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She holds up the hard black circle, her eyes narrowed. “Is this his?”

His.

An unspoken name for an unspoken act. I nod, and I feel numb as she pushes me into the steaming shower, adjusting the nozzle away from the wound on my chest. The water is a reprieve, an excuse to finally let the hot, angry tears fall.

I let her wash me, scouring the dirt and blood off my body. She gently works soap down the lengths of my hair, but all I can feel is the pounding heat burning into my scalp. It’s the kind of pain that is welcome, that reminds me I’m still alive. I’m no help, letting her lift my hands and feet. The hard bristles of a brush run under my nails, against my heels. I want to tell her it’s no use, nothing will remove the sins.

“Sins don’t wash off.”The voice is stern. Male.“They’re imprinted on your soul.”

“What did you say?” Regina asks.

I blink at her, and then around the shower stall. It’s just the two of us.

“Nothing,” I mumble, trying to draw myself back to the surface. Regina shuts off the water and grabs a large gray towel, wrapping me in the soft fabric. “Thank you.”

She pats me down, carefully drying off every inch of skin and my hair, wrapping the same color robe around my body. She points to a small vanity chair and I sit, watching as she rummages through the drawers with those long, manicured nails. She squeezes the water from my hair and removes the towel, letting the damp strands fall down my back. Gently, she massages jojoba oil onto my scalp. Her touch is the opposite of what I experienced during the Hunt.

From the bottom drawer, she removes a first aid kit, along with a clean towel.

“Can I check your wound?”

Modesty left me hours ago, and I let the sides of the robe fall away. The pain radiates from the center of my chest.

“This is going to sting,” she warns me, unscrewing a jar. The scent of alcohol hits me, and she dabs a cotton ball over the top. “Ready?”

I nod and close my eyes. The first touch is cold, the second a flash of burning pain. I bite down on my bottom lip and holdback a cry.Periwinkle.I search for that place, the fields and flowers, but it’s harder and harder to get to.

“Take a deep breath,” she says. I in-and-exhale, trying to fight the panic. The smell of alcohol fades and I catch a hint of her spicy perfume. It’s sexy and dark, just like her. Her next touch is more gentle, the smooth swipe of ointment covering the jagged flesh.

Opening my eyes, I ask, “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs and unwraps a flat, square bandage. “I’m not sure.”

“Did someone help you after your hunt?”

She shakes her head, her long braids falling over her shoulder. “No. I came back here and crawled in the bed in the other room.” She swallows, like she’s trying to hold something back. “I was alone. Scared. I thought about ending it all.” I try to meet her eyes, but her gaze is focused on my wounds and her lashes are so thick I can’t. “But I also knew I was chosen and that’s an honor. An honor I needed to accept.”

Her words hit home, more of a salve than the one spread across my chest. A question nudges the back of my mind and I summon the courage to ask. “You called him ‘Daddy’ out there.”

“I’m his Daughter of Darkness.” She looks up at me with a small smile. “Or I was, until tonight.”

“He called me Daughter too, but…”

There’s going to be a wedding, and I’ll be his wife. I can’t be both. Also, I don’t know what it’s like to have a father. I was raised at Strong Manor, by nannies hired by my uncle.

“You have a different path, Arianette,” she tears off a strip of tape and adheres it over the bandage, “one that I don’t envy for you. But you were chosen for a reason. We all are. The King is wise. He will take care of you and in return you will take care of him. Your Barons will become your world. Whatever demonswere chasing you on the outside… you don’t have to fight them alone anymore.”

It’s simple, too simple, and from the expression on her face, it’s clear she knows it.

“And in return?”

She gently touches the gauze on my chest. “That mark means something in Forsyth and it means something in this house. That oath you repeated? The blood spilled? That’s a contract between you and the men in this house.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “You belong to them, Baroness, body and soul. By serving them, you are serving your King.”

We share a long look and a feeling that I didn’t have when we first met burrows in my chest. Before, Regina was this graceful Royal who knew all the answers. Now, I see her for what she truly is, a warrior.

Me? I’m not sure that’s the right word. I feel on edge.Raw.Ready to explode.

What she’s saying is that I have to trust these men–trust the King–but if they showed me anything tonight it’s that that isn’t possible. Everything that transpired was out of deceit and fear. Distrust. And worse, Armand showed me there’s something dark in this house–a threat to the very man he swore an oath to. He may not have worn the beast’s mask, but hewasa demon that had to be slayed.