Page 22 of The Madman and his broken Princess
Despite his words, I could detect a note of fear in Nestore’s voice. I wished I could protect him as he protected me. I wished we could find a way out of this.
I washed myself with the small cloth Flavia had given me for that purpose. It was rough and smelled musty by now. The cool water on my skin felt good, even as the cotton skimmed bruises and cuts. I imagined I still didn’t smell particularly good. I didn’t have any soap, so blood and sweat seemed to have ingrained themselves in my skin, but my nose was immune to it by now.
Nestore did push-ups in the cell beside mine. Nobody had come to torture either of us in ten days.
Nobody had visited us at all in more than twenty-four hours, which meant no food, and the dead body had been in a cell with me since yesterday. As he began to decay, it became increasingly difficult to ignore his presence. Nestore was pushing his body more because of these new developments.
“What do you think is going on?” I asked. Flavia hadn’t been allowed to come down here in many weeks, so I didn’t get any updates, and even before that, her visits had been rare since she’d given birth to Luciano four months ago. I hadn’t seen him yet. She didn’t want to bring him down into the basement, adecision I wholeheartedly agreed with. This wasn’t a place for a child.
Nestore paused mid push-up and looked at me before he resumed his workout, panting, “Something is in the air. I can sense it. Your father exuded animal fear the last time he came for me. Someone’s after him.”
I bit my lip. “That’s good, right?”
Nestore got on his knees, sweat trickling down his chest. The bruises and cuts had partly healed after so many days without torture, but the many scars spoke of the pain he’d endured. Seeing his missing left nipple always made my belly tighten.
Still, for the first time since Nestore had been thrown into this cell, fresh injuries didn’t slow him down. His motions were more fluid, and I caught a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.
“The question is if the one who’s after him will be after us.”
“It can hardly get worse for you.”
“Whoever comes next might torture you in ways your father hasn’t done for various reasons. So it can get indefinitely worse for us.” His eyes moved to the man he’d killed. “Though if your father lost control over his men, your situation could already be perilous, dove.”
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t considered it from that angle yet. In all the time I had been down here, nobody had dared to touch me inappropriately, so maybe my father still wanted to marry me off.
Nestore got up and walked over to the bars separating us. He gripped them and looked at me with fierce determination. “I’ll protect you, Amelia. Somehow, someway. When someone comes in, you get as close to my cell as possible so I can reach through the bars and attack them.” He pulled the bloody pen from his pocket as if to remind me what he could do, when I hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
I got up from the bed and moved toward him, smiling slightly. I grabbed the bars below his hands. He leaned his head against the bars, and I brought my face up so our foreheads touched. The small touch sent a wave of warmth into my belly.
Eventually, Nestore and I returned to our respective spots, me reading the same book for the hundredth time and Nestore doing crunches. I admired his discipline. Some days, I barely had the energy to go to the toilet.
An explosion above shook the bars, followed by more bangs, screams, and shots.
I froze, unsure what to do. Nestore’s alert gaze flitted from me to the ceiling.
The door to the basement banged open, and one of the guards rushed in. He moved toward Nestore’s cell and fumbled with the keys because his hands shook so much. What was going on?
I got up from my bed, anxiety filling my body. “Where are you taking him?”
The man ignored me and finally found the correct key to unlock Nestore’s cell.
Nestore remained on the floor, but something in his eyes reminded me of a tiger on the verge of leaping. He didn’t look worried. He looked determined.
The guard ripped open the door and stepped in. “Get up!” he ordered as he stalked toward Nestore, who remained on the ground. But I noticed the tightening of his muscles, the preparation for something as the guard towered above him.
The split second before Nestore shoved to his feet and lunged at our guard, his face turned into something alien, something so consumed by violence that for the first time in my life I felt a flicker of fear toward the boy I loved with all my heart. I rushed forward, pressing against the bars, fear clogging my throat.
Nestore collided with the guard and clawed at his eyes. Then, with a warlike scream that pierced my soul and heart, he sankhis teeth into the man’s throat. Blood spurted everywhere when he jerked his head back with a chunk of flesh between his white teeth.
I sank to my knees, clutching at the bars as I watched Nestore become a vicious beast. The man’s pained screech died in a gurgle. Upstairs, more gunshots rang out, followed by shouts and screams. When the guard stopped struggling, Nestore lifted his head, the muscles in his back flexing with every pant.
Nestore turned to me, baring his teeth in a terrifying smile. Madness shone in his eyes. Now that he’d tasted the addicting tang of violence, he’d want more. I could see it in every beautiful line of his face.
I shuddered. Nestore pushed to his feet, grabbed the keys from the floor and a knife from a holster at the dead man’s waist, then walked up to the door to my cell. The sound of the lock turning made me shiver. I still knelt on the floor, staring at the pool of blood slowly extending toward me. Nestore took me by the arms and pulled me to my feet. I blinked up at his tall form, trying not to linger on the blood on his chin and chest.
“We need to leave,” I whispered. “This isn’t our fight.”
Nestore’s gaze moved to the ceiling, his eyes becoming distant as he listened to the sounds of fighting—shots, heavy thuds like bodies hitting the floor, and agonized screams.
