Page 78 of Kept

His voice filled my mind, and this time it spoke with my mouth, working my jaw like I was a puppet and he controlled my strings.

“Do you know what’s pathetic?” he asked, and I spoke the words as I looked out over the carnage of the Great Hall. “What’s pathetic is that the prophecy tells you precisely what you need to do and yet you refuse to do it. To save the realm, you need to be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift.” Midian laughed in my head, and my shoulders shook as I laughed too. “You’re bound to the priest and his general now. So there’s only one thing left to do, you stupid bitch! What is it? Think!” My hand flew up and smacked my forehead. As I struggled to force him from my mind, my hand smacked my forehead again and again, the slaps echoing around the Hall.

“What comes next?” he asked with my voice. Slap. “What does the second”—slap—“part”—slap—“of the prophecy say?”

“Stop!” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut.

“But. I. Don’t. Want. To,” I said, punctuating each word with a slap. My hand fell to the chair’s armrest, and my lips curved into a smile. “I’m bound to you, too,” he said with my mouth. “There is power in blood, remember? And I gave you mine.” My shoulders shrugged. “Fine, I’ll make it easier for you. We were destined to meet in the Rift. And you’re destined to try to stop me from razing the Thicket. There is power in blood, and you have to spill yours to keep those trees standing.” He laughed. “The mages have always known this. They raised you like a lamb for slaughter.”

Sweat trickled down my back. My forehead stung from his abuse. I blinked and he sat at Igrith’s table, one long leg crossed over the other. Igrith sprawled on the ground in front of him. He bounced his foot, nudging her shoulder a little with each bounce.

“The barrier is weakening, Given,” Midian said in Rhys’s lilting accent. “It’s been happening for years.” He dropped Rhys’s voice, and his black eyes glittered. “You’re going to just…let it fall, aren’t you?” Midian tilted his head. “That’s pathetic.”

The knights’ song roared in my ears. Lidia threw her head back and laughed at something Igrith said. Next to me, Varick wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and then tossed it on the table.

“I can’t eat anything else.”

Laurent leaned across me and touched Varick’s wrist. “You sure about that, baby?”

The air shifted. Varick’s golden eyes flicked to me. “I might have room for dessert.”

Laurent’s low laugh teased my ear.

Jordan sat in the back of the Hall, his blue gaze steady as he watched us.

“Given?” Varick asked, and when I turned my head, his brows were pulled together. “Are you all right?”

Can’t lie. “Are you?” I cupped his cheek, feeling his stubble under my palm. “You took that blow to the ribs.”

“Already healed, halfling,” he said absently. His frown deepened. “Your forehead is a little red—”

“Let’s go upstairs.” I pushed my chair back and stood. When Varick opened his mouth, I arched a brow at him. “Do you want your dessert or not, General?”

His hot gaze roved down my body. “I want it,” he muttered.

I turned to Laurent. “What about you, my lord?”

Silver eyes traveled the same path as Varick’s. “Do you really need to ask, princess?”

I smiled. “Well, then, come and get it.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

VARICK

Given instructed us to wait for her in the Rose Room.

Then she took her sweet time coming to us.

“What could she possibly be doing?” I grumbled as I sat on the edge of the bed.

Laurent shot me a wicked look over his shoulder from where he stood lighting candles. “You don’t have any guesses?”

My face heated.

He chuckled. “You are so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.”

I scowled at him.

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