Page 36 of His Dark Delights
Lilly
They caught him.
An uproar thundered through the confines of the palace in the attack’s aftermath.
The frenzied council members hollered over one another to be heard, so loudly that their voices carried through the sealed doors.
The Grand Duchess seemed especially shrill in her complaints.
Then the shuffling, scuffing of soldier’s boots and their rattling armor dampened the conversation.
That was when Rhydan appeared, finding me in a state of shock and utterly frozen in the corridor. He breezed around the corner, out of breath, distressed, and jumpy. I couldn’t remember anything he said to me while escorting me back to my room at His Majesty’s command.
I hadn’t seen Soren since we burst through the palace doors with a barricade of soldiers walling us in—with a fae prisoner bound in iron chains trailing behind our entourage.
I would never forget the large nets flung from the rooftops in order to seize him, nor the sickening thud of his body hitting the side of a stone tower as he fell.
Servants and courtiers milling about the castle recognized the urgency of our arrival and the importance of such a prisoner. They watched with curiosity and animosity as the prisoner passed.
“Assassin.”
“Assailant.”
“That savage tried to kill the King,” they said. “Put him in the dungeon.”
“Keep him in irons.”
“Cut off his wings.”
I nearly lost the contents of my stomach on the perfectly polished floor.
Alone in my room, I paced until my heels hurt and chewed my nails down to the nub. Nerves bristled under my skin and my stomach churned, boiling like a hot cauldron of acid. My bones felt as weak as holiday jelly and my muscles weakened by the minute.
The prisoner was fae. The only other one I’d ever met in my life. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. I yearned to see him, his wings, and to feel the connection of magic again. But he tried to kill the king… He attempted to kill Soren.
A maelstrom of confliction swam rampant in my blood, my guts, my mind. Torn between two worlds and left alone to suffer for it. Alone, unmoored on an endless sea with no staunch ally, no true love, and no home. I felt my desire for Ren as a burden.
I had balanced on the precarious edge of changing Ren’s mind about the war.
It only took one arrow to shatter my words like sea glass on a rocky shore.
My anxiety ran deep and jagged in my chest. As horrible and persistent as a festering, unhealing wound.
I didn’t sob or wail from the pressure of my crowded thoughts or my suffering.
The well of my tears had run dry, and I lacked the energy to produce more.
Mrs. Gibbons brought dinner to my room. She spoke breezily, only wavering upon the mention of the prisoner in the palace.
“One of those fae,” she said, “down in the dungeon beneath our very feet. Can you believe it?”
I didn’t want to, yet I’d seen him for myself. His wings had hung limp as the guards dragged his unconscious form along the ground. Drops of blood had splattered on the marble, trailing after them like grotesque breadcrumbs showing the way.
“Staff delivering dinner to the King and council say they overheard talk of an interrogation. I’m sure an execution will follow.
One more brutal than the burning of Oberyn’s wings, and this one has ‘em too, they said. I can’t watch a display like that, not again.
I’m getting too old.” Mrs. Gibbons shook her head ruefully.
Using my meal as an excuse, I didn’t reply.
With a mouth full of roast chicken, I couldn’t.
That was the only bite I took, leaving the rest untouched when she excused herself for the night.
The sky darkened outside the windows and my only light came from the fire.
Wrapped in my blanket from the bed, I sat bundled up in a chair by the hearth, desperate for warmth to heat my bones .
I remained alone well past midnight. No cruel king appeared through the secret door to claim his consolation prize—or to relieve himself of the pressure of his weighty crown. If Soren came to me tonight, I would not be his peace.
My thoughts endlessly looped back to the fae in the dungeon. Had they started interrogating him already? Maybe torturing him? When would Soren decide to execute the fae for the attempt on his life?
Was he cold? Was he hungry? Were his wings still intact?
The questions running wild through the garden of my mind swept me to my feet.
A new urge lifted my exhaustion laden limbs until I moved forward and reached for the door.
I entered the hall, empty and dark, with my untouched leftovers tucked into a parcel at my hip.
The blue walls appeared a sparkling black under the dancing wall sconces, like flickering stars in a pitch-black sky.
I followed the distant echoes of voices, numbly, mindlessly sweeping through the corridors toward the council chambers.
As if I heard their breath and sensed their presence, I avoided the guards patrolling the hallways.
My feet moved on instinct, heart racing, breath shallow, as I snuck through the maze of corridors deeper into the bowels of the palace.
With my natural inclination for direction and brief time in the castle, I found the entrance to the dungeon.
Two guards in heavy armor and pikes in their hands marched down the hall. I lingered in the shadows, holding my breath as they turned a corner and vanished out of sight. Then I flung myself through two columns and into the damp hall leading into the pit of the palace .
More than once I narrowly avoided a guard, but something inside of me, a primal, magical knowing, guided my path. Maybe the gods were on my side, lighting my path. Surely it was their power infiltrating my bones and reinforcing my confidence.
The stench of the cells reached me before I saw them.
Many had suffered here in ages past, crushed under the heavy boot of one king to the next.
The walls dripped, and an oily fluid reflected on the stone beneath my feet.
I hated to think of the blood, piss, shit, and bile staining the ground I walked on.
A dim light flickered at the end of a narrow path. Cells with iron bars walled me in, and a metallic bitterness tainted the back of my tongue with each inhale. Enough to make me dizzy and cloud my head, but I didn’t stop.
In the last cell to my right, a figure jerked upright at the sound of my footsteps. Ice-cold, enraged gray-green eyes gleamed with malicious intent when his head snapped up. A breath vented past my lips as if his glare had struck me.
His features softened a fraction as awareness flooded his gaze. He tipped his head to the side, observing me. The scrutiny of his stare made me feel like I was the one behind bars left as an exhibit.
A black and purple bruise circled one of his eyes, and blood was smeared on almost every visible surface of his face and neck. Sticky crimson matted the coppery ends of his hair, and his clothing was ripped and shredded in multiple places as evidence of his beating.
“You.” He spoke first. “What are you doing here? The guards will return at any moment.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, warily eyeing the iron bars. After a second hesitating, I passed the parcel of food through. “I… I brought you this.”
The fae man rose to his feet, giving me an eyeful of his wings—still intact and faintly glowing with their own inner light. He could have illuminated the cell without the help of the sole torch burning on the wall.
His cautious gaze lingering on me, but he reached out for the parcel. A spark jolted through my hand when our fingers accidentally touched. His brow jerked with intrigue, but he retreated into the cell.
“So, I wasn’t mistaken earlier. The Fairy Butcher is a hypocrite.
Wetting his wick with a fae woman while he kills the rest of us.
” The man scoffed, but that didn’t stop him from tearing into a strip of chicken.
While chewing, he added, “Well, have you come to pay your respects before they murder me, then?”
Shame dipped and surged through me, and heat colored my face.
“Pay my respects?” I stuttered. “I’m just here to help, and maybe—maybe talk.”
He leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles.
The fae man was tall, lean, and carried an air of dignified arrogance strong enough to rival Soren’s.
He didn’t look like a prisoner, despite the filth, blood, and straw scattered on the floor.
Instead, he gave off the impression of a magically inclined, disgruntled noble.
“Talk? What’s there to talk about, brave but foolish girl?” He popped a cherry tomato in his mouth, casting his eyes at the ceiling. “Tomorrow the Fairy Butcher will burn my wings as he did my father’s, and my mission will have utterly failed.”
“Your father’s wings?” I gasped.
His brows pinched as he peered up at me. He slowly, pointedly, swallowed the bite of food before responding. “You didn’t hear all the commotion in the castle after I stopped screaming, then? Your Butcher caught the Prince of Fairy today.”
“You’re the Prince of Fairy?” I stumbled back, nearly tripping on my feet.
“The one and only. Prince Lunaric, at your service.” He bowed with a dramatic flourish. “The only son of the late King Oberyn and heir to the throne. Well, I suppose that won’t matter after tomorrow. There will be no heir because he will have no head.” A cruel bark of laughter cracked out of him.
As sorry as I felt for him and awed as I was, I couldn’t leash back my tongue. “The war might have ended had you not shot that arrow. This could have been avoided.”
Prince Lunaric looked me up and down. He stepped forward, exhaling hard from his nose. “I was going to shoot the Fairy Butcher through the heart and end the war to save my mother from the battlefield. Who are you to end the war, girl? You’re not one of my people.”