Page 14 of Night Fae
Meaningless promises. Zev knew what those freedoms would look like: a leash that would never be fully removed, a cage with slightly wider bars.
Darius moved toward the door. "I'll return at dawn for your answer. If you're wise, you'll take my offer." His eyes locked with Zev's. "If not, the Prince will be happy to play with your human."
The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Zev alone with his thoughts.
His shoulders burned from the strain of the chains, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the weight of the choice before him. To serve the Court again, to kill in their name… He'd be breaking every promise he'd made to Rhys's memory when he'd left this place.
But refusing meant condemning Malik to torment and death.
Rhys's face flashed in his memory—laughing, alive, before the Court had killed him. Before Zev had failed to keep him safe.
If only Rhys were here now. If only Zev could ask his advice. He'd know what to do.
His moral compass had never been broken the way Zev's was. All Zev had was the honor code he'd made up for himself when he'd left this place, and it wasn't helping him now. According to his code, he could neither abandon his ally nor kill for his father.
In situations like this, it became apparent that his system was a poor substitute for that intrinsic knowledge other people seemed to have of what was right or wrong.
These days, even Knox seemed to be doing better at that than Zev.
What would Knox want him to do?
Let Malik die or kill someone else?
No, he wouldn't have to kill just one other person. He'd be killing countless people before his father was through with him, and he'd be losing himself in the process.
When he looked at the situation from that angle, the right answer became quite clear.
Then why did it feel so wrong?
The guards marched Malik down a long corridor, their grip on his arms firm enough to bruise. He didn't know where they were going, but they were entering a section of the palace different from the one he'd been in before.
It appeared even more opulent.
Especially when they stopped in front of a large door that seemed carved out of silver.
Malik looked at it and felt as if he'd swallowed a brick.
Whose chamber was this?
Did he want to know?
"May the shadows have mercy on you," one of the guards said softly.
"The prince rarely does." The other chuckled, and then he knocked, three measured taps on the door.
"Enter," called a voice from within—melodic and smooth as silk sliding over skin.
The doors swung open without being touched. The guards propelled Malik forward into a chamber with a ceiling so high Malik couldn't see the end. Everything in it screamed 'dark royalty' in a way that made Malik himself want to scream.
He knew exactly where he was, and he only wished he wereanywhereelse.
"Leave us," the voice commanded.
The guards released Malik and backed out, relief evident in their hurried steps.
Malik stood alone in the center of the room, fighting the urge to rub his arms where the guards had held him.
Fighting also the urge to turn around and run.
