Page 39 of Red King

Steel shakes his head. “Nothing. He won’t budge. He wants a stay in his execution in exchange for information.”

“What is the password for your computer?” a female asks. “Who are you working with? Why have you had unauthorized contact with the Mainland?”

There’s just heavy breathing.

I pull in a deep breath and enter the room. It’s bright, with several fluorescent lights running the length of the ceiling. The floors and walls are white. At least, they were once white. Now, blood spatters cover everything. There is a puddle of congealed blood beneath the steel chair my brother is shackled to. He is naked, battered, bleeding, and covered in blood.

The female is holding a bloody knife. Her white leather outfit is covered in it. She smiles and curtsies as we enter.

“Your Grace,” she says in a purr.

Ice is hunched over, his head hanging low. His silver hair is matted against his forehead; when he lifts his head, his ice-blue eyes are dull and resigned. Despite the obvious pain he’s in, he manages a weak grin when he sees me. Several teeth are missing. The remaining ones are red-tinged. The left side of his face is swollen, and a deep purple bruise is evident. All of his fingers are broken. I suspect his right leg is, too. All of his toes have been sliced clean off. They will grow back, but it had to have been agony. I hate that I feel sorry for him. I don’t want to.

It’s safe to say that Ice is in terrible shape.

“Just in time, Your Majesty. I was about to start on his fingers.” She lowers the razor-sharp blade.

“Enough,” I order, my voice cold and commanding. The female steps back, a look of disappointment flashing across her face.

“Your Grace, he knows the consequences of staying silent,” she protests, her voice laced with a hint of defiance. “You need the information, and time is running short.”

I ignore her and move closer to Ice. Steel follows me, his expression grim. I crouch down in front of my brother, meeting his gaze.

“I hate that it’s come to this, but you left me no choice.” I speak softly but with underlying steel in my tone. “It’s your chance to fix it. To finally do the right thing.”

“The right thing would be me taking the throne. You’re weak.” His voice is stronger than I thought it would be, although husky from all of his screaming.

“Let’s not go down that road. It’s an argument that neither of us would ever agree on. So, let’s agree to disagree and move forward.”

Ice’s jaw tightens, but he remains silent.

“You will die next week. That is a given. You can stop asking for a stay in your sentence. It will never happen. You had my mate murdered in cold blood.”

“Anya was simply collateral damage. She wasn’t supposed to take the bullets meant for you. That’s on you, Arctic. All on you.”

“I never sent the gunman!” I yell, getting in his face. “I never ordered the hit.”

“No, but you let her take your place. You were supposed to die,” he says in a cold tone.

“You don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“The damage you’ve caused. The hate you’ve seeded. All for the sake of power.”

“You’re talking about Draig. Aboutthem.” He spits the word out. “They are the cause of all of our troubles.”

“That’s bullshit, Ice.”

“You don’t know what I know. You have absolutely no fucking clue.” He laughs.

“Tell me, then. Enlighten me,” I growl.

He stares at me for a few long moments and then shakes his head. “I will take my secrets to the grave. You will probably never know, and that’s on you.”

His laughter echoes through the room, sending chills down my spine. Ice leans back in the chair as much as his restraints allow, his eyes glittering with malice.

“You think you’re so different from me, Arctic. But you’re just as power-hungry, just as ruthless. You hide behind your fancy titles and courtly manners, but deep down, we’re cut from the same cloth.”

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