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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ROOK

Cold. Pain. Darkness, the kind that clings to me and keeps me from crawling into the light. I drift in and out of consciousness.

“Wake up.”

When I fail to comply, someone slaps me across the cheek. The sharp sting brings me more clarity. I blink open my eyes, though they remain unfocused. I’m kneeling, slumped against a stone wall, my head bowed, my arms chained in front of me. I’ve been stripped naked, perhaps to degrade me.

Slowly, my bleary eyes focus on the person who hit me.

Fuck.

Fuck .

Queen Dulcamara.

The ruler of Chymeria has me in her dungeon, or wherever the fuck this place is.

Down on my knees, I’m level with her eyes.

They always look gray and empty like a mirror without a reflection.

Soulless. Even the light from a torch grants her no warmth.

My gaze drops to her dark hair, braided over her shoulder, easy to grab.

“Queen takes rook,” she murmurs, as if playing chess.

Is this nothing but a game to her?

I lunge for Dulcamara, but my head jerks back and chains rattle behind me. Pain lances through the muscles in my neck. I grope overhead.

Shackles. They locked shackles around my horns so I couldn’t move my head far from the wall.

Where the fuck am I?

This place looks nothing like the Forgotten Tower.

I’m imprisoned in a gloomy chamber of stone.

Words have been carved in the wall, but the letters keep swimming under my eyes.

It’s difficult to focus. I tilt my head to the right, as far as the chains around my horns will allow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a door wrought from iron. It’s the only exit from this cage.

“Why are you here?” the queen asks.

I say nothing. If she doesn’t know, that means Zin didn’t tell her about the soulstone. There’s a chance I might even live to see it one day.

Dulcamara’s nostrils flare. She loathes disobedience above all else. “Answer me.”

Still, I say nothing.

She slaps me again. Her leather glove stings my face; my skin heats in the shape of her hand. Of course she’s wearing gloves. She wouldn’t dirty herself by touching a filthy demonspawn.

“How can you be so ungrateful?” she asks, though it’s not a question so much as a statement of fact.

“Ungrateful?” It’s the first word I have spoken here, and my voice sounds rusty with disuse.

“I let you live.” Disgust and hatred thin her lips into a white line. “You still breathe in this kingdom by my mercy alone. And yet you break into my castle, kill my knights, and ruin my temples.”

“Temples?” I grunt. “Don’t remember more than one.”

“I could have you executed at my command.”

I’m numb, distant, too far away for fear to touch me. “Why haven’t you?”

“I’m not done with you yet.” She sneers at me as if my question is stupidly obvious. “My royal sorceress told me you were looking for this .”

A chain, fragile and golden, glints around her neck. She hooks her finger around it and lifts a pendant out from beneath the bodice of her gown.

Horror strikes me to the marrow of my bones.

My family heirloom, the last thing I have left of my mother, dangles around Her Majesty’s neck.

She has the soulstone.

Fuck, this day just keeps getting worse.

I don’t say anything out loud, since I don’t want to betray how much my mother’s soulstone means to me.

Dulcamara will only wield my emotions against me, just like she always has, but I can’t stop staring at the dark beauty of the soulstone.

Even in this dungeon, the deep purple gem glitters with fire.

The soulstone means equilibrium with my mate.

Marriage.

Everything .

Dulcamara stares into my eyes without blinking, as if she sees the dilemma churning inside my mind like a storm. She’s waiting for me to crumble.

“Where did you find that?” My voice rasps on the question.

“Your whore of a mother abandoned it.” She twirls the soulstone between her fingers.

I ignore her insult. If my mother abandoned the soulstone, that implies she fled from the castle, not that the queen pried it from her cold, dead hands.

“It’s a pretty little trinket, isn’t it?” she asks.

She must be bluffing. She must know what a soulstone means to demons. Otherwise, she never would have kept it for herself, never would have brought it to the dungeon to taunt me.

“I don’t wear jewelry,” I say, which isn’t a lie.

“Then you won’t mind if I toss this into a cesspit? Lost forever in the piss and shit?”

“You wouldn’t.”

We lock stares for a moment, each daring the other to admit what the soulstone means to them. If the queen were stupid, this would be a whole lot easier, but unfortunately, she has always had a ruthless intelligence.

Her nostrils flare as if she smells a stink. “You guessed correctly. The soulstone has value to me.” But she doesn’t say why, or how much she knows about demons. Perhaps she believes the soulstone will tempt me.

“What do you want from me?” When she doesn't answer me, I ask another question. “Why would you ever dirty yourself by wearing demonic jewelry?”

The queen has always believed that demons are little better than filth.

“Because everything your mother once had now belongs to me.” Her eyes glitter with cold disdain. “Even you.”

“Don’t forget my sister.”

The queen scoffs. “Lark worked for me of her own free will. She was proud to become a sorceress for the crown.”

Her words wouldn't sting so much if they weren't true, but I refuse to take the bait.

Dulcamara softens her voice, which somehow makes it that much more unnerving. A shiver crawls down my spine. “Lark’s punishment in the Forgotten Tower should have corrected her rebellious nature. Eventually, she will come crawling back on her hands and knees, eager to serve me again.”

Conveniently, she omits the part where Pyrah and I broke Lark out of the Forgotten Tower. I'm surprised she imagines Lark still has such loyalty to her. Is she truly so arrogant?

“That's why you haven't killed me yet,” I say, calmly, keeping any emotion from my face. “You still believe I will surrender to your control.”

“Dead, you are worthless.”

Worthless . Like my father? She wouldn't even let his body rest in its shallow grave but had his corpse exhumed so she could steal one of his bones. She wanted to create an heir born of dark magic. Of course, Lark refused to cast the spell but that won't stop Dulcamara.

“Is that why you brought the soulstone?” I ask, pretending I don’t know why she desecrated my father’s grave. “Will you bribe me with it?”

“Bribe?” Spit flecks her pale lips. “How dare you suggest such a thing? You should be begging for my mercy, not demanding payment from me.”

“You still haven't answered my question. What the fuck do you want from me?”

When Dulcamara stares into my eyes, hers look so empty. “Tell me where she is.”

“Who?” Maybe she wants Lark, too, so she can have the complete set of bastard twins.

“The red dragon, Pyrah.”

Surprise jolts me, and this time, I’m unable to keep it from my face. Why does she want Pyrah? Her knights have been trying to slay the dragon, but I had assumed they only wanted the bounty on Pyrah’s head.

Did Pyrah meet the queen before? When she was captured by Scaldric?

I should have asked her myself, but now it’s too fucking late.

“Why?” I rasp, the gravel in my voice intensifying.

“Don’t play the fool.”

“Your evil plans make little sense.”

“Evil?” Her eyes glimmer as if she has the right to act insulted. She always liked to cry on command. “I have sacrificed so much for the good of this kingdom.”

“Every time you open your mouth, more shit falls out.”

She slaps me yet again, hard enough that my head jerks to the side. An iron taste fills my mouth. My fangs must have cut the inside of my cheek.

“Tell me,” she demands. “Where is Pyrah?”

I bare my teeth in a bloodstained smile. “Fuck you.”

Dulcamara inspects me as if I’m a puzzle she wants to crack. “You have yet to learn the value of regret.”

She exits the dungeon through the iron door. Where does the door lead? This godforsaken place could be one of the dungeons in Netherhaven Castle, buried deep in the bowels of the fortress, but I don’t recognize it. I was forbidden from exploring the dungeons when I was a child.

A shiver passes over me. It’s cold here, and I’m not wearing any clothing. I don’t see any kind of bedding. There’s nothing but a bucket to shit in.

Zin enters the room. Bruises darken the skin around her neck where I choked her before. The sight shouldn’t gratify me and yet it does. She sneers with disgust at my naked body, her gaze lingering below my waist. The muscles in my back tense.

Torture. That’s what I would expect.

She’s carrying a cup in her hand, full of some dark liquid, and brings it to my mouth. “Drink.”

“Poison?” I ask.

Zin rolls her eyes. “Why the hell would we poison you after we caught you?”

“I presume for an agonizing death.”

“Trust me, Queen Dulcamara would watch. She isn’t here right now, is she?”

I clench my jaw. “Why should I trust you?”

“For fuck’s sake.” She sighs. “If you don’t drink this yourself, I will have to waste my magic on another paralysis curse and force it down your throat. I promise it won’t make your dick fall off. I know how precious dicks are to an incubus.”

“Tell me what the fuck it is first.”

“It will make your sleep dreamless.”

She must be telling the truth, since an incubus has the power to enter the dreams of another. I will lose the ability to communicate with Pyrah.

I have no choice. If I fight, it’s the paralysis curse again. With a grim nod, I surrender.

She brings the cup to my lips. The liquid drips into my mouth like oil, though it tastes bittersweet. I swallow every last damn drop.

The sorceress retreats out of my reach. Only then does she turn her back on me. She abandons me to my fate.

It’s strange to sleep without dreams. I plunge into darkness and awake feeling empty.

A guard enters the room and brings me a bowl of gruel.

“Where are we?” I ask.

The guard says nothing, just slides the bowl across the floor to me. Some of it sloshes out onto the floor, slowly, oozing with disgusting thickness.

I wait until he has left before I figure out how to eat. The chains around my horns prevent me from bending down and devouring the gruel like an animal. With my arms chained in front of me, it’s difficult to pick the bowl up, but I manage to bring it to my mouth.

Fuck, that’s disgusting. Bland, thick sludge. At one point, it may have been oats.

When I stand to my full height, the chains rattle and tug against my horns. I’m unable to walk far from the wall. I lower my head and strain against the chains, until the muscles in my neck scream in protest.

Breaking my horns would be a permanent solution, since they grow from the bone of my skull. It would be bloody as well, since it would tear the arteries and veins inside my horns. I can’t risk bleeding out. Whoever chained me to the wall by my horns knew my weakness.

Hunger gnaws, persistently, in my stomach. Food alone won’t be enough to sustain me. Eventually, I will need to feed. My survival depends upon my devouring kiss. Regret strangles my throat. Perhaps I was a fool for refusing to feed from Pyrah one last time.

At the thought of my mate, my chest tightens as if crushed by an invisible fist.

Pyrah is alone. Vulnerable.

She has spent most of her life hunted by dragonslayers, hiding within her cave, without a single friend or ally. Even I was once her enemy. It’s not unlikely that fears still live in the deepest shadows of her heart.

That she believes even her mate could abandon her.

She needs me.

And I don’t know how long I can survive without her.