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There’s a pause, and then the footsteps grow quicker. “Princess?”

I’m back at the door in a flash. “Stella?!”

When she appears, she’s like an angel in dark pigtails, making a beeline for my cell. “Oh my gosh! Princess!” She’s beaming, radiant with relief, and when she lifts a hand, I realize she’s grasping a key. “The King said I could be the one to get you since Pace had a meeting and Lex had a lecture. Are you okay? We’ve all been so worried, and Pace kept saying you were alright, but—”

The moment she has the door unlocked, I’m charging through it, gulping in these long, pained breaths.

Ridiculous.

That’s what it is.

Five days, that’s all. I can’t handle five days in a cell. Pace was in one for eighteen months. Probably in this one for longer, cumulatively. And I’m standing here trembling in relief about getting out after only five fucking days.

“Princess?” Stella touches my shoulder, and I turn, so happy to see her face. But whatever she sees in mine drains any trace of excitement from her. “Oh, Verity,” she breathes, face falling.

Flying forward, her arms come around me. She hugs me like a Duke, the hold stronger than anyone would expect from someone so small and sweet-looking. I wrap my arms around her and do the same.

And as I’m crying into her shoulder, I can swear I feel her tears on mine.

* * *

The worst partof being in the dungeon was the cold. It settled in on the first day, bone-deep, and never really left. There’s part of me that knows it’s psychological. The lack of comfort, clothing, or a real bed. No shower or bath. No sunlight.

Rufus Ashby is the master of torture.

It’s this chill I can’t shake, even though Stella has the bathroom heaters on full blast after an equally hot shower. I’m clad in only my panties, arms wrapped around my bare chest, standing in front of the sink. Stella slowly dabs my back with a washcloth and warm, soapy water like Lex instructed.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, hand pausing.

“It’s fine.” I hold back the wince. The wounds are close to being healed, but they’re still raw scabs.

“I can be gentler, or maybe we just leave it for now and—”

“For fuck’s sake.” My gaze jerks up to the mirror, seeing the reflection of Wicker standing in the doorway, his eyes glued to my back. I haven’t seen him in five days. Not since he held Ashby and his bodyguard at gunpoint in the library, threatening to kill them all if they didn’t let me go. Now he’s here, bristling and angry, jaw unshaven, staring at me and my handmaiden like he may murder us both. “The trick is to be quick and decisive. Tip-toeing around it just makes it hurt worse.” He sighs, nostrils flaring. “You know what? Just let me do it.”

Stella looks at his outstretched hand and then back to me. “Princess?”

“It’s fine.” Truthfully, I was one second away from taking the rag away from her myself. I give her an encouraging smile. “But I’d love some tea if you could make a pot.”

“Of course.” She exhales in relief. “I’ll be right back.”

Taking her spot, he dunks the rag into the water, and pulls it back out, wringing the cloth between his fingers. His eyes won’t meet mine. I don’t blame him. Wicker is a beautiful man who likes beautiful things. I’ve seen my back. It’s grotesque.

During my five days down in the dungeon, Pace had brought me food. Ashby didn’t deprive me, or really hisheir, of nourishment. But tucked in with every meal, there were little treats—snack cakes, small pieces of chocolate, or a cookie from the bakery just off campus. Even though Wicker never came to see me—not once—I know he was behind that tiny rush of comfort.

Which is why his detached anger makes no sense.

His touch is much firmer than Stella’s, and the process is easier to take. I watch his reflection, his unkempt hair, the thick stubble across his jaw, before finally asking, “Are you mad at me?”

He doesn’t even blink. “What would I be mad about, Red?”

“Well, you didn’t come down to the dungeon all week.” I make a face. “And now you’re being all…”

“All helpful?” He dunks the rag again and swirls it around before pulling it out. “I’ve been busy.”

I brace my hands on the counter. “That’s not what Pace said.”

He huffs, the heavy curl of hair on his forehead blowing out. “For all his stalking, Pace doesn’t actually know everything, you know that, right?”