Page 48 of The Fae Queen's Revenge

“Scream,” he bit out.

The woman blinked. “What—”

“Unless you wish to be tortured in truth, scream,” he muttered. “As you did when you were beaten. As you wanted to when your cousin was abused.”

For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t do it, but she finally let forth a cry full of such pain that he half-expected blood to be coating his hands. And it was, in a sense. He’d allowed himself to become so embroiled in this court’s madness that he hadn’t prevented this type of abuse from growing to such horrid levels.

Some protector he was.

He made no attempt to cover his ears, accepting the pain her screams sent crashing into his skull. As her voice grew ragged and her cries cut off, he wished for nothing more than the ability to comfort. Too bad he wasn’t capable of such wholesome honor, not in a moment like this.

All he could do was save her.

“Considering the risk, why were you standing in the garden watching?” he asked into the sudden silence.

Her answer was bare and ragged. “I wanted to watch him die for what he did.”

“But if he’d been hurting another, the victim might have been struck by the poison, too.”

“I have an antidote,” she whispered. “It was extreme, I know. But someone had to do something to stop the abuse, since—”

He knew what she’d prevented herself from saying. “Since the king and I do not. Too bad our princess isn’t here to intervene, hmm?”

“She was a jewel too bright for this dark setting.”

Ber could agree with those soft words, though he felt certain Tes wouldn’t. “Yes. But what would you do if she returned?”

That earned him a gasp and a startled glance. She opened her mouth as though she would answer, then pressed her lips tight again. He didn’t blame her for being too scared to reply. Whatreason did she have to trust him? If he wanted a true response, he needed to offer her something.

He leaned close, his voice dropping lower. “Scream again. And as you do, contemplate why I’m not drawing those sounds from you with the implements on that wall. In fact, I could have done so in the tavern when you spoke treason with those two bards.”

Her eyes widened, but at his raised brow, she screamed once more. Ber took the opportunity to grab a large, clear globe from the display of torture implements. This was a clever device, delivering painful magic through the body without leaving a mark. He was known to prefer it, but he rarely had to use it.

It was simply the only thing that would explain her cries despite her lack of obvious wounds. And when he turned back with the crystal sphere in his hand, it had the added effect of bringing fear into her screams. A boon, though he hated to think of it that way.

He set it in an indention on the empty corner of the table. Lifting his hands, he took a few steps to the side and waited until the woman fell silent again. “Be calm. It’s merely for display. Now, what would you do if the princess returned?” he repeated softly.

The artisan stared at him for the longest time, and he was careful to hold her gaze. “I would fight for our queen,” she finally whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath.

Ber smiled. “I see. Good answer.”

A tentative spark of hope flashed in her eyes.

“Since you had nothing to do with this incident in the garden after all, I shall release you to recover in safety,” Ber said, his tone turning cold and remote as he raised his voice once more. “If you’re in need of work outside the palace, you might speak with Cairi, the globemaker. You may tell her you were sent by Prince Ber in honor of the service she gave my dearest wife.”

The woman’s brows rose. “Your Highness, does that mean she…”

“I can be certain of nothing,” Ber said carefully. “But if rumors are true, I may be in need of two skilled artisans who are loyal to the crown.”

Hinting that Tes was alive was a massive risk, but one it was time to take. As power-hungry and cruel as the worst noble could be, each of them feared one thing above all—an uprising. Once Tes returned openly, the support of a ready populace would sway those same nobles like nothing else could.

After all, it was difficult to lord power over people if you were dead.

“In the name of our beloved princess, I vow I am loyal, indeed,” the artisan ventured.

Ber allowed another smile to cross his face. “Good.”

Before she realized what he was about, he drew his knife and lifted his tunic. She let out a strangled cry at the sight, but he didn’t offer reassurance. Unfortunately, as with the screams, the sounds she made could only help in this horrid situation. So he made a tiny cut halfway up his abdomen, then drew the tip of his finger through the blood that welled.

---