22. Leni

Escape seems about as possible as licking the sun and keeping your tastebuds.

As soon as Cross sends me through the door, dread slicks down my ribs, clogs up my lungs. It’s nothing compared to the piercing ice shards that follow.

A group of armed males forms a tight semi-circle around the pub’s entrance, dark, polished uniforms gleaming under golden streetlights. Not a mortal in sight. It’s an omen.

In front, where he thinks he belongs, a step closer, a brick higher, waits Draven resplendent in his finery, silks and hand threaded tailoring. A peacock, parading for the mortals cowering at the end of the street.

With a surge of panic, I throw myself into Cross. His grip on me is immediate, firm and protective, drawing me back until my heels are on the toes of his boots, my shoulders nestled into the folds of his jacket.

Draven smirks. He doesn’t mind the frigid mist. He stands sure and placating, hands folded in front of him, feet spread, tips of his camel leather loafers pointed out. An image of confidence and wealth, from the lone curl of his midnight cowlick to his tapered beard.

I used to think he was big and scary, but the solid mass of tense muscle at my back has opened my eyes. Now I see Draven’s puffy cheeks and bloated fingers, the gut he hides under gold buttons, his hunched posture only moderately reinforced by shoulder pads and a starched collar.

Unbidden, memories scratch against me, shredding open old wounds. Whispers of his plans to cage me, to pluck me apart and wear me. To be his accessory, silent and stunning, to be altered with his changing whims.

“Hello angel,” he purrs, blue eyes overly bright, fanatic, crazed. “I’ve been worried sick.”

Shivers split down my spine. I fight the unfamiliar urge to retaliate and instead focus on training. Run.

“Which way?” I ask Cross, unwilling to take my eyes off of Draven for a second. I lean back into the spymaster’s solid form, silently urging him to lead, trusting he’ll find the best, safest route. “As fast as we can,” I whisper.

Cross’s big hands are vise grips on my arms. He remains motionless. Doesn’t utter a word. Doesn’t give me any signal to read.

I shove back harder to knock him out of shock, boots slipping across the icy cobblestone. “Let’s go.”

Leave him. The command echoes in my mind. Leave him and run, it screams.

I’m too stubborn for that. I clutch blindly at him behind me, refusing to abandon him. “Quickly, Cross. Please.”

Our word. Our code.

“Oh, angel.” Draven’s sad tone mocks me, condescending and vicious. “Did you think you made a friend?”

Cross’s murmur comes broken and empty against my ear. “I’m so sorry, Leni.”

Regret spits black in my veins.

A scream wells up inside me, but it doesn’t find its way out of my lips.

A good opponent, Yaya said once, as she stripped my bed of teddy bears, will seize everything and make you believe you gave it before they end the game.

“I’m sorry,” Cross repeats in a quiet, anguished voice, and I realize that his hands are not supporting me, but holding me, pinning me. “Understand, this is the only way.”

He pries the scarf from my face, yanks my hood back.

Draven’s mouth spreads in what I assume is a smile.

Run.

My legs are numb.

“I didn’t... I would’ve...” Cross falters to explain that I’m a fool who fell—dove—into his trap. I thought I was helping him.

The wind whips my hair around me, and through the tornado of blue, I spot him. Slinking between two of Draven’s uniformed males, draped in a smart black trench, moving with deadly purpose: Atlas.

The male Cross defended.

Draven extends a gloved hand through the fog, fingers stretching out to me.

I thrash against Cross, fighting to get free, but it just adds noise to the air. Useless. The spymaster will not release me. I’ve given him everything he need, and now he’ll return me to my keeper, a fulfilled loan.

“Your phone went dark,” Atlas informs Cross, approaching steadily, a black umbrella masquerading as a cane guides his steps. The Chire’s gaze drifts over me, disdain and disgust clear in the slash of his brows. “Princess,” he nods.

Deep down, I’m not surprised Atlas betrayed me. Prey do anything to survive. Part of me understands him, forgives him, makes me numb to him.

I wish I could say the same about his spymaster.

Heartbreak is not as simple as betrayal.

Draven snaps his outstretched fingers, not one to share attention. “Enough of this behavior, angel. I’ve allowed you your fit. It’s finished now.” He gestures dismissively toward Atlas. “Our deal, Blackguard?”

“As you command,” Atlas returns, monotone, bored. He forcefully rips me from Cross’s grasp, and throws across slick cobblestone to Draven.

My future husband doesn’t bother to catch me as I tumble. Instead, he grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my cheek to his knee like a disobedient animal.

“Rune lost communication,” Atlas is saying to Cross. “Right before you left. You wouldn’t try to ditch us, would you?

Cross is stone. Motionless. He’s not the male I know. He denies any involvement with a shake of his head, not once taking his eyes off my spot on the dirty ground.

Draven’s nails dig into my scalp, and it feels like he’s pulling out each blue strand one by one. I stagger to my feet to relieve the burn and he buries his nose into my throat. “You reek of him,” he snarls, voice hacking at the thick air, utterly filled with twisted pleasure. “I’ll have to clean you off. Scrape every soiled piece away until you’re fresh for me. And then, when you heal, angel, you’ll accept your punishment.

Atlas swings his umbrella to his shoulder and the palace sentries tense collectively.

Draven dismisses him. “Our business is done. Remove yourself from my sight.”

In the prince’s distraction, I crane to see Cross. Jaw clenched, lip bleeding, eyes black as night. Atlas’s palm rests easy on his shoulder.

It was all a cruel fantasy. Every part.

He told me to run. And each time, I didn’t, he rewarded me. A kiss, a compliment.

And here he is, handing me off, someone else’s problem.

Always handed off. Always the sacrifice. Always controlled.

Anger seethes within me. Roiling, burning anger.

“You couldn’t have left me to drown?” I spin at Cross, body trembling, stomach upside down.

“Shut up.” Draven twists his grip tighter, tearing at my roots. Pain shoots through my scalp.

Cross was never going to be gentle. His promises, his lies, they ferried me away, convinced me we were partners, searching for answers together. But it was all a ploy, a perfectly executed seduction orchestrated by the spymaster.

Tears stream down my face, a mix of betrayal and despair.

“I trusted you!” I shout, wincing under Draven’s hold. “I thought you were better!”

“They’re animals,” Draven coos to me. “Look at them. Chained like animals for killing a delusional king. They only care about their own hides. Fitting that you ended up with them, angel.”

“I’d rather dogs than a rat,” I sneer, and then pain, white hot pain, explodes against my cheek. A slap. With his rings.

I taste blood. Thick and acrid.

“No!” Cross’s shout echoes off the buildings, rumbling and ruinous. I catch a glimpse of Atlas splayed on the ground, Cross lunging for me.

Draven snaps harsh fingers, and in an instant, ten loaded guns are trained on Cross, red dots converging on his chest. “How many bullets to kill the spymaster?” he taunts. “Should we place bets?”

The sentries chuckle. Safety’s tick off.

“Release her,” Cross demands, muscle jumping in his cheek. Wisps of black peel off his skin, swirling like dark, deadly steam.

Brave behind a barricade of sentries, Draven calls, “You’re mistaken if you believe you are in a position to dictate terms. Allow me to inform you that my father no longer protects you.” He yanks me tighter to him, my face crushing into the silk of his shirt. I choke on the scent of apples. “You ought to fall to your knees and kiss my feet for sparing you after you dared to touch my wife.”

Cross tenses. The mist surrounding us darkens.

Shoving up from the ground, dusting off his coat, Atlas snaps, “Stick to the terms, Draven.”

“That’s ‘His Grace’ to you, palace scum. The deal was your lives for the female. I didn’t say how I would keep her, or what would happen after I got her.”

Atlas swears under his breath, but Cross is still growling, low and menacing. “If you hurt her in any way,” he warns.

“Do you not understand that I’m the one with the power here?” Draven’s drunk on besting males who could turn him to dust if they were alone. “You are less than the dirt under my shoes. You are nobody. Nothing. And my wife will forget you the minute I take her home. Perhaps earlier, if she knows what’s good for her.“ He keeps his gaze on Cross as he strokes my cheek. “Will you behave for me, angel?”

I glare, pouring every ounce of my hate in a single despicable look.

This time, when he hits me, I crumble to the ground, body giving way to the blaze of pain across my face.

He shakes my limp elbow off the tip of his shoe, and in a bored, droll voice, commands his sentries to open fire.