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He shoots to his feet and paces in front of the bench, his hands clenching into fists. When he finally turns to me, his voice is deadly calm. “That little joke? You just earned yourself a punishment. I already owe you one for that incident in the library, so I’m going to make this one extra…special for you.”

I blink.

“When we get back to Thornecroft,” he says, “you’re going to bathe me.”

It takes a second to register. Then heat rushes up my neck. How dare he still use these tactics with me? I’m basically already on house arrest, so why can’t he just lock me up and leave me alone until he’s ready to sacrifice me?

I grit my teeth. “No.”

His eyes flash with surprise, and then his slow smile is like a storm rolling in. “Oh yes, you will.”

I scowl. “I amnotgiving you a bath. And I think your cult is full of a bunch of Anglophile weirdos. Calling you lord prior. Bathing people. Blood oaths. It’s all so stupid and contrived. You all should be embarrassed!”

Damian’s glowing blue eyes are triumphant. “There she is.”

Oh. This is what he wanted. To get a reaction out of me.

And the worst part is that I’m starting to feel again, and I don’t want it.

I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to hope.

And, most ugly of all, I don’t want to start liking my captor again.

Damian

This morning, Kane was removed from Thornecroft and taken to the compound of the Sacred Light so that his wounds can heal and he can be given “wisdom.”

At least, that’s what I was told in a brief note when the Sacred Light’s staff arrived at Thornecroft just before sunrise. The note also said I have a meeting with the Sacred Light in a month.

I ought to be worried about it. A meeting before the anointment ceremony is unusual.

And yet I can’t seem to think about anything but Ava.

She’s barely eating or drinking. Her emotions are flat.

It’s making me fucking crazy.

I’ve told her again and again that I’m not going to hurt her, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. She keeps talking about human sacrifices. The worst part is…

She doesn’t even seem afraid. When she said she should kill herself to thwart my plans, I nearly burst out of my skin. I know she only said it to rattle me, but it’s not like her to make light of taking her own life. Not after what she told me her dad went through after her mother committed suicide.

I fucking hate the fear of death in other people. It’s the one thing my father couldn’t beat out of me. It’s not the death that guts me. Death is just a return to the void. A blink. Nothing. But the moment before—the wide-eyed, primal terror? Seeing that in another person’s eyes is agony.

Yet somehow, Ava’s quiet acceptance is much worse.

Thankfully, I got a spark out of her when I made my bathing threat, and I can only hope I can fan the fire.

My pulse kicks up when the door to my room creaks open and Ava steps inside. I open my mouth to scold her for notknocking first—anything to get a rise out of her—when my tongue freezes.

She’s wearing the Daisy Duck pajamas.

It’s a good sign. Maybe she’s wearing her old dingy clothes as an act of defiance. To show me that she’s still herself, despite everything I’ve put her through this last month.

I want her to be herself. Right now, it feels like I want that more than anything in the world.

“Why—” I pause “—are you in your pajamas in the middle of the day?”

“I’ve never given anyone a bath before.” Her voice is prim. “And I don’t want to get any of your grime on my nice clothes.”