Page 7 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

When she finished heaving, Arenna trembled on her hands and knees, tears dripping off the bridge of her nose and falling between the bars of the metal grate.

You survived the dungeons.

You survived that night.

Do not let him bring you back there.

Her body shuddered, the panic of her memories too much to bear.

Trees . Mountains . Rain .

Arenna squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the throbbing pulse in her neck and ignore the burning sensation against her wrists and face. Phantom blood oozed down her nose, the memory of Jaksen scarring her still raw and potent.

Thin fingers gripped her chin, forcing it left. “Keep your eyes open, or I will relieve you of your eyelids. Do I make myself clear?” Jaksen growled.

Arenna managed only a trembling nod.

“Good girl. Now, look at what you’ve done.”

Hesitantly, Arenna turned to the cell he indicated, where Lord Bishop quivered inside. He knelt on bloodied knees; his hands tightly bound in thick rope. Dirt and blood caked his face, which was bruised and broken.

How long had he been down here, enduring such horrors?

“Zachriel, Zachriel, Zachriel,” Jaksen taunted, pacing in front of the whimpering man. “I do believe you know what awaits you.”

Guards lowered identical chains from the ceiling, iron manacles clinking ominously.

Arenna backed away from the center of the dungeons, away from the shackles that haunted her.

Her chest felt like it was caving in, each breath a struggle.

She was having what Isabella called a breathing attack, her lungs feeling small and shriveled.

Lord Bishop spluttered, “My king, whatever you think happened, didn’t.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

Bishop paled, fear etched across his features. “Never, my king. Only that you aren’t understanding the full picture.”

Arenna could hardly focus on their exchange as terror drained the wine from her system, dragging her back to that dark place Jaksen placed her in years ago.

Jaksen considered, then said, “Enlighten me.”

“The queen . . . she-she advanced onto me .” She froze, the implication sending chills down her spine. “I had tried to stop her advances on multiple occasions, but she’s very persistent.”

The King of Brookworth was utterly still as the noble wove a perfect web of lies. Arenna trembled, tears burning her eyes. If Jaksen believed Bishop, she surely wouldn’t survive this.

Trees. Mountains. Rain .

Arenna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, black smudges from the coal on her eyelids streaking across her pale skin.

“Tell him,” Lord Bishop urged, his brown eyes pleading. “Tell him the truth.”

“Do not speak to her,” Jaksen demanded, his voice losing its playful edge. He was growing impatient; while he enjoyed toying with his prisoners, she knew that thrill was quickly overshadowed by a darker craving. “Tell me, Lord Bishop,” Jaksen said, pacing the floor, “do you wish to bed my wife?”

“ Never , my king,” Bishop stuttered, tears running, snot dribbling into his light mustache. “I would never disrespect you in such a manner.”

“Tell me the truth.” Jaksen knelt before the lord, untying the ropes around his wrists. “You will not be punished for it.”

Tension filled the room as Lord Bishop’s eyes darted between Jaksen and Arenna. She saw the flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “With your blessing, I would be honored,” he murmured.

The blood drained from her face.

Jaksen remained silent for a tense moment. “Very well.”

“ What? ” Arenna rasped.

Jaksen turned his cold gaze to her. “Come, Arenna.” He stretched out a hand.

She shook her head, scooting back, dread pooling in her stomach as Lord Bishop’s expression twisted into something rabid. “No,” she whispered.

No. Nonononono .

What was he doing? Jaksen would never— never —let another man touch her. He hardly allowed anyone to speak to her. This had to be a trick, a ruse. Something— anything .

“ Jaksen ,” Arenna pleaded, her voice trembling.

She feared her husband more than anything, but there was a twisted sense of security in his presence.

She knew she would never see harm from another while he was near.

She was his to torture and his alone. As sick as that was, Arenna was thankful for his protection.

Why was he doing this now? What was his end game?

“Please,” she whimpered. As the king stalked toward her, hand still raised, she was ready to do anything to escape this nightmare. He gripped her bicep, pulling her toward the lord. “Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain?” She thrashed against his hold, defiance overriding her fear.

The King of Brookworth had gone stoic, cold and closed off, ignoring her pleas as if they were mere background noise.

Lord Bishop stood, fumbling with his belt, and Arenna felt sick, her stomach flipping. Her blood roared with fear. “Where are your tears now, you pig?” she shouted at the lord, desperate to assert some control.

Jaksen removed his hand from her arm, pushing her toward Zachriel, who wrapped his meaty hands around her waist, pulling her closer. He sighed heavily, inhaling her scent as if savoring it.

There was no home to escape to this time, no imaginary place to drift off to. She recoiled from him, the stench of his breath overwhelming. His hands roamed over her waist, brushing against her breasts.

It was all too much .

Her pleading eyes found Jaksen, silently begging him to stop, but he remained motionless, arms folded over his chest, his face a mask devoid of any emotion.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Arenna yelled.

Lord Bishop’s lips were on her cheek, her ear, sucking and pulling, his tongue raking up the length of her throat. She shoved against him, slamming her fists into his chest, his face.

He couldn’t let this happen to her .

He wouldn’t .

Tears blurred her vision, turning the two men before her into foggy silhouettes. “Get off of me,” she sobbed, pushing against Lord Bishop’s cheeks.

Bishop ignored her, a deep chuckle rumbling in his throat. His hands dropped to her skirt, bunching it at her waist. “I have always enjoyed the fight.”

A choked whimper escaped her throat, a sound of despair she didn’t recognize.

Movement caught her eye. Jaksen was suddenly there, separating them in seconds, yanking her away from the lord and sending her crashing to the floor. Pale hands gripped Zachriel’s veiny throat, forcing him down against the cobblestones.

Arenna blinked back tears, uneasy relief pooling in her chest as guards rushed to their king, pinning Lord Bishop’s arms at his sides. “My king, please! You granted me permission!” Bishop squealed, desperation etched across his bruised face.

“I gave you a test, and you failed.” Jaksen sauntered toward a glistening wall of sharpened steel, rolling up his sleeve as he grabbed a particularly large ax, tossing it effortlessly between his hands.

He stalked back toward the lord, a smile spreading across his face, his eyes shimmering with an intensity she had never seen before, as if he were engulfed in bloodlust.

A puddle formed beneath the sobbing Lord Bishop.

Jaksen laughed, the sound dark and chilling.

With one fluid motion, he brought the ax down on Bishop’s right hand, severing it cleanly from his arm.

The lord screamed, his wails echoing through the chamber.

“You should know,” Jaksen said, his voice cold and steady, “I would never offer my wife to any man—for any price, for any reason.”

Silver glinted as Jaksen’s ax swung down again, severing Lord Bishop’s left hand. Arenna gaped, stunned into silence. She could barely process the scene unfolding before her, or the bittersweet relief rising within.

More screams tore through the air, raw and desperate.

Jaksen yanked the lord up by the collar of his jacket. “I noticed every time your hand drifted to her thighs or rested on her back. You thought me a fool, but I noticed every single time.”

“My king—” Zachriel whimpered, his voice cracking.

The Serpent King cut off Lord Bishop’s pleas with an ax thrust to his shoulder, drawing another howl of agony.

Bile surged in Arenna’s throat as guards dragged the screaming lord to the center of the room, clasping one of the chains around his neck. He was hoisted into the air moments later, his legs kicking wildly.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the spray of blood from where his hands should be. But fingers melted into her hair, stroking gently back and forth. “I know watching it for the first time isn’t easy. Believe me, even my stomach churned the first time. But, with time, you will get used to it.”

“I will never be a part of something like this again,” Arenna snapped.

Jaksen tightened his grip, pulling her hair slowly, forcing her watery eyes to meet his. “That isn’t your decision, Little Dove.” A wicked grin curled the corners of his lips, and before she could process his intent, he yanked her into one of the open cells.

He dropped to his knees in an instant, a knife pressed firmly against her throat. “Should you ever allow a man to touch you again, you will meet a similar fate. Though yours will not be as quick, and far more gruesome. Do you understand?”

Arenna nodded. “I understand,” she whispered, heart pounding.

Jaksen kissed her ear softly before rising, leaving her on her back. “You should know better, Arenna. I have such high expectations of you.”

Words started and died in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to respond as she looked up at her husband, who was growing angrier with each passing second.

“Should you require so much of another man’s attention—” He tore the front of her gown open, exposing her breasts to the dank air. “Then let me help you display yourself for them.”

Arenna cried silently, bearing the weight of her punishment as he ripped apart her dress piece by piece until she was left trembling and naked.

Once finished, he rose, shoving her skull against the stone wall. Her vision erupted into a kaleidoscope of stars, pain radiating through her head.

Jaksen sauntered to the door, chuckling. “You will stay here until I deem you fit to leave,” he said, his voice fading as he wandered down the darkened tunnel.

The sound of shuffling boots echoed in the small cell, and through her blurry vision, Arenna saw two guards snickering down at her, their eyes roving over her exposed body. She curled into herself, trying to cover as much of her nakedness as possible.

It felt like an eternity before they finally turned away, their laughter fading into memory. When the cell fell silent, Arenna released a shuddering breath.

Now, enveloped in stillness, with only the occasional, steady drip of blood to break the silence, the weight of her surroundings pressed in.

The air was frigid and damp, thick with the stench of mildew and dried blood.

Her skin crawled, and the tatters of her gown did little to shield her from the relentless bite of the cold.

With the little strength she had left, she pushed herself toward the back wall. A wave of nausea hit her as she stared at the severed hands, the pool of blood that stained the floor, and the lifeless man dangling from the ceiling.

Bringing her knees to her chest, Arenna’s eyes burned with fresh tears. But then something shifted inside her— cracked —and she began to hyperventilate.

Gasping for air, her chest tightened with each inhale. She sobbed into the open air, pressing her palms against the cold, soaked ground. When her forehead met the floor, everything within her shattered, and her sobs turned into full-blown wails.

Arenna cried for the life she once had with the man she loved, for the happiness they shared, and for the way she had lost herself over the years, barely recognizing the face she saw in mirrors. She wept for how she had allowed Jaksen to mold her, to change her, to ruin her.

She prayed to the Sisters to release her from this torment, to rid her of Jaksen and give her the strength to survive him and this place.

Or maybe bring death, just to end her suffering altogether.