Page 6 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Hours passed, and Arenna remained in her seat, observing the banquet from a distance, as she always did.

Her place was away from the crowds, the dancing, the lively conversations—not by her choice, but by her king’s.

She had loved music since childhood. Her mother, a gifted pianist, often played in the small tavern of their home port, Craydon.

It pained Arenna to stay seated, watching her people dance, laugh, and drink without a care in the world without being able to partake.

She finished her fourth glass of wine, the world tilting gently as her head swam and everything around her blurred into slow motion. Her body felt weightless, her emotions distant, fading into the quiet haze she craved. It was easier this way—when she couldn’t feel, she couldn’t be hurt.

“Enjoying the view?” Koltin Havenmore appeared behind her, his hands clasped behind his back.

Arenna’s mood lifted instantly, her chest feeling lighter. “Koltin,” she exclaimed softly. “What are you doing here?”

The commander of the Brookworth army bowed slightly before answering. “King Jaksen asked me to monitor the guards. There was a disagreement among them this morning, and I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

It was typical of Jaksen to assign Koltin such menial tasks, as if leading the army and winning his battles wasn’t enough. “Seems like a waste of your talents,” Arenna muttered.

Koltin smiled, though his eyes shifted briefly to a group of nobles watching them intently. “I’m honored to serve my king and this kingdom in any way he sees fit.”

Arenna dipped her chin in acknowledgment, understanding the need for discretion. With so many eyes and ears around, they had to remain distant. The crowd saw only a queen and a commander, so that’s all they could be.

Refilling her glass for the fifth time, she asked, “Is it true? About Flatbury?” Despite the warmth of the wine settling into her veins, her stomach soured at the thought of the innocent people affected.

Koltin’s frown deepened. “Yes. The remaining townsfolk were evacuated to House Casierie, as long as the men agreed to work in the mines.”

Arenna gritted her teeth. She’d heard whispers of the horrors surrounding Greenford, the mountain range near Casierie. Criminals were often sent to the shafts if they refused to enlist in the army. The stories that reached the castle servants were among the worst she’d ever heard.

“It’s terrible what happened to them all,” Arenna murmured.

Koltin offered a half-smile as he straightened, facing the crowd. “Maybe one day the prophecy will ring true, and Pheanixios will return to us.”

She snorted. “I would think believing in fairytales was beneath you, Commander.” She hadn’t thought about the prophecy in years. Hope had died long ago, and the ancient tale of rejoining continents in peace felt like nothing more than a hollow fantasy.

“You think the prophecy is a fairytale?” Koltin asked.

She shrugged. “What else could it be? I want to believe there’s an end in sight—some relief for our people’s suffering—but the Rot spreads too quickly,” she said, her voice low. “War is inevitable, and the Fae are growing more ruthless with every passing year.”

In the last five years, Worden’s army had multiplied, and Vlazias thrived, their people becoming fiercer and more frenzied.

The bloodshed hadn’t ended after the First War .

Instead, battles grew bloodier, the Rot’s grip tightening across the land.

Maybe the world was finally crumbling, and the prophecy was a cruel echo of false hope.

Koltin nodded, rolling his shoulders. “It’s hard to see the light at the end of a dark tunnel,” he admitted. “But darkness only makes the light that much more beautiful when it comes.”

“Always the poet.” Arenna snorted again.

Koltin tapped the brooch pinned to his shoulder, twin blades crossed over one another, the commander’s sigil. “Perhaps I chose the wrong career,” he joked, scratching his chin before lowering his voice to a whisper. “See you tonight?”

Arenna raised her glass, slurring slightly. “After this much wine,” she hiccupped, “I shouldn’t go anywhere near a blade.”

Koltin chuckled. “Very well. Tomorrow, then.” He glanced around the room, blue eyes searching. “Is Isa here?”

Smiling, Arenna glanced at the golden band on his left hand. He and Isabella had wed in secret nearly two years ago, and in some ways, she envied them—not that she’d ever admit it. “She was dealing with one of the handmaidens. Should be back soon.”

Koltin’s smile softened, his shoulders sagging with what she assumed was relief. “Have a good night, Ren.”

Arenna nodded, smiling as he descended the platform and took his place by the entrance doors. A year after they met, Koltin had offered to teach her simple defensive maneuvers in case she ever found herself brave enough to—

She cut off the thought before it could finish. She was nowhere near brave enough to follow through, let alone dare to dream it.

As Arenna’s training with Koltin progressed, it went beyond basic defense. She learned the art of swordplay, handling knives, and using her fists.

Though she wasn’t the warrior she aspired to be, she had enough skill to defend herself, a necessity in a life of constant unease and uncertainty. It was a skill set she was thankful for, even if she hoped never to use it.

She smiled at the broad-shouldered man who had become more like a brother than anything else, grateful for his friendship and guidance over the years.

Despite the dulling effects of her wine, a creeping sense of loneliness settled in. Without Koltin, Isabella, and Faylen, Arenna couldn’t have survived this place, survived Jaksen . Their presence had been her anchor, and without them, her heart felt heavy, her mind dangerously blank.

Isolation was one of Jaksen’s cruelest punishments. He kept her from forming close relationships and restricted her interactions with the outside world. It was a way to sink his claws deeper, bending her to his will.

Everything in her life was monitored. What she ate, what she wore, what she did.

Even at twenty-four, she was still forced to attend regular sessions with an etiquette tutor on how to present herself, how to be the perfect queen.

In the moments she was allowed to roam the gardens or lose herself in the library, freedom was an illusion.

Guards kept watch, reporting anything unusual to their king.

Arenna lived in a constant, suffocating bubble.

Though it wasn’t all bad—her guards weren’t always the wisest or the most vigilant.

Especially after a night of celebration, when their cups never emptied and their minds swam with anything but duty.

It made slipping off her balcony in the dead of night easier, whether for training with Koltin or simply to exist somewhere she wasn’t expected or commanded.

Her gaze flicked to the jug of wine a servant had placed on the table. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks that she needed so much to numb herself. But the fact that she even felt shame meant she hadn’t had enough to drink yet.

So, Arenna refilled her glass.

The music stopped. The shuffling of feet on the marble floor ceased.

She scanned the crowd, fearful of what she might find.

Jaksen’s frosted eyes narrowed in disgust in her direction, sending her chest caving in on itself.

He moved through the crowd, his regal rage unmistakable, dripping from every step he took.

Arenna’s throat tightened, her heart hammering as she braced herself.

“Having a nice time?” Jaksen asked, his voice calm but laced with menace, extending his hand toward her.

“Yes.” Her reply was short, measured, just as he had always warned her before every event. Speak little, and don’t speak often .

“I’m sorry to cut your night short, then.” He squeezed her bicep as he beckoned her to stand.

Arenna winced at the sharp pain but quickly masked it, unwilling to draw attention. Stumbling slightly as they moved from the platform, they headed toward the wooden doors.

Guards pulled them open in anticipation of their exit. She struggled to keep her balance, the wine clouding her mind, making the world around her spin.

Once in the hallway, the shadows cast on Jaksen’s face made his expression even more sinister. His lips pulled into a frown, and he glanced in both directions, ensuring there were no guests nearby. Only a few guards stood by, their eyes focused on the walls, uninterested in Arenna’s silent pleas.

She felt like a contagion—something vile—to be kept at a distance. Even if they wanted to help her, they wouldn’t. A part of her resented them for not trying.

Without warning, his hands were on her face, his nails digging into her skin. She was thankful the wine dulled the pain when her flesh broke, and blood welled at the surface.

She knew what was coming. Jaksen had seen the lord’s wandering hands, had noticed the hungry way he looked at her as if she were an object, something to be claimed.

Without a word, Jaksen grabbed a fistful of her unbound hair and yanked, dragging her down the spinning hallway.

* * *

Jaksen’s knuckles rapped in a distinct pattern against the gray, iron door leading to the dungeons. The guards inside didn’t hesitate or question who was on the other side.

Nausea churned inside Arenna as they opened the door, her breaths growing faster. Her vision blurred, and her head felt light, either from fear or the wine.

Maybe both.

She was trembling and hated herself for it, especially knowing he could see her fear. Jaksen’s smile widened as he glared at her shaking hands.

“Do you know why we’re here?” His voice was low, mocking.

A chill ran down her spine, so intense it settled into her very bones. But Arenna wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She would be brave. She would survive this.

“Because I let Lord Bishop touch me,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Very good.” Jaksen’s strong hand slid behind her neck, grabbing a fistful of her loose curls, yanking her violently toward him. His thin lips crashed into hers, his tongue forcing its way through her teeth, claiming her entirely.

Arenna flinched but opened her mouth wider, giving him the access he wanted.

If this was what she had to endure to get out of here, so be it.

But Jaksen’s aggression caught her off guard as he shoved her against the cold stone wall, his mouth devouring hers once more.

His hands roamed up her hips, across her stomach, and over her breasts.

She shut her eyes, shutting down her senses, as if she could detach herself from the moment entirely. Her blood roared in her veins, searing through her skin, but she remained still, not resisting, not submitting.

Maybe , she thought bitterly, by morning, I won’t remember any of this . The wine had dulled enough of her pain, and by now, it could take away her mind too.

Trees. Mountains. Rain .

Go home .

Arenna forced her mind to drift elsewhere, to a place that felt like freedom, like home. But her imaginary salvation was fleeting.

Jaksen pulled away, his lips swollen and red, glistening with her saliva. “Are you aroused?” he asked, burying his face into her neck.

She fought the wave of nausea. “Yes.” It was a lie steeped in fear, a desperate attempt to calm him. He kissed her forehead, then stepped back to smooth out his jacket.

Arenna blinked rapidly, cold in the absence of his warmth. Jaksen ran a steady hand through his platinum hair, turning toward the ominous door. Her body swayed—whether from fear or the wine, she couldn’t tell.

Jaksen’s lips twisted into a horrific grin, and a sinking realization hit her like a stone.

He wasn’t changing his mind .

“ Jaksen ,” she pleaded, her voice thick with panic. She felt like a damned fool. “Take me back to my chambers. Finish what you started.”

“It would be more beneficial for you to experience this.” His grin widened. “This is how I feel before every sentencing.” Jaksen stepped closer, and she retreated until her back hit the wall. “I want you to know what it feels like.”

It almost killed her to ask. “To know what?”

“To feel arousal moments before death.”

Words failed her. Nothing could capture the disgust welling inside. She pressed a hand to her mouth, desperate to keep the contents of her stomach from spilling out as Jaksen pulled her through the door.

Memories surged the moment her heel touched the mildew-drenched floors of the Brookworth dungeons. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Jaksen gripped her bicep, his hold so tight it promised bruises.

Flickering light at the tunnel’s end signaled their approach to the circle of cells, and the dark stone walls felt suffocating. Arenna tried to draw back—a mistake.

Manic hunger in Jaksen’s eyes revealed a demon awakened by her small act of defiance. A demon that craved pain, thrived on gore, and fed on the terror buried deep in the mind. As they stepped into the light, the familiar sounds of agony and the slashing of skin hit her like a physical blow.

Jaksen pushed her to the center of the circular dungeon, toward the grate that sat in the direct center, designed for easy blood removal.

She gagged at the sight of her hands coated in the sticky red, and could not stop the sour wine in her belly from spilling out.