Page 5 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 5

VERENA

T he cell felt colder than before. Or maybe it was me—hollowed out, carved into something brittle and unrecognizable.

I curled into myself, pressing my forehead to my knees. I had been here too long. Too many days had bled together into one endless stretch of suffering. My thoughts had long ceased to make sense, fragments of the past and present colliding into one another, all merging into a singular, unrelenting torment.

Dacre’s face burned brightest in the haze. His eyes, his voice, his promises. They haunted me, taunting me with a hope I couldn’t afford to believe in. A hope that I still clung to and a thread of our bond that I had tricked my mind into believing I could still feel.

I had been strong in the beginning, had convinced myself I could withstand whatever my father threw at me. But doubt seeped in like a dense fog, coiling around my mind, wrapping itself around my throat until I could barely breathe.

What if Dacre wasn’t coming for me?

“No,” I whispered, the word escaping my lips in a soft, strained whimper. It felt like gravel scraping against my throat, as if saying it out loud somehow made it real.

But the thought lingered, relentlessly clawing at the edges of my mind.

Deep down, I knew that Dacre wouldn’t give up on me, but the uncertainty and fear gnawed at me, whispering doubts in the darkest corners of my mind. He would try. Of course, he would.

But my father’s power only seemed to grow as each day passed.

The rebellion had been fighting against him for as long as I could remember, and nothing about his reign had changed.

Me falling in love with Dacre didn’t change that. It didn’t give him any advantage. It had only given us hope, and hope was dangerous.

But it wasn’t enough to overthrow a king.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. As much as I wanted Dacre to save me, his determination could only take him so far.

My father crushed defiance beneath his heel before it ever had a chance to grow, and I was still here, locked in this cell, helpless to stop him.

The sound of the cell door groaning open shattered my thoughts. My head snapped up, and I winced as the sudden movement sent a spike of pain through my skull.

I hadn’t even heard footsteps.

Terror coursed through my veins, gripping me in a way that was all too familiar. It twisted and turned inside me, burrowing in my chest, constricting my lungs.

I knew my father’s footsteps, had memorized the deliberate thud and drag of his boots across the floor, and I braced myself for the inevitable.

But it wasn’t him who stood in front of me now. It was him.

Dacre had come for me.

My breath hitched, hope cutting through the fog of exhaustion. He stood tall, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he stared at me.

“Dacre,” I choked out, relief flooding through me so quickly that my vision blurred with tears.

He didn’t reply. He simply strode toward me until he was kneeling before me on the cold ground, and without hesitation, I raised my still shackled hands and brought them to his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against my palm, his voice breaking. “I should have been here sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I rasped, clinging to him as though he were the only solid thing in a world threatening to shatter. “You’re here now.”

His skin felt different beneath my fingertips. The lines of his jaw were softer, less defined. His lashes fanned against his cheeks, and he looked younger than anything I could draw from my memory. He felt unfamiliar.

The warmth of his magic, the silent hum that cracked beneath my skin when I touched him, was absent.

I felt…nothing. A hollow emptiness where there should have been a storm. Something was wrong.

Doubt slithered through me, slow and cold, unraveling the fragile moment I had just allowed myself to believe in.

My fingers trembled as I searched his face, waiting for something, anything, to feel right, but it never came. My fingers curled, withdrawing slightly.

“Dacre,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.

His gaze flickered, too quick, too uncertain, and he didn’t look at me. My stomach dropped.

“How did you get in here?” My voice was hoarse.

“I had help,” he murmured, reaching for the cuffs at my wrists. “We don’t have much time.”

We.

“Who is with you?” I pushed, forcing my voice to stay steady.

Dacre hesitated, just for a breath, but it was enough. “My father.”

The words landed, and I froze. His father wanted to use me, to control me, but Dacre had chosen me. If his father was here, then Dacre had no other options left.

I swallowed against the weight pressing on my chest. “And Wren?”

The was a small flicker of longing on his face as I said her name, almost imperceptible, but I caught it.

I caught it because this wasn’t Dacre. This wasn’t him.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I pulled away, my shackles rattling against the stone floor.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, horror sinking its claws into my skin.

His lips parted, but he didn’t answer fast enough. I saw it then, the subtle shimmer at the edges of his form, like heat rising from stone.

A distortion. An illusion. This wasn’t Dacre. It was Micah.

My stomach turned violently. “Stop it.” My voice wavered as I recoiled, rage and betrayal ripping through my chest. “How dare you?”

The illusion faltered, and Micah was kneeling before me, his face grim and unrepentant.

“You used him against me.” My voice trembled. “You…”

Micah didn’t flinch. “You need to wake up, Verena.”

I shook my head, my entire body shaking. “You…”

“You’re losing yourself,” he cut me off, his voice calm, almost gentle. “Clinging to a fantasy that will get you killed.”

My breath came in ragged, shallow bursts. “He’s coming for me.” My voice shook, and I hated how uncertain I sounded, how unsure I felt.

Micah’s gaze darkened. “Even if he does, what then? You want to watch him be destroyed by your father?” His voice hardened. “You want to listen to him scream while you lay here helpless?”

“Stop,” I rasped as a knot formed in my chest.

Micah pressed forward, his expression unyielding. “You’re dying in this cell, Verena. And you’re waiting for someone who might never come, who might not make it in time.”

I shut my eyes, forcing away the images he was painting for me, but doubt was already taking root.

“I don’t trust you.” The words were cold, unwavering, a fragile shield I refused to lower as I glared at him.

Micah exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes, his eyes were tired. “But you trust him?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

Micah’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away, as if gathering the strength to say what came next. “Even if he comes for you,” he said finally, his voice quiet, dangerous, “what then? Do you really think that you can win?”

The words sent a chill through me, delving deep beneath my skin.

“You saw what your father did to you. Do you think he’ll do anything less to Dacre?”

I tried to shake my head, tried to fight against the images his words forced into my mind, but they were already there.

Dacre on his knees. Dacre bleeding out on the cold marble of my father’s throne room. Dacre gasping my name before his world went dark.

No. I refused to let that happen.

Micah must have seen the shift in my expression, because his voice softened, just slightly. “Verena, you have to see the truth,” he said, leaning forward. “Your father doesn’t lose. He never has.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing my hands to still their trembling.

Micah reached into the folds of his uniform, pulling out a flask. “Drink.”

I hesitated, my throat aching from thirst, but I no longer trusted him.

“It’s water.” He pushed it forward until he touched my hand.

The hesitation didn’t last long because the need outweighed the doubt. The flask was cool against my palm, and the first sip was pure agony, a burn that scraped down my throat and sent a shudder through me. I coughed, nearly choking as my body struggled to adjust.

“Slowly.” Micah’s hand hovered near me, as if he might steady me, but he didn’t touch me.

I took another sip, then another, my hands trembling as I lowered the flask. My breathing was unsteady, my heart hammering far too fast, and I clutched the flask tightly, the weight of it grounding me. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back on his heels, his gaze fixed on the floor, his shoulders tense. “You think I had a choice?” His voice was low, his jaw tight. “You think this is what I want?”

His eyes flicked back to mine, something raw and sharp flickering beneath the surface. “I should have run instead of looking for you.”

The words stole my breath.

“Your father would have never been able to take me if I hadn’t been looking after you. He wouldn’t be able to use us…” He paused and looked away from me, his jaw tightening until I could see the muscles shift and bunch beneath his skin.

Something cracked in my chest. “Micah, I…”

“It doesn’t matter.” He looked at me then, and I noticed the deep circles under his eyes. He looked…older. As if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders and refused to let go.

“Where is your sister?”

He flinched, his body going rigid, and, for a moment, I thought he might leave, might turn his back and walk away. But instead, he leaned forward, his expression hardening. “Don’t speak of her. Don’t you dare fucking speak of her.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I shook my head. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening, on how he could be standing in front of me so different than the man I knew. “I never wanted this for you.”

Micah let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Well. Here we are.”

Silence settled between us, stretching wide and forcing us further apart. I opened my mouth, to say what, I didn’t know, but before I could, footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond my cell.

Micah stiffened, his head snapping toward the sound before he looked back at me, his fingers twitching at his side, as if he wanted to reach for me. Instead, his voice dropped to a whisper, low, urgent, uncertain.

“Your father won’t stop.” His hand lifted slightly, hovering in the space between us, as if he meant to touch my face.

I recoiled before I could stop myself, a sharp, instinctual reaction, and Micah froze. For the briefest moment, pain flashed across his face, then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“He’s not going to stop, and if you keep defying him, you’re only going to make things worse for yourself—and for them.”

The mention of them sent a chill up my spine, and I shook my head.

“What will it take for you to listen to me?”

I said nothing, and Micah’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

“Would you rather your father continues to torture you until every part of you I’ve ever known becomes unrecognizable?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Would you like for me to enter your cell late at night when you whimper Dacre’s name in your sleep and make you trust me then?”

It felt like a slap. His words slammed into me even as I watched his eyes shudder, watched the way his face fell with regret. But it was too late.

“Get out,” I spat, my voice shaking with fury as I looked at the stranger in front of me. “I don’t want you here.”

His gaze darkened. “You’re not in a position to refuse, Verena.” That regret slipped from his face, replaced instead with something colder. “Neither of us are.” He hesitated for another second, shaking his head. “Your father will…”

“You did all of this for my father?” Panic flared in my chest, even though I already knew the truth. “For the man who took your parents?”

He flinched just as I saw another shadow step into my cell. I scurried back as fear consumed me, and something inside me snapped.

I hadn’t been able to feel my magic since I arrived back at the palace, hadn’t been able to find it no matter how hard I begged it to return, but I could feel power within me now, a violent storm churning and thundering beneath my skin. My vision blurred, the world a dizzying whirlpool of light and darkness.

It was frenzied and out of my control, and I realized that this wasn’t my magic at all. It belonged to another, and when it finally cleared, when I felt as if I could breathe again, I saw with horror what I had done.

The guard lay slumped against the far wall, his body unnaturally still, and a faint glow surrounded him, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, casting an eerie light in the dark room.

“What did you do?” Micah sounded as horrified as I felt.

But I couldn’t answer him because I hadn’t done anything. The power wasn’t mine. The magic…

Cold, cruel laughter rang out from the doorway, and my head snapped up just as my father stepped inside, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “There it is.”

I tried to scramble back from him, but my body wouldn’t move. My limbs felt heavy, the energy inside me still humming, still burning beneath my skin.

“What…what did I do?” My voice trembled with the rest of my body.

“You took his power,” my father answered, his smile widening.

“I didn’t…” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to control my ragged breath.

“You did.” His words were dripping with triumph, and his eyes, gods, his eyes looked crazed as he said the next words. “A siphon is a rarity. A weapon.”

I couldn’t breathe. I shook my head, pressing my hands to my ears, trying to block out his words.

Tithe.

The word echoed in my mind over and over like a curse. My father was a siphon, and he used his power at every tithe to transfer the power that the people of this kingdom gave. At least, that was what he was meant to do. That was the history of the tithe that I had always been told.

The people sacrificed at the tithe, gave a bit of their own magic, and in return, the tithe gave back. It was meant to provide a balance that our kingdom no longer had.

A balance that the rebellion had been fighting for.

Siphoning was a power that was rare, a power that was necessary. That was what he had always said. It was a power that I had always been lacking. The power my father hated me for. The power that I didn’t understand.

It was the power that he searched for in another heir, the power my mother had died for trying to give him.

And it had all been for nothing.

I bit down on my lip until blood flooded my mouth, and my nails dug into my palms as my chest heaved. I had stolen that guard’s life, had taken it as if it had never truly belonged to him. I had siphoned his power, and I had no idea how I’d done it.

And that terrified me.

I tried to think about the times I had used my power since I had first felt it, thought of how I hadn’t been able to feel it until Dacre, how I felt weaker without him, without our bond.

Had I been siphoning from him all this time?

Dacre. I let myself whisper his name in my mind over and over, my heart pounding so quickly that the rhythm ached in my chest, and for a moment, I felt him. A thread of warmth, fragile and distant, but undeniably there.

I clung to it, to him, like a lifeline. It didn’t matter if I was imagining it, it was the only thing I had.

I had believed I was stronger with Dacre because of our bond, because we were mates, but now I feared what I truly was. I feared that I had become the one thing my father always wanted me to be.

I was a siphon. I was just like him.

I was powerless on my own.

“We move her tonight.” My father’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and decisive. “This is my heir.” There was a sudden note of pride in his voice that made bile flood my mouth. “The heir to this kingdom doesn’t belong in a dungeon. She belongs by my side, where I can watch her.”

I heard the rustle of movement, felt rough hands gripping my shoulders, but I didn’t fight. There was no point. It was no use.

The chains fell from my wrists with a loud clang, and I kept my eyes shut as they dragged me from my cell. I stumbled, my feet catching on something. I blinked my eyes open and wished I hadn’t.

The guard.

My stomach lurched as I tripped over his limp legs, nearly falling, and the weight of what I had done crushed me.

I had killed him. The siphon inside me, the power my father had been searching for all along, had taken his life, and I had no control to stop it.

The hallway stretched before me, each step leading me deeper into a fate I didn’t understand. A fate I didn’t want.

The walls closed in, smothering me. I had spent a lifetime inside this palace, this very dungeon beneath me as I slept, but now, after gods knew how long, my father was taking me home.

To the cage that was far more opulent but a cage just the same.

And I had never been more afraid.