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“Have you seen one child that has been given over? Just one, Princess?” I pressed her. “Do you know anyone other than a Priest or Priestess or an Ascended who has claimed to have seen one? You’re smart. You know no one has. That’s because most are dead before they even learn to speak.”

She started to deny it.

“The vamprys need a food source, Princess, one that would not rouse suspicion. What better way than to convince an entire kingdom to hand over their children under the pretense of honoring the gods? They’ve created a religion around it, such that brothers will turn on brothers if any of them refuse to give away their child,” I told her. “They have fooled an entire kingdom, used the fear of what they have created against the people. And that’s not all. You ever think it’s strange how many young children die overnight from a mysterious blood disease? Like the Tulis family, who lost their first and second children to it? Not every Ascended can stick to a strict diet. Bloodlust for a vampry is a very real, common problem. They’re thieves in the night, stealing children, wives, and husbands.”

“Do you really think I believe any of this?” Poppy demanded. “That the Atlantians are innocent, and everything I’ve been taught is a lie?”

“Not particularly, but it was worth a shot,” I said, also knowing it wasn’t something she’d believe immediately. She had to sit with it. I just hoped we had enough time. “We are not innocent of all crimes—”

“Like murder and kidnapping?” Poppy tossed out.

“That among other things,” I admitted. “You don’t want to believe what I’m saying. Not because it sounds too foolish to believe, but because there are things you’re now questioning. Because it means your precious brother is feeding on innocents—”

“No,” she cut in.

“And turning them into Craven.”

“Shut up,” she growled, launching to her feet.

I followed her, coming to stand before her. “You don’t want to accept what I’m saying, even as logical as it sounds because it means your brother is one of them, and the Queen who cared for you has slaughtered thousands—”

Poppy swung at me, dragging the chain across the floor.

I caught her hand an inch from my jaw. I twisted her, forcing her to turn away from me. Hauling her back against my chest, I trapped one arm with mine and caught her other hand. A sound of pure frustration tore from her as she lifted a leg.

“Don’t,” I warned, my mouth against her ear.

Poppy, of course, did not listen.

I grunted as her foot connected with my shin, likely bruising it as she had Kieran’s. A huge part of me was more than impressed by her tenacity. Hell, it was a turn-on—her willingness to fight her way out. Her strength. But we didn’t have all day for this.

Moving too fast for her to react to, I spun her and took several steps. Trapping her between the wall and me, I was…somewhat confident she couldn’t kick me.

“I said, don’t,” I repeated, my mouth now against her temple. “I mean it, Princess. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t? You already hur—” Poppy cut herself off.

“What?” I lifted her arm away from her stomach and the wound I’d just covered, placing her palm against the wall. She didn’t answer me, and I knew she was thinking of ways to take me out. Again, that was admirable and arousing, but also pointless.

I shifted my head, resting my cheek against hers. “You know you can’t seriously hurt me,” I said.

Every muscle of her body tensed. “Then why am I chained?”

“Because getting kicked, punched, or clawed still doesn’t feel good,” I drawled. “And while the others have been ordered to not touch you, it doesn’t mean they’ll be as tolerant as I am.”

“Tolerant?” She tried to push away from the wall—tried being the keyword there. “You call this tolerant?”

“Considering that I just spent time cleaning out and covering your wound, I would say so.” I paused. “And a thank you would be nice.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me,” she snapped.

“No. Because you’re either too proud or too foolish to do so. You would’ve allowed yourself to rot instead of asking for help,” I said. “So, I’m not going to get a thank you, am I?”

Her head thrust back, but I saw it coming. I pushed against her until there was no space between her and the wall, which she didn’t like. She started to squirm, pressing back—wiggling soft, shapely parts of her, and my body reacted immediately.

Fucking gods.

“You are exceptionally skilled at being disobedient,” I growled. “Only second to your talent of driving me crazy.”

“You forgot one last skill.”

“I did?” I frowned.

“Yes,” she hissed. “I’m skilled at killing Craven. I imagine killing Atlantians is no different.”

I laughed, enjoying her threats. “We’re not consumed by hunger, so we’re not as easily distracted as a Craven.”