Page 45 of Bonds of Pain
Ismooth my hands over the silk of my dress, adjusting the delicate silver chains that drape across my shoulders. The gown is the most elegant thing I’ve worn outside of a palace event and a far cry from the practical clothes I’d chosen for my little field trip with Poe. The bodice hugs my curves before flowing into a skirt that whispers against the floor when I walk.
“You look very nice,” Cillian murmurs from beside me. His voice low enough that only I can hear.
I lift my chin and give him a forced smile. “That’s the point.”
I’m not the only one who seems to have something to prove.
Ares and Poe are loaded down with the maximum number of weapons they’re legally allowed to carry in the palace halls. Logan actually has a thin coronet nestled on top of his dark hair, ensuring no one will mistake his status as a crowned prince. Even Cillian is dressed in the guard uniform typically reserved for official functions.
The meeting room feels suffocating despite its grandeur. High ceilings with ornate molding, heavy brocade curtains, and a polished table that reflects our tense faces. Naturally, Logan sits at the head of the table with me to his right. Cillian stands behind my chair while Poe and Ares flank the door like sentinels.
“He’s late,” Logan says, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Calculated power move,” Poe responds, his eyes never leaving the door.
When the Inquisitor finally arrives, I straighten my spine and fix my expression into one of practiced serenity. I’ve dressed to command attention, to show the man who held me hostage for a year—and only just tried to kidnap me a handful of days ago—that I’m not afraid of him.
Even though I’m terrified.
But the Inquisitor doesn’t so much as spare me a glance as he enters.
He’s a slight man with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning hair, dressed in an impeccable gray suit without adornments. Nothing about him suggests power or danger, yet the room temperature seems to drop several degrees when he takes his seat across from Logan.
His eyes slide over me as if I’m a piece of furniture. Not the reaction I’d been expecting. But what did I think would happen, really? That he would launch himself across the table, to come at me with grasping hands and evil intent.
He’s here for me. He has to be. And I’m stupid enough to serve myself up on a pretty platter.
But my nightmare doesn’t so much as spare me a glance as he addresses the man beside me.
“Prince Logan,” he says, voice crisp and clinical. “Thank you for accommodating my request to meet with you.”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “Before we begin, I’d like to know exactly who you are and what credentials qualify you to question my pack about my brother’s death.”
“Aside from the king’s direct command, I assume you mean.” The Inquisitor’s lips twitch in what might be amusement. “ I am Doctor Sionis Thane, the foremost medical scientist in Melilla and a long-standing personal confidante of your father, King Leopold.”
A medical expert. My skin prickles with unease at the reminder, sweat dampening my palms as I struggle to control my suddenly rapid breathing. I refuse to close my eyes because I know what images I’ll see.
I can already feel the sharp bite of a scalpel against my skin.
“Funny,” Poe says from his position by the door, interrupting my spiral before I can run screaming out of the room. “We’ve never heard of you.”
“Perhaps your subscription to the more prominent medical journals has lapsed,” Thane dryly replies. “My work is ofa sensitive nature, requiring discretion rather than public recognition.”
Logan drums his fingers on the table. “What exactly is your area of expertise, Doctor?”
Thane spares me the barest glance before returning his attention to Logan. “Reproductive biology, primarily. With a particular interest in designation genetics.”
A chill runs through me. Designation genetics. The science behind what makes someone their dynamic.
“What does that have to do with this investigation?” I whisper, before I can stop myself.
Thane’s gaze finally settles on me, and I immediately regret drawing his attention. His eyes are flat and cold, like polished stone.
Logan’s hand finds my knee under the table, his grip tight enough to bruise. A warning to stay quiet, or a reaction to my obvious discomfort?
“I fail to see how your medical expertise relates to investigating my brother’s death,” Logan says.
“Don’t you? I find that rather surprising, Your Highness.” Thane replies, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “I thought you were aware that I conducted the autopsy of Prince Ander. I am the one who determined that the cause of death was murder.”
