Page 8 of Crown of Darkness
Memory.
The look in my sister’s eyes as she realized I’m the one who betrayed her is my least favorite memory, but it’s the one that keeps playing in my head, over and over and over.
I try to shift on my toes, and agony flares through my shoulders like a pair of knives driven deep. The chains around my wrists remain stoic, and though I’ve tried, I know they’re anchored to the ceiling above me and nothing I do will shift them.
I will endure.
I will not scream.
I will not beg.
It’s not my first time in the oubliette. Nor will it be my last.
And somehow, that thought makes me want to laugh.
Or cry.
Because I don’t know how long my mother will leave me chained here, and I don’t know what condition I will be in when she finally allows me to go free.
It takes me a long time to realize I can hear footsteps.
I tilt my head in the darkness, my heart suddenly racing. I don’t know how long I’ve been hanging here—time means nothing in the ever-present dark—but surely this is not long enough? I spent months in these chains when I fought for my sister’s freedom the first time. Months that broke me.
This could only have been… maybe weeks?
Maybe it’s not freedom that beckons. Maybe it’s torture. Mother will never dare whip the crown heir, but there are other ways to torture a body. Or a soul. And they don’t have to even leave a bruise.
I tense as keys rattle in the lock and the door squeals open. Everything sounds so fucking loud after the silence.
But then there are no further sounds, and I know that someone watches me, even if I can’t see them, and maybe that’s worse….
Heat flares, and I turn my eager face to it even as my abdomen tenses.
“You’re a mess,” Edain says coldly.
Not him. Anyone but him.
My heart’s in freefall, my throat closing over as if to contain a startled gasp. But I don’t dare let him see it.
I tilt my chin, trying to shift the blindfold, but all I catch a glimpse of is his boots. “My apologies, my lord.” My lips feel too dry, and they mangle the words, but I continue. “I seem to have misplaced the servants.”
My stepbrother stalks closer, and my cold skin yearns for the heat of his torch, even as I grind my teeth together.
“Surely you’re not here to bring my meal.” My stomach growls at the thought, shockingly loud. “Nor my bath.”
The clink of sound tells me he’s set the torch in the wall. “Your mother is still furious with you, so I would try not to be so witty when you’re brought before her.”
My heart skips a beat. “The Queen wants to see me?”
“Would I be down here for any other reason?”
And there it is.
I never quite know if he enjoys taunting me or if he’s merely stating a fact, but Edain being Edain, I’m fairly certain he’s mocking me.
I don’t know what my mother was thinking when she brought him into her court.
Though I can imagine.
