“Your magic, Everinne.” He jerked his head toward the bedroom behind him. “Dress immediately. Your clothing is on the bed. There is a guard positioned just outside the main door, he will escort you to the dungeon.”
Her nails dug into the fur robe, and she eyed the kralv with trepidation. “Dungeon?”
He’d made no mention of sending her to the dungeon.
Kralv Oldrich laughed, a brusque, dissonant sound. “Surely you don’t expect me to have you torture my captives in the throne room, do you?”
Torture.
He was going to use her to torture people.
Nausea roiled in her stomach, leaving her queasy as the acidic pit scoured the back of her throat with bile. She swallowed the burning dread down and released a shallow breath.
What had she done by agreeing to this monster’s terms?
As though sensing her unease, the kralv pounced upon her hesitation.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked, the stench of his magic unfurling.
“No, Your Imperial Majesty.” Everinne shook her head, but it was too late. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because I’m sure you remember what awaits you if you refuse my demands.”
The bathing suite was clogged with the acrid stench of sulfur and smoke. His power prodded at her thoughts, infiltrating her defenses, thieving its way into the darkest corner of her mind where it grasped her greatest fears and dragged them to the forefront, leaving her raw and exposed. She fought the intrusion, giving up the broken, sharp pieces of her, showing him exactly what he wanted to see. Weakness in her inability to control her death magic. Fragility of the heart, like it would fracture under the slightest pressure. But the bond remained secure, safely tucked away behind the layers of her own inner turmoil. She crafted a false terror to disguise the imprint Atlas had left upon her soul, a painful lie to ensure the thread binding them together was undetected by Kralv Oldrich’s wretched power of extracting fear.
Horrific visions plagued her, inescapable illusions of what she would be forced to endure if she failed to heed the kralv’s orders.
His heinous chuckle assaulted her ears. “So many fears.”
Everinne let him believe it. As long as Kralv Oldrich couldn’t reach the bond, then he couldn’t reach Atlas. He wouldn’t be able to use his own son as a weapon, and Atlas would be safe.
As quickly as his demented power seized her, it receded, withdrawing like the claws of a falcon.
“It certainly didn’t take you long to find your way into my son’s bed.” Kralv Oldrich’s lip curled in disgust as he turned to leave. “Though it’s in his nature to be…rather convincing.”
For once, Everinne kept her mouth shut.
She didn’t want to give the kralv any kind of fuel he could use against her, especially not in relation to the prince. Instead, she steeled her spine, refusing to cower even as she clung to the robe barely covering her body.
“Fifteen minutes, Everinne.” His tone dripped with warning and vile promises. “Don’t be late.”
The moment the kralv left Atlas’s quarters and the door closed soundly behind him, Everinne lurched from the tub and staggered out into the empty room. Stacked on the bed were her favorite black leather leggings, a violet sweater threaded with silver, and a pair of boots with crystal-studded buckles.
Hardly the type of clothing one might choose for an interrogation.
If anything, it looked as though the kralv had snatched her clothing right out of the maid’s hands with the intention to catch Everinne vulnerable and unaware.
She dressed quickly, berating herself all the while.
Her gaze snagged on the ring Atlas had given her, the teal gem glinted like the mesmerizing sea caught during the golden hour.
A twinge tugged on her heart.
She had to find a way out of this mess. It was too late to go back on her word. She would have to marry him, and a tiny, insignificant part of her was all too excited to commit to thatpart of the bargain. But dealing with the kralv, allowing him to use her to abuse and torture—she shook her head, clearing away the sickening thoughts of what he might make her do. She would have to be stronger, she would have to find a way to control her magic, to wield dark power like a goddess of the moon, just as Rozalie had said. To make it worse, Aisling had made it sound as though she’d never be free of the Mystic Obscura, and if there was one thing Everinne hated, it was the feeling of being trapped. Giving Reine a drop of her blood had been a wretched mistake with damning consequences.
Her impulsive and hasty behavior had finally caught up to her and now it felt as though she was tumbling into one horrible decision after another, like she was dangling from a cliff over a treacherous ocean and losing her grip. The rock was crumbling away beneath her fingers. The angry sea was ready to drag her under, to drown her beneath the swell of its lashing waves. One wrong move, and she’d fall to her death.
Escape.
