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The damp clicks of boots on wet stone echoed in Evrardin’s ear. He glanced up at the door, briefly stealing his attention from his work.

“It’s late m’boy,” Crowrot stated as he entered the room. He removed his gloves covered in congealing blood and placed them on the wooden counter.

“I’m aware,” Ev grunted out, looking back down at the body he was dissecting.

“Thought that revel was t’night. The prince not makin’ you follow him ‘round like a damn work mule for once?”

Evrardin squeezed his eyes shut. “Did you just come here to hound me?”

Crowrot raised a brow, his shaggy hair slipping out from beneath his hat. His wrinkled hands rested on the surgery table across from Evrardin. “I’know you’ve always been a grumpy sonofabitch, but what has gotten into ya as of late?”

Evrardin threw his macabre instruments down on the table. One of the small knives he was using as a scalpel bounced and fell to the ground.

“Don’t you give a shit that we’re trapped here? That we can’t leave even if we wanted to?!” he shouted.

“Ev…”

“No, don’t try and make it seem like I’m losing my fucking mind.” His hands came up in exasperation. “This place is a living hell. A soul-sucking prison. And I’m forced to kiss the ground the prince walks on, making sure not to miss a single footstep—I have to act like everything's fine? That I’m not fucking furious every waking moment of my day? Am I supposed to just let that shit go, Rot?”

Crowrot gave him a sympathetic look. He knew that Evrardin was constantly on edge—spiteful, even—because of his less-than-fortunate circumstances. Crowrot came to terms with his place at Kairth, but Evrardin never did.

“I know. I know how shit this all is.” Crowrot’s voice was rocky as he spoke, his throat scarred from all the shouting and cries of pain it had endured. “But I know you, boy. There’s somethin’ more. What aren’t ya tellin’ me?”

Evrardin’s eyes darted away from Crowrot and he pushed himself from the table to begin sifting through the illuminated vials behind him, the motley glasses clinking together.

“Are ya not able t’tell me?” Crowrot had a bit more sympathy wrapped in his question.

Ev sighed, gripping the edge of the counter, and stared up above him like he might be praying to a god for patience. “It’s not just me anymore. Not just us.”

“What’d ya mean?”

Crowrot began scooping the organs and chunks of flesh that had fallen onto the ground from Ev’s hasty work and dropped them into slop buckets, the sound vulgar and rancid.

“His plans don’t involve just me anymore. I’m not the only one pinned under Cas’ blade.”

Crowrot hummed a sound in acknowledgment. “The princess,” he muttered, groaning as he stood up.

Ev didn’t respond, grabbing an already stained rag to wipe off the tables.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Crowrot took a whiff of the bucket now filled with entrails. “It turns out you do have a heart. I was startin’ t’think yous was like one of these hallowed souls,” he said, gesturing to the dead, heartless body on the table.

Evrardin scoffed to hide his smirk. “Go to hell.”

Crowrot’s crunching laugh echoed in the small chamber. “We established we’re already there, boy.”

Evrardin grumbled something unintelligible as he hooked his hands around the gutted body before him. He dragged it off the table, its feet slamming against the cobblestone floor, and pulled him back through one of the dark halls leading into the crypt.

With little effort, he slung the body upon a small cart, letting out a breath as he stepped back once and scrutinized his work. A sinking feeling pooled in his stomach.

It's not my fault , he tried to tell himself. But that rationale proved futile. Evrardin’s hands were the culprits of the slaughter of hundreds of innocent men. His eyes hesitantly looked down at the pile of bodies that sat heavily on the wheeled cart in front of him, their hearts all missing, their skin leathering from time.

An apology sat uncomfortably on the tip of his tongue. But they wouldn’t hear it, so what did it matter? And even if they could, it would never be enough for unjustly taking their life.

He thought back to Mara, how she stared at him as he left her with Cas. She already thought him a monster, he couldn’t imagine her reaction if she found out just exactly what it was he did for the prince.

When Evrardin made it back into the main room of the crypt, he found the gravedoctor sitting at one of the stained tables, two plates of food before him. He looked up at Ev, his visage bearing the marks of time, making him seem much older than his years. He nodded down at the second plate.

Ev approached him, crashing onto the stool in a huff. His plate was filled with scraps from the kitchens, likely extras or mistakes from the masquerade. He picked up a burnt roll and ripped it apart in his hand, resting an elbow on the table. Blood and guts sat just inches from them, strewed in all the nooks and crannies of the room, but it didn’t seem to disturb their appetite.

They ate in irritated silence until Crowrot spoke.

“Still fightin’ in those rings?” He looked at Ev from behind the slab of meat dripping in his knobbed fingers.

Crowrot knew he was, this wasn’t his real question.

Evrardin nodded, shoveling potatoes into his mouth. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What’d ya mean, it doesn’t matter ? You know what the prince’ll do if he finds out.”

“I don’t keep my winnings,” he mumbled.

“Won’t make no difference to him.”

“I’m not the one here we should be worried about falling into the prince’s bad graces.” Ev’s jaw clenched, trying to hold back the anger beginning to escape.

Crowrot sighed, placing his spoon on his cracked plate. “N’when Cas beheads ya for bein’ disloyal, whose gonna protect the princess, then?”

Evrardin closed his eyes momentarily, trying to retain his composure. “That has nothing to do with me, Rot.”

Crowrot raised a brow. “No? Right, my mistake.”

Ev’s hand clenched his fork, the nerve in his jaw twitching. As if he felt the need to defend himself, he scowled. “The prince is preventing me from doing anything that benefits her, regardless. He said it doesn’t matter if she becomes his wife, he comes first. She shouldn’t be— and isn’t —any of my concern.”

Crowrot gave him a sideways glance.

“What?! There’s nothing I can do now even if I wanted to! You heard what I just said. The prince specifically forbade it.”

The old man pushed himself up, wobbling as he walked away, picking up papers scattered along one of the work benches. “Y’seem tired. Should go to bed, boy.”

“Oh, so that’s it? You’re… what? Disappointed in me for something I can’t control?”

Without glancing back, Crowrot disappeared down the corridor.

Frustrated beyond all else, Evrardin finished his meal before making his way back up to the main floors of the castle, the entire time cursing out the old man under his breath.

The sun would be rising soon, the darkness of the night still twinkling in through the windows. Evrardin could hear the faint tune of strings playing, a few scattered voices echoing down the hall.

As he turned the corner to pass by the gardens, a hand reached out and stopped him. Ev spun around to face a disheveled prince, his mask long gone, his makeup melting down his face.

“Evrardin,” he slurred slightly, leaning against the wall to keep his balance.

Evrardin examined Cas’ inebriated state.

“Have you seen m’wife?”

“You don’t have a wife.”

“Ha! That, you’re right!” He slapped Evrardin on the shoulder, the heady scent of wine overpowering in their close quarters. “Find her at sunrise. Take her to the library.”

Evrardin quirked a brow. “Back to warding her?”

Acastus wrote him off with a hand flick. “You’ll be happy to learn that I’ve grown fond of my little betrothed. Maybe picking her wasn’t the worst thing in the world.”

Wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Evrardin could picture Mara’s annoyed face at hearing the prince’s romantic endearments.

“She’s quite beautiful, is she not, Evrardin?”

Clenching his teeth together, he gave a nod to satisfy the drunken prince.

“She’s mine, you know.”

Evrardin gave a curt nod again. “Well aware.”

“I won’t have you messing this up, you and that soft heart of yours.”

Soft heart? Leave it to the prince to accuse Evrardin of possessing such an out-of-character asset. How many times did he have his wine cup refilled?

“Do not mess this up, Evrardin,” Cas’ words suddenly articulate. “I lack the patience. I need her skills to glassfaire, so make sure she figures it out. I don’t care how.”

Before Evrardin could say another word, let alone protest, Acastus had turned and danced back into the gardens, joining gorgeous members of the court, ones who would feed his narcissistic addiction.

With a tight fist, Evrardin took a breath before turning to head back to his room. After all this, everything Evrardin had done, the prince still accused him of potentially defaming his path.

Irate, Evrardin punched a candelabra he passed down one of the corridors, sending the candles spiraling on the floor, the clatter echoing off the walls.

This was Evrardin’s life. This is all it ever would amount to. He was nothing more than a dog the prince could kick around, and there was nothing Evrardin could do about it. He left the mess behind him—it blended in with the rest of the decrepit castle anyway.

When he marched into his chambers, he ran his hands through his hair, pulling out the string that tied his hair back, and ripped his armor off plate by plate, shoving them in the corner of his room, the attire restricting. He went to tear off his cloak before remembering he no longer had it.

The pain in Mara’s eyes as she accused him of lying ricocheted inside his head. The way she looked at him while he spun her on the dance floor. What had he been thinking?

He had to push her to the back of his thoughts. He wasn’t going to mess this up. He was going to do what the prince wanted. Everything and anything he wanted. Then he was going to get the fuck out of Kairth.

Yet, his feet betrayed him. He cracked his neck before he set off toward her rooms.