Having succeeded in his task, Fende bent to retrieve the poker, and every thought about Oliver vanished. The giant moved in a way that made it obvious he was using the poker to shift a log. I waited to see the flare of embers, but nothing happened. I hid a frown. The rattlesnakes in my head got louder.
“Do you love him? The dragon that ruined you?” Belanor asked abruptly.
He spoke in the same composed, silken voice he always used, but my attention snapped back to him and stayed there. The words replayed in my head. The dragon that ruined you, Belanor had said—he could only mean Cyrus. Was this faerie so obsessed with his bizarre mission that he was thinking of eliminating anyone who’d endangered it?
As Belanor waited for my response, I gathered every moment I’d spent as the Unseelie Queen around me. Dad’s voice floated through the quiet, stern but encouraging, giving instruction for the thousandth time on how to achieve calm and control. I knew my friend’s life might depend on how well I handled these next few moments.
“Cyrus Lavender?” I clarified with raised brows, willing my insides to stop shaking. Calm. You feel calm. No, you are numb. You are nothing. “Not hardly. He’s just my landlord.”
The lie had barely passed my mouth when Belanor froze; even the slight rise and fall of his chest ceased. His eyes went glassy and vacant. He was still holding the cup of tea, but his grip looked lax now. I stared at him, baffled, then darted a glance at Fende to see what he thought of his master’s strange behavior. The other male either didn’t notice or this was a regular occurrence for him—he didn’t turn away from his task. The dog hadn’t even opened its eyes.
“Yes,” Belanor said. It was obvious he wasn’t talking to either of us. “I understand.”
Every inch of my body felt like it had turned to ice. “You’re insane,” I observed.
The faerie’s gaze cleared and he returned the full force of his attention to me. My pulse was racing again, and I watched Belanor’s nostrils flare, taking note of this. In spite of the efforts I’d made to hide any trace of fear, he could smell it. Hear it.
I had faced predators before, but never as such weak prey. Though I was lying utterly still, Belanor’s features sharpened as his other instincts overtook him. His eyes, so similar to Laurie’s, brightened like he was a nocturnal animal caught in the sweep of headlights. Even his teeth looked sharper. In that instant, there was absolutely nothing about this creature that seemed human.
I’d gotten used to fae courtiers and their careful masks of civility—looking at Belanor was a stark reminder of what I had allowed myself to forget.
“Mortal you may be, but I admit the dragonfire did nothing to dim your beauty,” he murmured, slowly setting his tea onto the table.
The chains clinked as I shifted, this time in a desperate bid to put some distance between us. I hadn’t even considered that Belanor could see my real face, and the fact sent an oily sensation over my skin. The irony wasn’t lost on me—once, this was all I wanted. For people to perceive the person beneath, rather than the perfect illusion. Now it just made me feel exposed and vulnerable. I had never been so helpless, and if Belanor chose to take what he wanted instead of waiting for permission, there was nothing I could do to stop him.
“Before you say anything else, just know that I would literally rather die than have any kind of sexual encounter with you,” I informed the faerie prince, instinctively resorting to sarcasm. At least my voice didn’t bely the terror roaring through me.
Shutters slammed over Belanor’s expression. In an instant, I knew that I’d struck him where he was weakest—his vanity.
“Then I have some good news, my dear.” Leaning back, Belanor tugged at his cuff links. His manner was once again crisp and polite as he continued, “You may very well not survive what’s about to come next. It’s why I provided healing and sustenance for your mortal body—I had hoped to make you strong enough. If you’re the praying sort, I suggest you start now. Are you ready, Fende?”
The bulky figure in front of the fire finally turned toward us. He nodded once, slow and deliberate. The dog got to its feet and padded to the door, letting out a low whine. Neither of the faeries acknowledged it. Though I couldn’t see Fende’s eyes because of my angle and his height, I could imagine them, dark and unblinking. He moved again, fully facing the bed now, and a glow drew my focus downward.
Not a poker, I thought over the dull roaring in my ears. It was a branding iron.
Just like that, I knew what was about to happen. My heart rammed against its confines as I strained to see what these faeries planned to brand on me. There was a symbol burning bright at the end of that metal rod. I’d never encountered it before, but it bore similarities to letters in the Enochian alphabet. Panicked questions rose inside me, along with the acidic burn of vomit, but I gritted my teeth to keep it all down. Belanor had already explained his motives—he wanted a Nightmare. A member of my species was probably an ingredient he needed for the spell, and considering we weren’t exactly easy to come by, it was no wonder he was determined to undo the results of Cyrus’s dragonfire.
Apparently he intended to do that with pain.
I yanked at the chains again, knowing it was futile. I tried summoning the faeries that would’ve come already, if something weren’t keeping them away. Or keeping me hidden. Lyari. Laurie. Where are you? Please come. Please.
Neither of them appeared. Someone else would save me, I thought desperately as I watched Fende cross the room, drawing nearer with every mail-clanging step. This didn’t happen in the fairy tales or stories. A knight always crashed through the door or there was a random streak of life-saving luck.
But my life was no fairy tale.
Collith, I thought just as Fende reached for my shoulder. I instantly wrenched to the side, trying to break free. Without a moment of hesitation, the guard shoved me against the mattress with one of his giant hands, pinning me like a bug to a board, and lifted his other arm. I screamed and swore at him. Against his strength, I was as helpless as the kitten Laurie had given me.
The branding iron touched my shoulder in a burst of red light and sizzling heat.
I heard the sound of burning flesh first. Then, half a breath later, the pain hit. It was an agony comparable to Cyrus’s dragonfire, and I felt my bladder finally give way. Urine soaked the bed. The world had gone white and there was nothing else except the flames. I screamed until my throat was hoarse and the dog clawed at the door frantically.
All the while, Belanor smiled.
In reality, the branding only lasted a few seconds. But it felt like hours.
By the time Fende pulled away, removing the source of that searing pain, black spots filled my vision. I lay like a glassy-eyed doll on the sheets, which were now drenched with sweat and piss. My breathing was hard and ragged, and I had the same feeling that usually came after a battle or an adrenaline surge—a heavy-lidded detachment to everything around me.
After a few seconds, I was dimly aware of the chains rattling, then arms slid beneath my legs and along my back. Before I could even consider struggling, I was being placed on the floor. Even this brief jostling hurt, and I couldn’t hold back a moan. Voices moved over my head as I huddled there, every part of me trembling, my teeth chattering. Shock, I thought. You’re in shock.