The wolf shakes its head. “I only wish that my father lives to see the realm at peace. Then Mother can rest easily. Kairyn will give me the judgment I deserve.”
A growl erupts from my throat. “And what about what I deserve? My mate safe and in my arms!”
The wolf shifts, sadly. A sob breaks free from my chest, and I push myself against the bars, reaching out to him. My fingers lace through the fur by his ears. The air sings with magic, and Ezryn shifts. My hands now clutch the side of his face, his fae body leaning against the bars before me.
He blinks at me, his dark eyes beautiful in the lamplight. I’ll never tire of seeing this face. A smile cracks through my tears, and I stroke the points of his ears, tangle my hands in his hair.
He reaches through the bars and grabs my chin. “I will never leave you, Rosalina. No matter what happens to me, I’ll always be a part of you now.”
A voice echoes down the hallway: “Time’s up!” The guards.
Ezryn flicks his gaze into the dark. “Now, go. If you linger any longer, they’ll come looking for you, and they’ll be surprised by what they find.”
“Ezryn—” I begin, but he pulls away, body shifting back into the beast.
As I walk back through the dark hallways, I realize my last hope now lies with Kairyn. I pray that his own shattered heart still holds some mercy.
86
Caspian
A curtain of briars around the bed. Yes, she would like that. I craft it, red petals interweaving in a flowing sheet. Perfect. In my mind, my thorns are not blighted purple things, but the bright green vines of a rosebush. I need to keep building this imaginary house bigger, reinforcing the windows, letting nothing of the outside world in. Taller walls, more vines, more roses—
Crack.
Pain radiates through my body. A substantial part of my pretend house shatters, bursting into flame. Glimpses of reality break through in fiery bursts of agony: the rusted manacles digging into my wrists, the decaying post I’m chained to, the ground where my bare feet can’t find purchase on the blood-soaked stone. But I’m still standing. There’s that, at least.
I heave in a breath, preparing for the next assault, trying to build up this barrier in my mind against the real world. More roses, more—
Crack.
The flail comes down across my back, spreading its barbed flame tips. I bite my teeth so hard, I think they’ll break. I won’t cry out. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
My cheek scrapes against the wooden post. It stands like a sentinel in Nether Reach’s square. Through the black edges of my vision, I see quite a crowd has gathered to witness the Prince of Thorns’ punishment. There are chittering goblins and soldiers alike. There’s even a cave troll or two in the back.
Can’t blame them. I’d watch me get whipped, too.
My mother’s not here, though. I think she left after the first fifty lashes.
“Decided to join us, pretty?” A voice sneers behind me.
I curse the delay of the next strike. It’s easier to disappear in the rhythm of it, but the pause only amplifies the impact of the pain. Groaning, I glance over my shoulder. The Queen of the Below must be furious with me, as she assigned him.
No one remembers his real name, or they don’t care to, but in the Tower of Nether Reach, he’s known as Emberlash, a twisted deserter of the Autumn Realm with a disposition for fire. He’s enchanted his barbed whip with flames.
It’s stupidly effective at not just breaking apart the skin but searing through the muscle down to the bone. The pain jolts me fully back into reality, and I silence another cry. Stars, it feels like he’s stripped my whole spine bare.
“Did you hear me, beautiful?” Emberlash jeers. He’s filed his teeth into points, giving his words an airy hiss. “Ready to cry for mercy now?”
“Just woke up from a nap,” I call, trying desperately to hide the hoarse quaver in my voice. “Barely felt a thing so far.”
The fae gives an animalistic sort of snarl. Anyone who ventures to the Below has to be somewhat unbalanced, and Emberlash is no exception.
Perhaps to my own detriment.
With a swift, malicious swing, the flail cracks down upon my back. The barbs, wickedly sharp, tear through what’s left of my flesh. Waves of heat engulf me, and it smells like burning. Seven realms, is that my own skin? Don’t cry out, don’t cry out.
I need to disappear deep into my mind. I built these retreats, these escapes, not just to hide from the pain, but to block out the whispers.
Not the goblins’ jeering or Emberlash’s taunts.