Page 12 of Realms of Shadow and Sun (A World of Sun and Shadow #3)

The dungeon was a far deal better than sleeping in Cressida's bed every night, Sion decided, as he leaned against the damp stone wall of his cell. It was wet, cramped, and musty, the air thick with the scent of mold and decay. But anything was better than being between Cressida's legs, enduring her twisted desires and cruel games. At least here, in the relative solitude of his cell, he could breathe without feeling her suffocating presence.

His cell faced the dungeon door, offering him a clear view of the comings and goings of the guards serving Cressida. Over the past hour, he had watched them closely, noting their movements, their expressions. He knew many were only loyal to her out of fear, their eyes darting nervously whenever her name was mentioned. Sion hoped to work that fact to his advantage somehow. Given time, he was sure he'd eventually be able to bribe or talk his way out.

As he sat there, his mind raced with possibilities. He'd torture Cressida until she broke the blood promises, grab Renya, and they would flee together. They could take shelter in the fallen Sun Realm or head to the Spring Lands, seeking shelter and safe passage there. He'd get a letter to Grayden, and—

"Sion?"

A rough voice came from the cell to Sion's left, interrupting his thoughts. The sound was unexpected in the quiet of the dungeon, and Sion found himself tensing instinctively.

"Cyrus?"

he replied, recognizing the voice of the old man who had been brought in earlier.

The old man coughed and wheezed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "How are you doing, my boy?"

Sion approached the bars of his cell, trying to catch a glimpse of the old man. From the rounded angle of the dungeon, he could just make out the elderly gentleman laying against the wall of his own cell. Even in the dim light, Sion could see the weariness etched into every line of Cyrus's face.

"I've only been in here an hour, so I'm more concerned with how you are doing,"

Sion replied, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Cyrus laughed, and the sound was so hearty that Sion instantly doubted the old man's age. There was a strength behind that laugh that belied his appearance. "I've been sleeping, conserving my energy. I told you, I'm right where I want to be. Where I need to be."

Sion's brow wrinkled. "Why on earth do you want to be her prisoner?"

Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant. Sion was about to speak again when Cyrus's voice, now low and serious, broke the quiet.

"I don't have much choice, but I do believe you'll do what you can for my Renya."

My Renya? The words struck Sion like a physical blow. No—it couldn't be—

Cyrus continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Renya is...my daughter."

Sion laughed, the sound tinged with disbelief. This old man, who spent his time in the human world—then it clicked. He did spend his life in the human realm—guarding over the very portal Renya fell through. The realization hit Sion like a thunderbolt, pieces of a puzzle he didn't even know he was solving falling into place.

"You mean—"

"Yes, my boy,"

Cyrus confirmed, a hint of pride and sorrow mingling in his voice. "I was once Fated to your queen."

Sion felt sick, a wave of nausea washing over him. And embarrassed. Not only had he slept with Renya's mother, but her father knew about it. The shame of it burned in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

Cyrus seemed to read Sion's mind. He laughed again, the sound echoing through the stale air of the dungeon. "Don't worry about it, I don't care if you've made me a cuckold. I was able to sever my mating bond with Cressida a long time ago...once I found out that it was the only way to save my daughter."

The casual way Cyrus spoke of severing a mating bond—something Sion had always believed to be unbreakable—left him reeling. "But—why are you here then? Why allow yourself to be captured? You know she'll want to kill you for what you've done."

"Trust me, my boy,"

Cyrus replied, his voice taking on a tone of grim determination. "She needs me. I'm critical to her plans. She wants her daughter's unquestioned loyalty—and there's one thing standing in the way from that. But with any luck, I'll be able to right a wrong and finally do something for my Renya."

Cyrus wasn't making any sense, but Sion didn't want to question him further. There was a plan in place, and someone else to look out for Renya besides him. He felt relieved, knowing he had an ally in this God's forsaken realm.

"What can I do to help you?"

Sion leaned forward, lowering his voice. There were no other prisoners currently held in the dungeon, but he didn't trust Cressida not to have ways to listen in.

"We're going to free my daughter and get her safely to her mate—but first, the Shadow Queen needs me for a bit of magic. Once it's performed, she'll find out my betrayal. If I don't make it out, I need you to help Renya. Tell her—tell her that her father never stopped fighting for her."

The weight of Cyrus's words settled on Sion's shoulders, a responsibility he hadn't expected but one he knew he couldn't refuse. "But the blood promises—"

"Let me worry about that,"

Cyrus cut him off, his voice firm. "Trust me, I'm right where I need to be to set things right. Just promise me, you'll look after my Renya if I don't make it out of here?"

Sion nodded, even though he knew Cyrus couldn't see him. "I've been looking after her since I saw her wearing my best friend's pin."

"I'm trusting you, my boy. Don't let me down."

Before Sion could respond, a large creaking noise came from the doorway. He quickly pushed himself back against the wall of his cell, heart pounding as Cressida strode into the dungeon. Her eyes squinted in the near darkness of the chamber, adjusting to the gloom.

Sion watched her glance between the two cells, and he could see her internal struggle as she attempted to decide which former lover she wanted to toy with first. After a moment of deliberation, she marched towards Sion, choosing the most recent betrayal.

She stood directly in front of him, her black dress blending in with the darkness of the dungeon. Tiny bits of onyx, sewn into concentric circles, sparkled on the skirts from the sole torch on the wall. Sion feigned disinterest, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He knew she could hurt him, bring him to the edge of death, but she couldn't push it past that. The blood promise Renya made saved his mortal body, at least.

"Oh, sweet Sion,"

Cressida purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "how I hate to see you restrained...at least, in these conditions. I'd much rather you'd be chained to my bed."

She adopted the saccharine tone she liked to use when she was antagonizing her prey. "I'm sure you'll come to regret your betrayal quickly. The dungeon isn't any place for a man with your...talents."

Sion swore he saw a grin flash across Cyrus's face in the dim light of the adjacent cell. He couldn't fathom how Renya's father could find this situation humorous. Perhaps he was slightly unhinged? His ex-mate was deranged, so why not him too?

Sion met Cressida's gaze. "My 'talents' are no longer yours to control."

Cressida scoffed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I can make you do anything I want, my dear Sion. I just can't kill you. But don't fear, I no longer desire you. How could I, when you've aligned yourself with the losing side?"

A chuckle came from Cyrus's cell, drawing Cressida's attention. "The only losing side is whichever one you're on, Cressy."

Sion watched the hatred flash in Cressida's eyes, her composure cracking for a moment. "Don't you dare call me that,"

she hissed, her breathing so irregular that Sion could hear her gasp for air.

"So you didn't let your former lover call you by your little nickname, Cressy?"

Cyrus taunted, his voice laden with mockery. "It sounds to me like your relationship was purely physical."

This time, Cressida lashed out. Her black magic crept into Cyrus's cell and wrapped around his neck cruelly. The dark tendrils seemed to suck the light from the air around them, pulsing with malevolent energy.

Cyrus sputtered and coughed, but Cressida didn't let up. His eyes became wide and his face started to turn red. As if in a trance, Cressida tightened her hold, her eyes gleaming with a mix of rage and sick pleasure.

"Stop!"

Sion shook the bars, helpless in the cell and against the Shadow Queen's magic. The metal rattled uselessly, a stark reminder of his powerlessness in this situation.

Suddenly, as if coming to her senses, Cressida released Cyrus. He crumpled to the ground, massaging his neck and breathing deeply, each intake of air a painful wheeze.

"You fool,"

Cressida spat, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "You want me to kill you? I won't. I still need you."

Cyrus, despite his near-death experience, managed a weak chuckle. "Ahhh, you're in the market for a new lover now? I admit, our time together was pleasurable, if not short."

Cressida fumed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. But Sion could tell she was trying hard not to lash out again. Whatever she wanted Cyrus for, it was incredibly important. She watched Cyrus for several seconds, her gaze calculating, before turning back to Sion.

"I'll deal with you later,"

she said, her voice cold and promising future pain. "Let's just say, we are going to have some fun, seeing how far I can push you without ending your life."

Sion didn't even react. The second Renya made her promise, he knew this was to be his fate. He met Cressida's gaze steadily, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

With a final glare at Sion, Cressida turned on her heels and flicked her fingers. The bars around Cyrus's cell disappeared with a sound like shattering glass, and he was instantly bound by her magic. She dragged him out of the cell, not caring as he stumbled behind her.

"Come, you old fool,"

she commanded, her voice echoing in the dungeon. "It's time for you and your precious daughter to have a reunion."

As Cyrus was pulled from the dungeon, his eyes met Sion's for a brief moment. In that glance, Sion saw a mixture of determination, fear, and something else—hope. Whatever Cyrus had planned, whatever gambit he was about to attempt, Sion silently wished him luck.