Page 138 of A War of Three Kings

Being Finan’s prisoner again, forced back into the oppression of the royal family.

Finan talks to me for the entire brief carriage ride to the palace, making promises of the life he will give me, but the words rebound off my mind. This is not the life I want. Aldrin will never allow it. My father will storm this city to prevent it. I tell myself these things again and again as a sense of doom falls over me like a heavy black cloud.

We are yanked from the carriage and hauled through the palace. I stumble along the dimly lit corridors, desperately holding in the hysteric sobs that grow within me. The pressure builds to such an unbearable point that I struggle to drag in a breath through a closing-up windpipe.

Only Diarmuid’s constant presence keeps me sane. The long glances he gives me. The squeezes of my arm or hand whenever he can reach out to me. They say,We will get through this together.

Our party stops abruptly in a small, opulent hall with gilded walls and a great marble mosaic of a huge multi-pointed star beneath our feet. Finan grabs my chin tightly enough that it hurts and tears my gaze up to meet his blue eyes. They sparkle with predatory delight and a half-smile curls on his face. Then,quick as lightning, he forces a crushing kiss to my lips before I have a chance to rear back.

“I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps you will be more reasonable by then.” There is such arrogance in his words that I want to slap him. He turns and walks away.

I am still glaring at his back when a guard grabs me by the arm and tries to pull me along. I stumble and trip, caught by surprise, but he catches my fall.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” the man mutters. “I have orders, you see.”

He drags me toward one corridor leading off the small hall, and when I toss my head to look for Diarmuid, he is being dragged in the opposite direction. I cry out his name and try to reach for him, but I am overpowered as more guards converge on me.

I desperately scramble to summon my magic, but there is an impenetrable barrier around it.All my abilities are at my fingertips, but I can’t access the reservoir of raw power to fuel them.

“Let me go, you bastards!” Diarmuid yells as he frantically wrestles with the guard’s hold on him. “At least have the decency to imprison us together!”

His fight unleashes something feral in me. I stomp on the foot of the man who restrains me, then elbow him in the face. Dipping low, I kick another in the kneecap who throws out his arms to catch me. I take two running steps toward my brother, who thrashes at the multiple captors restraining him. One punches him in the face and it sets my blood boiling.

I plan the leap I will take to barrel into two of the guards, dislodging them from Diarmuid, but a guard from behind grabs me around the waist and slams me into the wall. The breath whooshes out of my lungs as my body rebounds off the stone, and I am left spluttering and wheezing.

My vision turns black as I struggle for air and my ears ring while my mind turns completely blank. I blink multiple times before the sensations of the outside world crash back into me. Diarmuid is further down that corridor, blood dripping from his nose.

If we could just get free, then we could…we could…do what? Go where, with a dozen guards on our heels?

“Please. Don’t separate us.” My voice is hoarse.

“I told you. We have our orders,” the first guard says.

I fall into a daze as I am dragged away from my brother and thrust into a dimly lit apartment. I stand just beyond the door, swaying on my feet and ready to drop, but a pair of maids already wait in the room, startling me when they move.

They take my hands, leading me with soothing words to a bathing chamber and into a brass tub filled with lukewarm water. It immediately turns pale red as dried blood diffuses from my skin into the water in swirling patterns. I hardly notice the maids as they scrub me with hard-bristled brushes, dress me in a nightgown, then tuck me into bed.

Sleep swallows me up, the darkness of oblivion wrapping tightly around me. Perhaps I will wake upand find none of this really happened.

Chapter 37

Keira

Iwake with a start, coated in cold sweat. Predawn light glows in the cracks of multiple shuttered windows. I sit up sharply and whip my head around, not understanding where I am. Then the memories of last night slam into me with such ferocity that it knocks the breath from me.

I stagger out of the four-poster bed that has delicate curtains tied back across the frame. My bare feet sink into a soft fur rug, and within a heartbeat, I’m at the windows, pulling back the shutters, one after another. The windows all have thick bars on them.There is no escape for me here.

I frantically open the drawers on the chestnut dressing table and the buffets in the dining room, and rummage through the wardrobe, but there is nothing I can use as a weapon. No bone hairpins. None of the knives are sharper than a butter knife. I can’t even find a vase or heavy book to throw at someone’s head.

This room is of pure opulence, with purple velvet couches, crystal chandeliers, and intricate tapestries and paintings on each wall. There are multiple gold-veined marble fireplaces, completely cold without pokers or logs. It is all useless to me.

The purpose of this apartment is abundantly clear. This is no dungeon, but I am still imprisoned.

The door bursts open and multiple guards peer in to leer at me before a team of servants rush inside, led by an older woman with gray-streaked black hair severely pulled up on her head.

“Lady Keira. My name is Marjorie, and it is my honor to get you ready for this day.” The head servant looks me up and down. “You look like you have seen better days. It will not do.” She takes me by the shoulders and forces me into a seat at a vanity table. I’m too tired to argue. “Where is that breakfast cart? You—make sure she eats something.”

I shove food I cannot taste into my mouth. A flurry of women set out beauty products across the bench of the vanity table, while others pull out clothes. The tangles are worked out of my long hair. Multiple servants labor to pile the curls high on my head. I stare blankly into the mirror as dozens of pins dig into my scalp. The updo stands almost a foot high, gleaming with strings of pearls. Then they apply powders to my face.

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