“You should probably call me Prince.” I turn her, leading her away. “I’ll also accept Heir to the Dark Throne, Your Majesty, or Future King. But simply put, Prince Merrick would do.”
“Why are we going to the Court of Winds?”
“That isn’t for you to know.” I offer her a pitying look, and she scowls. “Good news is, you’ll get a shower and a few decent meals out of this trip. Not to mention the company of my lovely brother. But don’t get any ideas. I can tell you now... he is not interested, and he cannot be wooed.”
Cameron groans, “Please say it isn’t Basilus.”
“Shhh, if you say his name, he might very well appear out of thin air.” I snort. “No, not Basilus. Casimir. That is, Prince Casimir to you.”
“Prince Casimir.” She rolls her eyes, saying his name with a mocking tone. I give the cuffs a little extra jerk in response.
I know what’s coming long before she does, but the moment she sees the swirling mass of wispy, gray clouds, her heels dig into the floor. Those eyes of hers never stop sweeping the walls and cataloguing the doors. Not that it will help her. I’ve only ever been escorted in and out of this place by my father’s magic and have yet to see any actual entrances or exits. I’m starting to believe that there isn’t one.
“What is that?” She tugs at the chains.
“Oh, you know, just your average super-fun mass of the Mad King’s power.”
Cameron balks at my sarcastic grin. “What does it do?”
She gives another useless pull, and I jerk her forward so hard, she stumbles over her feet. Soggy material meets my fingers as I catch her elbow. I don’t even bother to hide my grimace as I set her right and wipe my hand against my pants.
“It’s going to take you from point A to point B.” At least, I hope so. “Youshouldreappear outside the Dark Palace where Casimir can pack you into a waiting carriage.”
“I don’t like the way you said, ‘should.’”
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to have much of an opinion on anything.”
The gray clouds drift slowly in circles that eventually get sucked into another worrisome abyss. I suppose I’ll get to see if this thing actually works for myself when I bring Violence through it. I’m already dreading the thought.
There’s a gentle breeze that caresses my skin like a lover. Some fraction of my father’s magic that would like to deceive us promises that it’s not dangerous. It whispers into our minds, beckoning.
“I don’t want to go in there,” Cameron repeats. Her breath is coming in heavy pants now. Her efforts to get out of my grasp have become more frantic. Again, that won’t help her. Not when I’m a thousand times stronger.
I can feel the tug of his power. It would be so easy to step into it, to step through it. Carefully, I hold Cameron’s arms, turning her back to the portal she’ll be stepping through. She trembles so violently, I can almost hear her fear. But the Witch lifts her chin and holds my gaze, nonetheless.
“My brother Casimir and I will do you no harm. You have my word.” I dip my chin. Cameron’s eyes widen a fraction when I lift my face back up, a terribly taunting smile tilting my lips. “But I make no promises of my father.”
Then I give her a gentle shove, and her image is absorbed by the clouds. Her shrill shriek is swallowed up, leaving me in quiet once more. My hands feel slimy and dirt covered even after I wipe them on my shirt before turning to head to Violence’s room.
Perhaps I should feel bad about playing with the Witch like that. I should but I don’t.
I’m thankful when I arrive at Violence’s door and have not run into either Basilus, my father, or Jeriko. The spells that my father has put in place know me, so there is no key for the lock, no magic word I must utter. All I must do is twist the knob, and the lock slips out of place.
“Violence?”
The lights are off, leaving me feeling for the switch along the wall. There is no answer, and that eerie feeling that I got downstairs has returned. Though this time, I don’t believe it’s from a spell. No, this is my own divination. My eyes adjust quickly, allowing me to see why the feeling plagues me so much.
Blonde hair dangles off the bed, the once-vibrant shine is gone. A bruised, dotted arm drapes down to the floor. In the crook of Violence’s elbow, a single mark is scabbed and red. Her lips are parted, only the shallowest of breaths passing over her lips. The rest of her body is cocked at odd angles, the blankets all tucked underneath her, as if she’d just been tossed on the bed and left.
More reasons why she needs to marry to Dalziel.
My blood turns hot inside my veins as I make my way to her side. Under my touch, her skin is ice cold, goosebumps trailing up and down her whole body. Scooping her up, I’m careful not to jostle her body too much. I thought she was skinny when she lived with the Hunt, but now she looks like death itself. I’m even further shocked as I lift her and find her to be as light as a feather, as though she might drift up and out of my hands at any minute. My fingers curl into her boney body. My hands hold her tightly against me.
I knew she’d been causing Father some troubles. What I didn’t know is that they’ve been keeping her so sedated. Has she even eaten?
Violence’s head falls against me for a moment before slipping to hang over my arm. Her chin points to the ceiling, and I try not to look at the bruising around her neck. Fingerprints. My father’s? Basilus’s? Whoever it is will pay.
Every step, I cling to her a little tighter. Though I know I have little control, though what I can control I’m fighting tooth and nail for, I feel as though my touch is the only thing holding her to this plane of existence. Like if I lose my grip, her life will slip right through my fingers, and suddenly she won’t be breathing in my arms any longer.
