Page 12 of The Nightbound Soldier

Probably a fluke occurrence with the changing seasons. Winter is coming, and with it, news of the general and his warlords.

Last night, when I searched for the notturno, I never checked the dungeons, primarily because nobody ventures there by choice. The dungeons house criminals who the notturnos guard, and some of those guards are more dangerous than the prisoners. Et’enne hires scary monsters to patrol our dungeons, which hold scary creatures.

Unless the general left the court, that’s the only place he could be. Since I can’t seem to summon him to me, I must seek him out and question him about what Evie told me. I don’t like that he manipulated my friend, but he released her and she’s safe, so I take that as a gesture of goodwill.

Standing, I fix my skirt and my tube top and clear my throat, pushing back my shoulders.

The sun is sinking into the sea as I leave the gardens, heading into the palace from the back entrance. Once inside, I descend the steps toward the less frequented corner of the Golden Palace, which hides an unguarded secret passage in the corner of the hallway behind my late father’s favorite plant.

“He loves gardening,”my mother used to say to explain the excessive time he spent in the gardens when I was a kid.

She lied.

He loved hiding things in the gardens. Coins, drinking, orgies. The bench he tortured Et’enne on.

The worst part about my parents’ relationship? My mother knew what he was doing. She knew and she ignored it, perhaps even encouraged it so that she could invite lovers to her own bed. And while each couple does what they will with their marriage, and I support the idea of individual freedom, I love the idea of finding that one loyal male who will share my long life with me a lot more.

Such a male would have to be powerful and self-controlled, like a king or a trained prince, but since I’m barren, kings won’t marry me, and the princes who’ve courted me didn’t have enough discipline to stay away from me even when I refused them.

Once Et’enne heard about the incident with the Spring Court’s aristocrat who courted me one summer, things changed. After his party returned to their home, the male dove from the roof of his tower.

Nobody blamed me openly, but people gossiped in private. They said I drove him to his death.

Several summers later, another male and I entertained a long relationship until he started hitting me. I left him, retreating into the mountains. He followed me there. I thought he would end me, but El’jah figured it out and told my older brother, who made the male vanish.

My king also placed me under his observation and closed the Summer Court for several seasons. And ever since, I’ve chosen my partners carefully and gauged the kind of self-control a male possesses when he’s around me, even while continuing to purge on the bench and wishing my magic would completely drain away.

I grab a dark brown scarf from the clothing rack we supply for our guests and wrap it around my head before slipping into the hallway that leads to the secret portal. Before calling up the portal, I look around for guards.

None.

Good.

Straining, I push away the heavy stone planter that holds a plant the size of a small tree to reveal the secret portal. I flick my wrist, and a purple-green shimmer appears on the wall. I step through it, quickly closing it after myself and praying the commander of our armies, and my dearest friend, D’Artaron, remains on the outdoor training grounds torturing (he calls it training) our new military recruits.

He’s too good at his job and would find me out immediately.

The portal deposits me inside an empty cage deep in the dungeon. My toes curl as I shiver. Brrr. It’s cold down here. And eerily quiet even for this time of span, which is morning for notturnos.

The vampires stay away from sunlight, for the rays slow them down. For some of them, the light causes burns, and I’ve even heard of death from prolonged exposure. Younger notturnos can function under the sun, but I’ve yet to meet a vampire who didn’t prefer the rhythm of his natural nocturnal clock.

I approach the iron bars and listen more closely.

In the entertainment part of the underground area, music plays softly. I hear workers chatting and moving around, arranging glasses and plates and preparing meals for the night ahead. However, in the dungeon, I hear nothing, as if everyone is asleep.

While the undead sleep differently from the living, mainly in the way that they mimic the actual dead without heartbeats, I didn’t expect silence down here. Guards patrol the cells and often chat among one another. The dungeons aren’t this quiet.

Something is wrong.

It’s him,my instinct supplies.

He’s doingit. Whateveritis, the male they call the general is doing it. I know this like I know how to wrangle an outrageous twenty-five percent for myself out of every deal I make for my king and Court. I like having my own coin, for it gives me the freedom to do things my brothers would never sanction.

I eye the only prison cell door that can be opened from the inside. Et’enne had this cell remodeled after spending part of his childhood in it. The dungeons carry painful memories for him. I’ve often wondered why he still keeps the dungeons active in the court, why he hasn’t closed them.

The magically spelled key hidden under the ninth stone of the third row of stones to my left unlocks the cage, and I poke my head out, seeing perfectly well in the dark.

Not a soul appears in the long hallway.

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