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She removed several chunks of steel and piled them to the side. Her eyes lifted to Astrid, and she folded her arms. “He’s a Death Spirit. You cannot kill him. So, you can fight me—and trust me, you would not be the first—or I can leave.”

“Leave,” Astrid snapped.

“And Lord Dimitri will tie you to a table, naked, and spread for the entire Royal Legion to see,” the female continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “You don’t want him to do your piercing. I’m the better choice. Trust me.”

Astrid weighed her words. “How many have there been before me?”

The female spread a cut of black cloth over the bare mattress. Her hands slowed at the edges, and she spoke in a flat tone. “More than I care to count.”

A trail of bodies proceeded her, yet her demented captor bargained with her. Obsessed over the taste of her soul. Made her come to humiliate her.

Astrid shoved the thought away. If he’d kidnapped other princesses or queens, the news would have reached Clorea. She was willing to bet she was the first royal he’d taken and leaned into her station.

“King Ambrose allows this behavior?” Astrid questioned. “I’m the King’s betrothed.”

“It’s complicated. Lord Dimitri was the Queen’s Royal Assassin. King Ambrose... inherited him.”

From Ledivion’s previous reign. Astrid’s mind raced. Dimitri obviously had no loyalty to his king. Sunlight reflected off the row of needles and Astrid resigned herself. This would be like the brand she carried behind her ear, and she would heal it, too, when she escaped him.

This was the better choice. Astrid glanced at the female. “My name is Astrid.”

“Keres,” she answered absently, lifting a small metal pot from her duffle. Astrid scrutinized the blue wax beads she spooned into the container. Flames lit in her palm, licking up the sides of the rounded bowl before lowering to flicker at the bottom.

Keres was a fire weaver.

“Why did you bring steel when you’re here to adorn me with gold and jewels?” Astrid asked.

Keres spared the pile of dark metal a glance. “I need to repair Lord Dimitri’s weapons.”

“Are you his blacksmith?” Astrid clipped.

“Metallurgist,” she answered in the same fashion.

Astrid’s gaze shifted to the nightstand. “Did you make his phallic figurines, too?”

“Butt plugs?” Keres answered pleasantly. “Yes.”

Astrid swallowed her rage and laid back, staring up at the exposed dark wood beams. “Is it fulfilling?” she asked. “Making weapons and sex toys?”

“Every sword needs a sheath, and some sheaths need to be trained,” Keres replied.

Astrid held her tongue but made a mental note to learn the location of the fire weaver’s chambers. If she wasn’t too far out of the way the sun’s rays would shine on her corpse the morning Astrid escaped.

While fantasizing about Keres’s demise was satisfying, Astrid needed to focus on her escape.

Lord Dimitri wanted her waxed and she wanted him dead.

Her methods of approach had to change if she wanted to survive.

She’d stroke his ego and get closer to him.

The moment she unearthed his soft underbelly, she’d gut him.

Astrid laced her fingers, resting them over her middle.

“Are there many Death Spirits at court?” she asked.

The gentle scrape of the wood against metal suddenly stopped. Keres didn’t answer, but her reaction explained a great deal to Astrid.

“Many call him a curse among us,” Keres murmured.

Astrid met her pale, yellow eyes and couldn’t decern if it was pity or sorrow that hid behind her cold stare.

She folded the skirt of Astrid’s makeshift dress into her belt and began the waxing Dimitri ordered.

Astrid winced and counted the seconds a cold compress was held to her freshly bared skin.

Dimitri killed members of his own court. They were too frightened to enter his chambers. He remained after the King and Queen were assassinated. Prince Ambrose became King Ambrose and was forced to keep him.

Why? The tension between Dimitri and King Ambrose was a blatant disrespect her father would’ve never allowed of a subordinate.

Astrid tensed as another strip of wax pulled free. The compress relieved the pain and Astrid exhaled slowly.

Her dagger should have killed him, yet he’d slept unbothered on clean sheets . He hadn’t even bled.

Keres moved the tray of precious gems closer. Small clusters of rubies, sapphires, and diamonds glittered against their black housing. "Do you want a gem in your piercing?” she asked.

Astrid turned her attention back to the ceiling, desperately concealing her panic. She wasn’t afraid of pain, but needles in such a sensitive area... Astrid squeezed her fingertips together as cold forceps pinched her hood.

“I want it encrusted in diamonds,” Astrid answered plainly.

She contemplated her captor in an attempt to distract herself. He did as he pleased because nothing could bring him to heel. He was immortal, whether cursed or blessed by death.

An unstoppable weapon.

The needle glinted in Astrid’s peripheral and she exhaled.

A weapon she would wield... or break.