Page 42 of Her Cruel Empire
But it’s not unpleasant. It doesn’t, for example, smell like sweat or blood or death. I think it’s just a very old part of the castle.
I press myself against the wall, moving as quietly as possible over the worn runner that covers a smooth stone floor. I can’t see anyone; nothing lies before me but a long corridor leading to another door at the end, but from a doorway halfway down the corridor, I hear the scrape of chairs, low murmured conversation.
This is my chance.
I creep carefully past their doorway after convincing myself from the sound of their voices that they’re facing away from the door—and they are. I catch a quick glimpse of them standing at what looks like a modern kitchen counter, and I continue to the end of the hall.
The heavy wooden door at the end of it stands slightly ajar.
I push it open and step inside.
Chapter 15
Robin
It’s not a dungeon.
It’s not a torture chamber or some medieval oubliette where Eva keeps her enemies.
It’s a hospital room.
Monitors beep softly in the dim space. IV lines snake from hanging bags to a pale man lying motionless in a hospital bed. The equipment is state-of-the-art—better than anything I’ve seen outside of TV medical dramas.
And beside the bed, dressed in blood red, sits Eva herself.
She holds the man’s hand, stroking it with infinite tenderness. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around her face, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks…small. Vulnerable.
Human.
Her head lifts. Her amber eyes meet mine.
The transformation is instant and terrifying.
Eva explodes to her feet, her chair clattering backward. In one quick motion, she grabs a gun from God knows where, and points it directly at my chest.
“Who sent you?” Her voice is as hard as I’ve ever heard it.
I freeze, hands instinctively rising. “What?”
“Are you here to finish the job? Are you a plant after all? Or a fucking assassin—one of those Syndicate mercenaries? Christ, how could I be sostupid?”
The composure I’ve seen her maintain through every interaction—with her men, her staff, even in moments of passion—has gone completely. Rage and grief and humiliation all seem to be boiling up from somewhere deep inside her, and I realize she feels exposed. Caught.
“Eva, I don’t understand?—”
“Don’t.” The gun doesn’t waver. “Don’t you dare lie to me. Not now.”
Her finger rests on the trigger, and I know with crystalline clarity that shewillpull it. This isn’t the Eva who bought me expensive clothes or whispered commands in bed.
This is the other Eva. The descendant of a long line of very vicious and dangerous people.
“I’m not an assassin,” I say, my voice steadier than it has any right to be.
“Then why did you creep in here?” she snarls.
I look at the man in the bed—older, with a strong jaw and silver hair. Even unconscious, there’s something regal about him. Something that speaks of power.
“Because I was scared,” I admit. “Because I thought you were hiding something awful. Because...” I meet her eyes again. “Because down in the village, they told me things, warned me, and I had to find out for myself what was going on. But this...whoever this man is, I can see you love him. That you’re protecting him. I understand that. I’m here because I want to protect the people I love, too.”
