a single thing with. So I sit in the corner of the small cell and wait. I wait for them to come and hack me to pieces.

But they don’t.

The next time the guards circle back, it’s to unlock my cell.

Because Lucien didn’t wait around to call Rafael’s bluff. He walked right into the castle.

Alone.