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Without his grip holding me up, my legs now do buckle.

Karnon’s lips curl back into what might be a smile. All I see are several sets of fangs. “The slave has a little fight in her.”

I force myself to stand, swaying on my feet. I’m choking on whatever corrupted magic he force-fed into me. “What did you do to me?” I croak, my voice hoarse.

He tilts his head, surveying me with those strange eyes of his. “I look forward to seeing more of that pretty skin,” he says. “Guards!” he calls, not glancing away from me.

Two fae soldiers rush in, one who has feathers for hair, the other who has claws.

“We’re finished here,” Karnon says.

Again, I sway on my feet, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Each moment I stand here, I weaken. Something’s very wrong with me. Everything’s moving slower—my limbs, my mind.

Roughly, the soldiers blindfold me again. Gripping my upper arms, the two drag me back to my cell, dumping me carelessly on the pallet in the corner.

I’m barely aware of it. Whatever was forced down my throat is slipping through me, turning my veins to ice.

They don’t bother removing the cloth around my eyes, and I don’t have the energy to do it myself.

Drifting, drifting …

My mind darkens until all that surrounds me is endless, hopeless blackness.

Chapter 26

Choking. Choking onmagic. It’s pounding behind my forehead, tensing up my muscles, squeezing my insides.

I wake with a scream, the sound echoing down the cell block. Somewhere in the distance a guard growls out a warning.

I sit up, panting, placing a sweaty hand to the column of my throat.

Just a dream. The stifling darkness, the corrupted magic, Karnon …

Only, it isn’t, I realize as I finally catch my breath. I can still feel his viselike grip on me, his lips on my mouth, the insidious darkness that seeped into my veins.

My face is coated in sweat, and my stomach is roiling—

I barely make it to the toilet in time to vomit. I spend the next several hours like this—either shivering on my pallet, or purging my stomach of every last ounce of its contents.

At some point, the guards slide a meal through a hatch at the base of the barred wall. The food sits untouched at the edge of my cell.

Eventually, the sickness dissipates. Not completely, but enough to function. Stomach growling, I drag myself out of bed, towards the tin bowl. One glance at the gruel and I decide going hungry is better than spending several more hours with my head in a prison toilet.

I lean my sweaty forehead against the bars and stare out of my cell just as a guard approaches.

I eye him as he passes, noticing the lion tail that swishes behind him.

Do all of Fauna’s fairies share aspects with beasts?

The guard slows, flashing me a cold look. “Don’t stare at me, slave.”

I’m so fucking sick of this world already.

“Nice tail, asshole,” I mutter.

That stops him in his tracks, and I’m just enough of an idiot to smirk at the fact that I got under his skin.

He slams his gloved palms against the bars. “Consider yourself lucky that the king wants to put his dick anywhere near you,” he growls.