Page 23 of Bonds of Pain
I instinctively lower my head, hoping to avoid attention. To my surprise, the opposite happens. As we pass, people stop what they’re doing. Servants pause mid-step. Guards straighten. Courtiers bow their heads respectfully.
At me.
I nearly trip over my own feet when I realize what’s happening.
“Everyone is watching me,” I whisper to Poe, unable to finish the question.
“You stink of that new bond.” Poe glances back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Not to mention, you’re wearing the royal crest around your neck. You’re officially a royal consort to the presumed heir to the throne. Did you think people wouldn’t notice?”
My hand flies to my neck where the silver pendant rests against my skin. The necklace I’d put on as a strategic concession this morning now feels like a brand marking me as property, just more visibly than the bites on my body.
“I didn’t realize it would be made official so quickly,” I murmur as we continue walking, more eyes following our progress.
A young woman in a maid’s uniform actually curtsies as we pass. “Your Highness,” she whispers, eyes downcast.
Your Highness. The words echo in my head like a cruel joke.
“Logan also didn’t waste any time,” Poe admits, pitching his voice lower. “The official announcement went out last night while you were...indisposed.”
Last night. While I was still recovering from a heat I never wanted, with a bond I never chose, Logan was already staking his claim publicly. Making sure everyone knew I belonged to him.
If only they all knew the actual truth.
If only these bowing courtiers and respectful servants understood that their precious prince isn’t even my primary bond. That I’m primarily bonded to another Omega—a male one, at that—a scandalous impossibility that would send shockwaves through the royal court if revealed.
A bitter laugh threatens to escape my throat. I wonder what they’d think of their golden prince then. Would they still bow and scrape if they knew the truth? Or would they look at me with disgust, with pity, with shock?
Would the truth even be enough to ruin him?
We turn down another corridor, this one less populated. Poe’s pace quickens, and I hurry to keep up.
“Almost there,” he says, leading me toward a service entrance I wouldn’t have noticed if not for him heading straight for it.
Poe pushes open the heavy door, revealing a narrow stairwell that spirals downward into darkness. He pulls out a small flashlight from his pocket and flicks it on, illuminating rough concrete steps that disappear into the shadows below.
“Watch your step,” he warns, starting his descent without waiting for my response.
I hesitate at the top of the stairs, my fingers curling around the cold metal railing. The dark, enclosed space sends a flutter of panic through my chest, reminding me too much of the basement room where Logan found Cillian and me during our shared heat. Where everything changed.
“You coming?” Poe calls up, his voice echoing against the concrete walls.
I take a deep breath and force myself to follow him down. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere we won’t be interrupted,” he answers cryptically, continuing downward.
The temperature drops with each step, and the air grows stale and damp. The concrete walls seem to close in around me, and I fight the urge to turn and run back up to the palace corridors. But curiosity pushes me forward.
If Poe is planning to kill me down here, at least I’ll be put out of my misery.
When we reach the bottom, Poe leads me through a heavy metal door that groans as he pushes it open. The smell hits me first. Metallic and sharp, with an underlying scent of something organic and decaying. My stomach turns as we step into a large, open room with high ceilings.
As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I take in the details of the room. The floor is concrete, sloping slightly toward several drains positioned throughout the space. Dark stains in the concrete surround each drain, old blood that never fully washed away. Above us, metal hooks and implements hang from acomplex system of rails in the ceiling, their edges gleaming dully in the low light.
This is a slaughtering floor.
“What is this place?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“The old butchery,” Poe says matter-of-factly. “Not used much anymore since they modernized the kitchens upstairs.”
