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I pushed down the thread of our bond, only a surge of pride welling in response to my terror. He was no help, no reassurance that they’d forget this moment by morning.

Asshole,I thought, wishing that the bond was more than just the surge of feelings between us. Even that seemed to grow more and more muted with every day I spent in my collar, as if the magic of our mate bond couldn’t survive the constant suppression.

I strode past Imelda and Fallon, going to the place where I’d been scrubbing at the cage before everything went still. In the distant other side of the throne room, I was vaguely aware of Malachi barking orders. They reached me in a haze, as if they existed outside the bubble that I’d sunken into in the moment when that first Fae lowered their head.

I picked up my brush, putting all my strength into scrubbing away at that cage. It felt like melting away the wall surrounding me, like every brush of those bristles over the cage mended a tiny piece of the miniscule, bloodstained pieces of my heart.

As if being seen by the creatures I’d once feared no longer terrified me.

But somehow set me free.

Imelda came to my side as the gnome dripped bloodstained water upon the cage for me to scrub. I didn’t even know his name, but my throat felt too raw, too hoarse from the emotion choking me, to even ask.

“They see themselves in you,” Imelda said, picking up her own rag as she set to helping to clean the cage.

Fallon stepped to the other side, her hazel stare meeting mine as she smiled sadly. I wondered for a brief moment what it must have been like toknowshe was meant to be the heir to this.

And to defect to me, anyway.

“You know what it is to go without. I see it in your eyes. It’s a need, a hunger that never fades,” the gnome said, reaching out a tiny hand to stop the brush from scrubbing. The bristles pricked his skin, the wounds seeming too large on his hand. “Not many Sidhe would treat a human with the reverence you just showed. Even less would deign to speak to a gnome. Let alone a Sidhe who is the mate of a prince.”

His hand left the brush, and I resumed my cleaning. My gaze fixated on the bristles against the metal, on the crystal-clear task in front of me that did not involve the complications of those around me.

“You’ve given them hope,” he said, his voice going distant as he looked out at the throne room and the Faeries who had resumed their work. “That is not something the Llaidhe have had in a very long time, Princess.”

“TheLlaidhe?” I asked, turning to look into the bulbous nose and eyes I could not see. Something in that word scratched beneath the surface, plucking at the scars that lingered there.

“What did you think they called those of us who are Fae but not Sidhe? We are the Llaidhe,” he said, his voice hardening at the end.

“The worthless,” I said, my jaw clenching as fury made every muscle in my body tense.

That part of me that refused to go back to sleep grumbled, her rage rising at the word from the Old Tongue that I’d never heard used in such a way.

That word would be the first thing I struck from existence if given the chance.

The gnome nodded, his beard twitching with the movement. I could have sworn his lips twisted into a cruel smile, the promise of retribution lurking within it. “You didn’t know—”

The whip cracked.

Everybody within the throne room stilled, waiting for the moment of impact. The resulting scream came from the dais. My head turned to follow it.

Feathers floated through the air, drifting toward the stone floor as the giant Faerie crumpled forward. Her hand shot out, catching herself against the very wall she’d been cleaning when I last looked to her.

Malachi stood behind her, swinging his arm back once more. The whip lashed forward, striking against the center of those beautiful wings.

More feathers of ebony drifted through the sunlight as they glistened in the dimming rays coming through the windows.

The other Fae went silent, stepping away, leaving her to the suffering Malachi seemed intent to inflict. I took a step forward, pausing only when Fallon reached out and grasped my arm. She shook her head, the movement a subtle plea.

The whip cracked again; the sound striking me deep within the well. The memories struck me again, the sound of the cane swinging through the air enough to make everything in me freeze. The pleasure coating Malachi’s voice as he tossed his head back and laughed was nothing like the silent disapproval of Lord Byron as they broke my skin.

But those beautiful wings tore open the same as flesh, deep lashes cutting through her until blue blood dripped down the wings and onto her red jumpsuit.

I yanked my hand out of Fallon’s grip, striding forward as fast as my feet could carry me through the carnage.

These people had suffered enough.

They’d suffered for centuries.