Page 55 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

Blessed by the God of Light with skills that affected the physical body and donning a helmet like a finned beast of the sea, Brishon could poison another to the point of death with a touch. Death would not fit with the current plan, but a sharp and lasting sting? Our emperor deemed it the perfect closing act.

The men would feel his touch for the next few days—small needles pricking their hands over and over until the poison faded away.

Brishon pulled a short, curved knife from its scabbard and stalked to the first man with a cluster of guards tight on his heels. Fernand had risen shakily to his knees near a pile of vomit, his face marred with sweat and grime. Brishon slashed the rope binding him before removing one glove.

I turned my back on the scene as another scream rent the air. I’d seen and heard enough.

“You’re going to miss out on the last bit of fun.” Orson stepped in front of me. The hint of a smirk twitched between the slits of his mask, dancing with the last bit of flame glimmering on the metal as he let it die down around the arena.

I grunted and pushed past him.

Orson followed after me. “What? Eager to have that little spitfire wrapped around your cock again so soon?”

I turned on him faster than a striking snake. Magic leaped from my skin, reacting to the fiery pulse of my fury. If I’d had his magic, only a pile of ash would remain. Instead, inky tendrils wrapped around Orson’s neck, solidifying into thick ropes, crushing metal and choking off air—at least in his mind.

Orson grasped at his neck, attempting to pry away the illusion. Gasping rasps slipped from his lips. My magic flowed, tingling with glee, savoring the retribution.

“Lucien?” Zurina stalked toward us out of the mist, confusion ringing in her voice.

I tugged the magic, willing it to recede. “A misunderstanding.”

Orson gasped for air, hunching over with his hands on his knees as he recovered from the illusion.

“Orson will be more careful with his words in the future,” I finished, with a pointed look to the man in question.

He spit on the ground, daring to meet my gaze before turning and stomping off toward the castle.

Zurina’s grieved hand slid to her hip. I could almost picture her raised brows beneath her hawkish mask. “That isn’t like you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I frowned. “No.” My attention glided to my arm, to the birthmark hidden under my armor. I needed answers, but Zurina couldn’t provide them. Gabriel wouldn’t give them to me either, not after today. But Ilya… Ilya might.

Chapter24

Lucien

The sun had long faded beyond the hills before I’d had the chance to seek her out. Not what I’d planned, but it couldn’t be helped. No sooner had I stepped into the castle than Zurina had pulled me away to discuss more reports of possible rebel activity.

“Talk to me, Ilya,” I called from outside the door to her chamber.

“Go away!”

I nudged the door again. She’d blocked it somehow, determined to keep me away despite her residence in my quarters. Another night I might have offered her space. Not tonight. Not after what happened in the arena. I’d removed my armor, a sign of peace, not that she could see it. Determination overrode caution as I rammed my shoulder into the sturdy door. Wood groaned. The door flew wide to crack against the wall. A chair clattered to a stop on its side. Ilya’s wild-eyed stare did nothing to calm my racing heart.

“You tried to keep me out of a room in my chambers?” I eyed the broken chair. She looked as mussed as I felt. Sweat matted my hair and left an unpleasant stench in my wake. I longed to sink into the steaming pools in the castle bathing room, but I had no time for that, not yet.

“Of course, I did! Do you think I wouldn’t after today?” She slid across the bed, making it a barricade between us, one I wanted gone. It would stay, for now. She acted too much like a spooked horse that would run or kick when cornered.

I sat on the foot of the bed. “I warned you what was to come.”

“But you didn’t tell me it’d be you.” Her voice cracked at the end. “You tortured my friends.”

And I’d hurt her in the process. The betrayal in her words was impossible to miss. Each one stung worse than a physical blow. I didn’t bother to hide the emotions that washed across my face, vulnerable and open. So different than with anyone else. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Ilya crossed her arms and stared me down. “Did someone control your limbs or your words? Physically compel you beyond your own will to do what you did?”

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