Page 7

Alora held back the nausea as her black boots stained the marble beneath her feet with thick mud. She had spotted golden hair beaming under shards of sunlight.Taryn, one of Kaine’s most trusted female servants, was working the grounds. The one she often caught leaving the second floor of the manor with a smirk and a blush warming her cheeks.

Taryn could clean the mud, she decided. Otherwise, Alora would have happily slipped through the shrubbery to prevent more work for those she cared for. And as long as she could slip unseen, no one would know who the muddy footprints belonged to. She could be revengeful without being reckless.

Kaine’s proclivities the night prior would render him a long, restful morning until a stabbing headache wakes him. Allowing her time to breeze through the front door, make her way up to his bedchamber on the second floor, and undress to lie naked, as he commanded, before softly settling under the silken sheets beside him.

Every nerve in her body fired on edge as the monstrous green front door slid open easily. She had taken time to use pearlsea oil, a glimmering white flower only found in Zyllyryon, on the hinges days prior to avoid any unwanted creeks alerting Kaine’s servants.

Her boots crossed the threshold of their?—

She scoffed.

—Kaine’sridiculously elaborate manor.

Kaine was rich …filthyrich. He owned two-thirds of the businesses, lodgings, and infirmaries in Telldaira. Name it, he undoubtedly owned it. Kaine’s newest conquest: a wealthy clothing corporation located in the northern part of the city, exclusively for the nobility and royalty of Zyllyryon. Even the High King was known to wear the fineries sourced there.

Most lords govern their cities, keeping the title within the family. Kaine just so happened to be at the top of the lineage when the last lord mysteriously died. He wasn’t born to hold Telldaira in his palm, but High King Magnelis was strategic with whom he appointed to run his slums—nothing compared to Castle Galdheir, of course. And like must call to like because Magnelis’s malevolent heart had appointed one just as evil.

From then on, Kaine was as close to a king as any in all the kingdoms could be. The head of the local garrisons bent to his every word. He never paid for anything—never needed for anything. Remaining on his docile side meant future wealth for you … if he tolerated your lavishing, praise, and fealty. Everyone knew him, wanted him to know them, or wanted to trade with him. Faeries of all kinds wanted to be with him, though he was already betrothed to her.

Like that mattered, though. Kaine’s fantasies were always satisfied, no matter which female he got pleasure from.

Disgustingly enough, she was theluckyone to be in his bed.

Or so everyone said.

If they only knew …

Alora stalked through the open foyer, as big as an elegant ballroom, large emerald vases of ivory delphinium, creamy dahlias, painted ferns, and a hint of lush greenery adorned it. Paintings of her betrothed lined the walls to greet the eyes ofthose fortunate enough to be invited in. After spending so much time there, she hardly noticed them anymore.

The wooden floors were lined with ornate emerald rugs splashed with golden threads on the edges. She had loved the color once, green, like the eyes of her father, who had now become a faded memory. Not anymore. Not with the belongings Kaine crowded his home with.

It all made their guests gawk in awe.

It made her want to vomit.

Alora latched the door behind her and made sure to scuff the mud off her boots in front of one of the paintings—Taryn could clean that, too—greeting the painting with a middle finger before steadily moving her feet toward a grand staircase twenty feet before her.

Three hallways sat at its top before spreading both directions into two mezzanines, each lined with closed oak doors, green cushioned benches, and various paintings that surrounded the foyer in a railed square. Two open-door frames sat on the ground floor, flanking the staircase, leading out into a lush garden courtyard. Beyond the courtyard, a wall of doors sat. Each contained a small room for servants to live in.

Her eyes caught the flickering glow of candlelight from the middle of the three at the top, lighting the hallway to the end where her—Kaine’s—bedchamber awaited. She toed the heel of her boot, slipping it off, then the other, and placing them beside the staircase where she knew one of the housemaids would tuck them away.

Heat flushed her face. It was always too hot there. She was always too hot. Nothing in the manor could cool her. No windows were allowed open, fires constantly roared in the hearths. Kaine didn’t care or try to make her comfortable. Not anymore. The fire that lay dormant inside her fanned a permanent trace of embers across her skin.

And the sight before her didn’t help with that.

The staircase. She hated the staircase.

Hated every irritatingly beautiful piece of redwood board, every deep curve in the shining smooth handrail, each over-decorative spindle connecting the white marbled steps to her tightened grip. She hated that it held so many painful, bloody secrets. Each guest that ascended the abomination would never know the dark secrets it shared with her and everyone in his house.

Prison.

How many times would she stand frozen to the emerald rugs below the first marbled step? How many times would her knees quiver and fingertips ache as she pushed herself up one by one, as she did right then? Each memory fought to win the battle of her nerves with every step of her feet. Taunting her. Laughing at her. Pulling at her heart until she would reach the top. And once there, her vision would blur and her heart would thunder. She would run to the hallway threshold, gripping the wood until it threatened to splinter, just to stay upright before looking back to prove to herself that she made it to the top without being thrown back down it.

You’re at the top. You’re safe.The lies she repeated to herself just so she could steal a heaving breath. So she could calm her nerves from the panic because lighting her prison on fire would bring even worse repercussions.

Her thin, aching, pale fingertips lightly brushed new imperfections and dents in the wall atop the grand staircase as sapphire eyes raked down the dim hallway in the middle. Walking on the balls of her feet to avoid the cracking of floorboards, she passed two more walled staircases on either side leading to the third level of the manor that housed Kaine’s study and business rooms.

Everything was quiet. Almost peaceful—almost.