Page 128 of The Night Prince

Ahead, two cloaked figures guard the exit of the corridor. I’m shoved past them into a dark amphitheater and the echoing roar is almost deafening. My heart stops. The Wolves are on their knees in a circle—beaten and bloody and chained—perhaps twenty in total. I search for Ryan, but my attention is stolen bythe cloaked figures who watch them, watchme,from the tiered seating.

Alexander sits on what looks like a stone throne on the other side of the circle. My brother is on his knees, in chains, beside him. He’s no longer wearing his coat, and his shirt is bloody. Torchlight flickers across his pale face. He lurches toward me, but Alexander hisses something—the wolf glinting in his eyes—and Philip slumps back down.

I turn to stone. I shake my head and edge backward.

There are two posts bolted to the stone floor in the center of the amphitheater. Shackles dangle from them. Beside them, a cloaked male stands with a silver-tipped whip in his hand.

No.

Alexander stands. “Our special guest has arrived.” His grin widens. “Time to have some fun, love. If you survive, you can meet an old friend of mine.” He nods at the man who brought me here. “Tie her up, and we can begin.”

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The amphitheater dissolves around me. I grow roots. I can’t move.

The cloaked figures jeering in the stands blend into the darkness, and the Wolves on their knees, clanging their chains, fade away. I’m in one of the holy rooms in the Church of Light and Sun, and the High Priest leans against the altar with a crop in his hand.You have sinned, child.

I stagger backward, shaking my head like a mindless beast, but I hit a hard chest. A clammy sweat breaks out over my skin.

No. No. No.

I cannot. Not again.

Hands curl around my upper arms, and it’s not the cloaked male who brought me here, but the Sisters of the Church draped in their white robes dragging me forward. I jerk back and twist my ankle. I barely feel the pain. I’m thrust between the posts. I’m screaming, I think. Two men grab my hands androughly raise them above my head. There’s a click and a cold bite as the shackles close around my wrists and I’m trapped, chained between them. It’s too late. All thoughts of dignity, of keeping my fear inside, slam from my mind.

I cannot do this. Don’t make me do this.

I take deep, shuddering breaths. I’m ashamed that tears fall down my face. Men are jeering. They laugh at my distress. Alexander is saying something but I can’t hear him over the roaring in my blood.

I take another deep breath. Then another.

I close my eyes and feel the sting of the cool air. I smell the lichen, and the woodsmoke from the torches. I focus on the bite of the shackles against my skin. I let the stone beneath my boots ground me.

I peel open my eyelids. Alexander stands in front of me, and I almost choke on my hatred. I can’t stop this from happening, just like I couldn’t when I was a child. I will not beg.

By the throne, Philip is trying to get up, but his wrists are tethered to a metal ring in the stone. Blood trickles from his nose. Someone must have hit him. I’m surprised he’s trying to save me, as he didn’t when I was a child.

“Why?” I ask.

Alexander brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Shh,” he coaxes. “It’s for your own good, my love. Your father did this to you because he wanted to repress your wolf, your power. They didn’t take it far enough. I’m going to break you so you’ll be free.”

“You’re insane,” I breathe.

“Sometimes things need to be broken to be rebuilt, love. Your father broke me, in a cell beneath the palace, and I’m stronger for it. Now, it’s your turn.”

“Alexander, don’t touch her,” says Philip. “Whatever you want, my father will give it to—”

“QUIET, DOG.” Alexander’s irises shift. He strokes my face and I try to scramble back, but the chains hold me in place. “It’ll be over soon.”

He steps back.

“Wait!” I blurt. “Tell me... tell me what it is that you want. It’s something to do with the God of Night, isn’t it? I’ve dreamed of him.” I’m not embarrassed by the desperation in my tone. He is obviously mad. A zealot. If I can make him believe I can help him with his god, perhaps he will let me go.

There’s a whisper around the amphitheater, and Alexander cocks his head to one side. “You have?”

A flower of hope grows among the darkness that fills me. “Yes! I find myself in his prison most nights. I could speak to him for you, if you like. Tell me what it is you want from him. I will ask him for you.”

He scrapes a hand over his square jaw. “There’s no need. I need to break you, if I want to repay my debt.”

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