Page 33

Chapter

Twenty

DAIN

D amp stone scraped my back as I strained against my bonds. Ropes circled my wrists and ankles, which were attached to wooden planks driven into the wall. My arms stretched above my head. My legs were spread just a little too wide for comfort.

By design, of course. Nothing about this humiliation was comfortable.

Goosebumps covered my bare skin. Stacks of cloth and shallow bowls of scented water sat on tables positioned a safe distance on either side of me. Viraxes’s robed minions had pulled them farther back after I kicked one over.

Two approached me again now, dripping sponges attached to polished sticks in their hands. Steam formed thick clouds of perfumed air as the men drew closer, their eyes wary under their black hoods.

“Try it,” I growled, straining against the ropes. Rage and frustration followed the threat, which was empty, of course. Viraxes’s servants had done whatever the fuck they wanted with me for the past half hour.

I’d taken wild swings at them in the main chamber, connecting with at least two jaws before Viraxes’s men overwhelmed me.

The curse had wrung me out, but it had still taken six of them to take me down.

They’d dragged me away while others did the same to Nikolas and Ezabell.

I’d lost sight of them as I collapsed under a flurry of fists and elbows.

Viraxes’s servants packed an impressive amount of muscle under their robes.

One had delivered a particularly brutal punch to my gut, doubling me over.

Then he and the others had dragged me to the scented chamber, stripped me, and tied me to the wall.

The men pressed their wet sponges to my skin, rubbing in brisk, circular patterns that left trails of soap and degradation.

I jerked away from their touch, rope biting at my wrists and ankles.

The men stayed silent, their expressions impassive.

One worked his sponge down my chest and into my armpits while the other scrubbed my thighs.

When his sponge strayed too close to my groin, I lunged off the wall and snapped my teeth at him.

He jerked back, lifting the sponge away.

“Fuck off,” I snarled, tugging at the ropes. Wood creaked. I darted forward again, trying to catch the man’s sleeve.

“Careful,” another man behind him warned. “He’s trying to take fingers.”

I was trying to take anything I could get, but a finger was fine. Anything to make these bastards regret ever picking up a sponge.

But even as I snarled and fought, worry for Nikolas and Ezabell churned in my gut. Were they enduring the same degradation? My chest tightened at the thought of Nikolas bound and helpless while strangers put their hands on him. Gods, not Nikolas. Not after everything he’d survived.

The “bath” was pure retaliation on Viraxes’s part. He’d lost the Pyrikion, and now he exacted his revenge. He wasn’t content to simply kill us. No, he wanted us defiled first. He’d strip us of every shred of dignity. Then he’d kill us.

And I harbored no illusions that he would take our lives. Once he had his fun, he’d dispose of us like garbage.

The only solution was to kill him first—and Corvus with him. The thought of the conniving, traitorous elf crystallized something cold and sharp in my chest. I wasn’t a planner like Nikolas. I didn’t know how to lay a trap and then spring it. But this time, I would find a way.

A servant knelt to wash my calf. Growling, I tried to knee him in the face. Rope bit into my ankle, but the wood behind it let out an ominous squeal. The servant stood swiftly, exchanging a look with his companion.

A new pair approached carrying clay pots. One dipped his fingers inside and withdrew them coated with glistening oil. When he reached toward me, I lunged hard, my teeth bared.

He stumbled back, almost dropping the pot. The other seized my jaw.

“Bring the potion!” he called, and another man plucked a goblet from one of the tables and came swiftly to his side. The goblet was glass, its contents black and oily like the substance that had coated the walls of the tunnel.

“If you don’t stop fighting,” the man holding my jaw said, “we’ll drug you. The master wants you lucid, but he’ll understand the necessity.” He gestured to the goblet. “One mouthful of this, and you’ll do whatever you’re told. Understand?”

I glared at him, chest heaving. Every instinct screamed at me to keep fighting, to make them work for every ounce of shame. But if they drugged me, I’d be helpless. Useless. And Nikolas and Ezabell needed me sharp.

Dragging in a deep breath, I gave a slight nod.

The servant released me and stepped back. “Good.” He motioned to his partner. “Proceed.”

The servants worked quickly after that, thrusting their sponges into every crevice while I did my best to murder them with my eyes.

When they were satisfied I was clean, they slathered me with cloying, sweetly scented oil until I reeked like the inside of a pleasure house.

Then they cut my bonds and forced me into a tunic so short it barely covered my dick.

The thin fabric stuck to my oiled skin. With every movement, it bunched between my buttocks.

If I bent over, anyone watching would get an eyeful.

Which was probably the point.

My stomach clenched, but I held still as the servants combed tangles from my hair.

Gaze on the far wall, I considered and discarded one plan after another.

Maybe the path to freedom lay in winning Corvus to our cause.

Not because he was honorable but because he was just as disposable as me and Nikolas.

The elvish lordling probably thought his elven blood and stolen crown made him untouchable.

He was wrong. The moment Viraxes no longer had a use for him, the sorcerer wouldn’t hesitate to snap Corvus’s neck.

Somehow, I had to warn him. If he thought helping us would save his skin, he could be the key to getting out of Viraxes’s tower alive.

If I could plant even a sliver of fear in him, we might have a chance.

Guards flanked me as we left the bathing chamber, their armor clanking.

Oil glistened on my skin. My bare feet slipped against chilly obsidian as they marched me through winding corridors lit by flickering torches.

The tunic molded to my chest and groin. I clenched my teeth and let the promise of revenge pump hot through my veins.

After several minutes of twisting passageways, we passed through a set of golden doors and into a vast chamber dripping with wealth.

Golden braziers cast dancing shadows across silk hangings and polished black marble veined with gold.

Platters of fruit and pitchers of wine slick with condensation sat on low tables.

Viraxes reclined on a cushioned lounger, a wine goblet dangling from his fingers and his black hair spilling over one shoulder.

Corvus sat in a lounger next to him. A crown studded with amber-colored gemstones rested on his brow.

Golden suns marched around the base. A stone was missing in the center, its dark hollow about the size of my palm.

Corvus waited for the sunstone. He should have known Viraxes would never let him near it.

The guards shoved me toward a cushioned platform in the center of the room. Shallow steps ran around the perimeter. Broad and flat, the surface was raised just enough to give Viraxes and Corvus an unimpeded view.

Icy resolve pumped through my veins. I glared at Corvus, who sipped wine from a goblet etched with glyphs. My plan swirled in my mind. Warnings trembled on my tongue. But what if I made everything worse?

The thump of boots drew my attention to the doors, and my heart sank as more guards marched Nikolas inside wearing the same flimsy tunic.

Oil sheened his skin, and a bruise bloomed on his jaw.

His nostrils flared as his gaze fell on Viraxes.

Fury burned in his eyes, but there was something else, too—a flash of vulnerability that made my fingers twitch with the need to tear Viraxes to pieces.

Then more guards brought Ezabell, and white-hot rage blistered my skin.

Her sleeveless gown was so sheer it might as well have been mist. Every curve of her flawless body showed beneath the gossamer fabric, her pink nipples and the seam of her pussy clearly visible.

Her hair was loose, and oil gleamed on her sleek arms and in the hollow of her throat.

Her face was a mask of icy disdain, but her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird under her skin as the guards led her to the platform.

Nikolas faced Viraxes. “Whatever you’re planning, we won’t do it.”

Viraxes set his wine on the table, then settled back on his cushions with a bored expression. “Your options are quite limited, Taniakes. And you’ll perform. Although, I admit I don’t understand your reluctance. You’ve done it before, and under much less respectable circumstances.”

It was the perfect twist of the knife. Nikolas paled, and it tore my heart out.

I wanted to reach for him—to pick him up and carry him from the tower—but I didn’t dare move.

Not with armed guards surrounding us and Viraxes’s twisted magic soaking the air.

But I had to make a move. I just didn’t know when.

Corvus was rigid on his lounger, his gaze fixed on Ezabell with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Lust? Jealousy? Regret? Whatever it was, it turned his knuckles white as he gripped his goblet.

“You deprived me of the Pyrikion,” Viraxes said, his pale gaze sliding between Nikolas and me before resting on Ezabell. “You’ll make up for it now.” He leaned forward, curiosity sharpening his features. “There’s a unique connection between the three of you. I want to know what it is.”

As if responding to some unspoken signal, the guards turned as one and marched to the doors. Their boots echoed as they filed from the chamber. The golden doors closed slowly behind them, the boom vibrating the air.

Viraxes turned to us and smiled. “Strip and get on the platform.”