Page 74 of The Prince of Power

Damian leans against the rail like he’s just a friend waiting for me. Not my jailer who’s been keeping me under surveillance since the night I was almost kidnapped. I’m never alone anymore. Someone is always watching. Usually, it’s him.

He straightens when he sees me. “Did you drink any water during class?”

I shake my head, too tired to lie. He’s been on me like an army general about my water intake. Maybe there’s a stipulation in his cult handbook that human sacrifices need to be well hydrated.

I probably would have said as much to him a week ago, and it would have been funny to me. Because I never in a million years would have thought it could be true. The man who designed a room just for me and touched me so tenderly in the pool would never cause me any serious harm.

I was a fool.

His mouth presses into a thin line as he falls into step beside me. “Then you’ll drink while we eat. I brought you lunch.”

When we reach the bench under the olive tree, he gestures for me to sit. He pulls a steel container from his leather bag and sets it beside me with a little too much force. Then he begins unpacking it, one item at a time.

A linen napkin. A bottle of sparkling water. A glass container of some kind of arugula salad. And then the sandwich—the one I used to ask for at lunchtime almost daily. Thick-cut ciabatta pressed around prosciutto, fig jam, and brie.

He sets it down like it’s a declaration of war.

“The chef made it just for you.” His voice is clipped. “It’s your favorite.”

I sigh. “I don’t have favorites anymore.”

His jaw ticks. He inhales slowly and shakily, like he’s trying to maintain composure. “What does that mean?”

I shrug. “It means I don’t care what I eat. I just do what I’m told.”

A pause. Then his hand slams flat on the bench between us, making me jump.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re going to snap out of your petulance, Ava, or—” his voice lowers into a growl “—you won’t like the consequences.”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves. I glance up at the olive tree overhead. I used to find them beautiful.

“Ava.” Damian’s sharp voice draws my attention to his face. He’s practically shaking he’s so angry. “You’re going to eat every bite of this meal, do you hear me? I won’t let you starve yourself in protest.”

“It’s not a protest. I just don’t care.”

For a second, something flickers behind Damian’s eyes… Something that looks like fear. Then his hand is on my chin, yanking me forward so quickly my breath catches.

“If you don’t eat,” he grits out, “I’ll feed you myself. I’ll shove it into your mouth, bite by bite. Is that what you want?”

There’s a flicker inside me, like a match struck in the dark. I think it might be the beginning of anger.

After grabbing the panini, I tear off a piece and then chew it with robotic precision. It’s good—sweet and salty—but also faraway somehow. Like I’m eating in a dream.

After swallowing a few bites, I take a big sip of my sparkling water. “Coraline says I shouldn’t eat brie. She says you hate the smell and won’t like it on my breath.”

His eyes narrow. “How is she treating you?”

I shrug. “I usually send her away. I don’t need someone to dress me or style my hair. And she doesn’t like doing it.”

“It doesn’t matter if she likes it. It’s her job.”

“She probably sees the pointlessness of it all. I bet she knows I’m going to be killed eventually.”

“Ava.” His nostrils flare. “I’ve told you multiple times that you’re not going to be killed.”

I take another sip of my water. “You know what would mess up all your plans? If I killed myself before you could sacrifice me.”

His entire face drains of color. But it’s only for a second. Then rage ignites in his eyes, darkening his sharp cheekbones.

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