8. Rhyland

Rhyland

8

T he servant girl slips in, quiet as a mouse, hauling a silver tray with a crystal decanter and goblet brimming with blood. The scent, thick with iron, slams into me, sparking a primal need. Yet, I pause, suspicion nipping at me. I'm not taking anything these captors offer without questioning it.

The girl seems to read my hesitation. "It's not poisoned," she whispers softly.

I'm stunned by her ability to perceive my thoughts and speak to me directly. I stare at her with guarded indifference.

Sensing my distrust, the girl meets my gaze. "The queen wishes to keep you alive—for now. Refusing will only weaken you."

I mull it over as the thirst rages. She's not wrong—I need my strength to leave this hellhole.

Lucian, channeling his inner quick-witted taunt, throws out, "Hey, try not to waste away to nothing on us, brother. Your sheer force of will isn't exactly calorie-rich, you know."

His words serve as a reminder that I can't let my guard slip.

She edges closer, the goblet in her hands, and there's a look on her face, almost like she cares. I let out a resigned snarl, snatch the cup, and down the blood.

Any second thoughts disappear when the blood hits my taste buds—pure and potent. The goblet's empty before I know it, power pumping back into my starved system. "Thank you," I mumble.

She cracks a small smile, and for a minute, the world doesn't seem like total shit.

I knock back two more goblets, chasing away the hunger. The blood's a welcome band-aid for the energy the cursed chains keep bleeding from me.

While I'm chugging, my eyes are on the servant girl. She's a slip of a thing, chestnut locks and doe eyes. I brace for the usual—fear, maybe disgust—but her face is all soft lines and gentleness, watching me with real kindness. It throws me off, her giving off waves of concern. Most around here see us as monsters or toys, but not her.

After putting the last cup down, she inches closer, throwing nervous looks at the door.

With a soothing tone, she whispers, "I am so sorry for what's been done to you. The queen's cruelty is not right."

Her words have me staring, dumbfounded. It's rare to find this kind of heart in the queen's ranks. She catches my gaze and looks away. "Some here still honor justice. I wish to help free you if I can."

Before any words can roll off my tongue, the staccato rhythm of boots comes from the hallway. She switches gears like she's done this dance before—going quiet, slipping into that role of 'obedient servant.'

Scooping up the empty vessels, she's the picture of servitude as the door busts open.

A guard fills the doorway, scanning the scene. His eyes land on me and flick to her. "You're needed back in the kitchens," he barks.

She keeps her head low, makes a quiet sound of agreement, and moves to leave. But as she flits by, she's close enough to drop a bomb in a hushed rush, "The library, east wing. Your answers are there." And then she scurries away.

I'm left standing there, her secret words echoing in my skull.

Is she for real? Could this be a setup, some devious bullshit the queen cooked up?

There's no way to know without playing the hand she dealt. Still, I got to tread lightly—this could blow up in our faces. But if she's throwing us a lifeline, it's a game-changer.

The guard, oblivious to the exchange, departs after delivering terse warnings.

Once the room is empty, Lucian lets his sardonic amusement ripple through the air. "Whoa—what's this? Holding auditions for a fan club? And look at her go, she's got nerve. Not every day you see someone give the queen the finger—takes guts... or a death wish."

I pace, thoughts spinning as I analyze the servant's cryptic hints. What answers does she believe reside in the library? Lore that could help remove these collars? It seems too much to hope for, yet hope refuses to be defeated. Not when freedom feels closer than it has.

I reply to Lucian absently, "What the hell are we supposed to find? If that wasn't vague as shit, I don't know what is."

"Let's wager it's a damn book, dumbass,"Lucian's voice rolls out laced with irritable wit. "I'm so fucking tired of this godforsaken pit and her demented little torture fetishes."

I scowl toward the wall separating us. "No shit, it's probably a book. But what book, smartass? That's the question. Now shut the fuck up and let me think."

Lucianlets out a chuckle tinged with mock reverence. "Oh, forgive me, oh enlightened one. Go ahead, find your Zen or whatever. I'll just be here, holding my fucking breath for that pearl of wisdom to drop." The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Keep it up, and I'll beat that breath out of you once we're free," I shoot back, making him laugh more.

"The service here is appalling," he continues loudly. "Free room and board, but they cram us in fetid rooms and feed us cold blood. And the activities—being forced to watch Fae porn is not my idea of a holiday!"

I can envision his exaggerated eye roll and gestures. Leave it to Lucian to find dark humor even now.

Lucian's voice crackles with sarcasm, "I'm considering dropping a scathing Yelp review. 'To whom it may concern: Rooms are filthy, staff is sadistic, and cuisine is abysmal. Barely merits a star—would rather stake myself than recommend.'"

Even when everything's gone to hell, Lucian's got a way of painting the air blue with his rants that can't help but yank a chuckle out of me. His wiseass comments are like a life preserver in an ocean of crap—keeping my spirits from sinking.

The door crashes open, and the guard lumbers in. "Turn around, hands behind your back," he barks. "The queen demands your presence."

Of course, when I thought her Twisted Majesty might forget about me for a spell. Wishful thinking.

With that cold steel kissing my neck, options aren't sprouting wings. I do the only thing I can: spin around and clasp my hands.

The second those silver manacles click shut, I can feel them sucking the juice out of me. Every muscle itching to ram my head into the guard's mug, but I gnash my teeth and lock it down.

Now's not the time. Gotta play the long game.

Lucian calls out sarcastically, "Do I get to join in the fun too?"

"Shut your mouth, slave scum," the guard bellows.

"Well, now, I'm almost convinced you find me endearing. And here I was, starting to think we had a moment." Lucian fires back with sass.

His fearlessness in provoking our jailers never ceases to impress me—great courage or foolishness.

The glowering guard shoves me toward the open door. "Get moving, bloodsucker."

I imagine all the ways I will make this lout suffer once free of these bonds. The vivid fantasies bring a small smile as I march.

Standing before the massive doors to her chambers, the guard knocks, signaling I'm here. The King's deep voice grumbles out an "Enter."

I hesitate, thrown off. What's got the King sharing air with the queen when he usually can't stand her? Their cold war's the stuff of legends. His showing up could be a break in the clouds or a storm brewing.

The doors push open, and I stride in. This place is dripping with luxury, all to show off royal bullshit. Black silks and tapestries hang everywhere. Glowing crystals and fae lights make the place glow—the furniture's fancy, carved from woods you can't name. The ground's an artwork of river stones, and rugs break up the glitz. Windows curve around, showing off the eerie woods and peaks.

But none of that prepped me for the cozy picture of Alinar and his lady, lounging like they're on a honeymoon, him feeding her grapes, both knocking back wine. They're acting like they've just made up big time—a bad feeling knots in my stomach.

The queen's hungry gaze settles on me, appraising. "Uncuff him," she demands. "Do come in, pet. I've missed your company terribly."

Her playacting turns my stomach. I rub my wrists and move carefully closer, raising my head defiantly. "What do you want?"

Amara lounges upon her chaise, watching me with violet eyes that reflect no warmth. Her night-black hair cascades over her pale skin, contrasting with her blood-red gown. Pointed ears mark her fae heritage.

She pats the empty place beside her. "First, by keeping your queen entertained," she purrs, displaying white teeth in an unsettling smile.

"I am not your fool to dance for laughs," I bite back.

"I wish to know the purpose of your presence here. Were you sent as an emissary of those self-proclaimed deities, the Sun Court?" Her words reek of disdain as she demands an explanation.

The name blindsides me, and for a moment, I'm drowning in confusion. "The Sun Court?" I parrot back; my brow furrowed as I try to wrap my head around this new piece of the puzzle.

"Yes, those wicked bastards who deign to play gods, considering themselves superior beings," she sneers.

I continue to stare at her, my eyes wide and mind reeling. Confusion doesn't begin to cover it—I'm lost, adrift in a sea of questions.

Her voice drips with venom. "Those wretched, light-wielding fiends of the Sun Court—a perpetual blight upon this realm for centuries. Deluding themselves into believing the foul breath of the gods graces their twisted notions of beauty and nobility." A sneer of revulsion twists her features. "Their arrogance knows no bounds, their vanity eclipsed only by their malicious depravity. A more vile, self-aggrandizing coven of villains would be nigh impossible to conceive."

It doesn't take a genius to read between the lines—there's a shitstorm brewing between these two fae courts, and it sounds like neither is good. "No," I reply flatly.

She hums noncommittally, her response infuriatingly vague. It's like she's enjoying watching me flounder.

Frustration boils over, and the words tumble out before I can stop them. "I'm not coming from any other court; I've already told you how I got here. Now, if you'd stop being a goddamn cunt and actually listen—"

Her eyes sparking fury, her claws slice down my chest as if she owns me. "Keep that tongue in check around me."

I snatch her wrist, my whole body coiled tight. "Remove your hand before I permanently remove it for you."

The guards rush me, and Amara holds up her other hand to stop them. She looks delighted by my defiance. Little does she know each insolent word moves me closer to open rebellion.

She slithers closer, pressing against me like a serpent. "Such fire. It will be delicious to tame you."

I meet her gaze coldly. "I am not some pet for you to domesticate. Do not presume to tame me."

Amara's smile only widens at my resistance. "A challenge—how exciting. I do love breaking willful beasts..."

My jaw tenses with disgust. "Your games do not sway me. Find some other toy to torment."

The queen stares at me with frustration, snatching her hand away, "Lying does not suit you, pet. You will obey me."

Meanwhile, Alinar continues feeding his suddenly devoted wife, seemingly oblivious. But his sharp glance in my direction gives the lie to his nonchalance. I am reminded of a viper lolling docilely until it strikes.

I chuckle, sneering, "I don't bend the knee to anyone, you twisted hag." Fighting off the urge to shiver, I stay standing next to her, every muscle tensed, ready for her damn witchy paws.

Those smoky shadows return, engulfing her. "My pet refuses to pleasure me, husband," Amara sulks, disgust dripping from her words.

Alinar fixes me with an icy stare. He's tall and pale, with pointed ears and black hair, as if it were a raven's wing. But he's slim to the point of frailty; he isn't one for getting his hands dirty. He's probably never faced a real challenge in his pampered life. If it wasn't for this magic-infused collar and these runes keeping me chained, I'd snuff out his existence in a heartbeat.

"Why do you deny my wife?" Alinar questions silkily.

"Her power doesn't affect me." I stare at her pointedly. "I don't desire that viper you call a wife," I state boldly, daring to meet his stare. "She holds all the erotic appeal of a festering wound."

The King's eyes flare, but amusement lurks behind them. "Mind yourself, slave. Explain why you reject her charms."

Crossing my arms, I let the defiance surge. "Her charms? You mean that vile exhibition with a heartbeat? I'd rather chug piss than lay eyes on her. My loyalty? It's not up for grabs—it's staked its claim, far away from here."

Alinar appraises me curiously. "You find my wife undesirable? Or perhaps your inclinations run... another direction?" His lip curls in distaste.

Amara scoffs scornfully. "As if a soulless beast like you knows anything of loyalty or fidelity. You vampires rut like animals in heat, loyal only to your own pleasure."

I spin on her, all control gone to hell. "What the hell would a pampered palace hag like you know about the ways of my people? You're clueless, soaked in nothing but your own excess."

Her slap cracks across my face quickly, and my head snaps back. But when I lock my gaze with hers, pure scorn, not hurt, blazes in my eyes.

I don't lay hands on women—but this bitch is testing my limits.

Alinar looks more intrigued than affronted by my audacity. "Still an insolent cur. But we shall cure you of that in good time."

"Do your worst," I dare recklessly, "but I'll never crawl on my belly or play the tamed pet for your amusement."

I grit my teeth and force myself to hold tight; it's all about timing, not losing my shit. I drill this truth into my head like it's gospel, keeping my cool.

I can see Alinar's expression of pissed-off surprise and smirk. Maybe they've met their match this time—a guy who won't bow down or rollover, no matter what sick games they play. Let's find out who will crack first—it sure as fuck won't be me.

Finally, Alinar waves a dismissive hand. "Throw him back in his quarters. A few more days choking on his lofty principles ought to change his tune."

I go to leave, slowly breathing.

"Wait!" Amara demands, forestalling my exit. "I want to know who this person of yours is who preoccupies those defiant thoughts." She pauses, staring me down, black shadows inking toward me. "I may not be able to compel you, which is aggravating, but I have other methods to get your compliance."

I halt, fighting back a growl. This damn bitch thinks she can demand my secrets like they're hers to take?

"None of your fucking business," I snap frostily. I step closer, glaring down at her.

Alinar looks mildly intrigued by my audacity. "Come now. No need for rudeness. Surely you can tell my generous wife what she wishes to know?"

I bare lengthening fangs at his mocking tone. "Your 'generous' wife can go fuck herself. I bow to no one here."

Amara gasps in outrage. Alinar chuckles. "It seems the dog has some bite yet. Who knows, he may even prove entertaining."

I crack a cold grin at the steaming queen. I'm coiled tighter than a spring, itching for a fight. But I keep my cool, eyes like chips of ice. Amara's shaking with rage, her eyes spitting daggers like she's planning to kill.

But I couldn't give a damn about this minor-league royal's hissy fit.

"You will regret insulting me so crudely," she seethes.

"The only thing I regret is remaining in the presence of your staggering ugliness."

"Remove this cur from my sight!" Amara screeches to her guards.

As they grab my arms, I shake free with ease. My restraint hangs by the barest thread—violence would take little provocation to erupt, which may be the spark needed.

I glare at Alinar, seemingly oblivious to his enraged queen. "I grow weary of these games. Either execute me or set me and my brother free. But cease these bullshit attempts to cow me into obedience."

Amara moves to strike me again, too incensed for reason. But Alinar restrains her wordlessly. Intrigue and amusement dance in his crystalline eyes. Perhaps I've found the more rational monarch to manipulate.

"You try my patience dangerously, vampire," the King warns silkily. But beneath the menace, interest lurks.

I offer a mocking bow. "Then our feelings run mutual, High One. "

Alinar's lips crack into a smirk, barely holding back a chuckle. When he eyes a worthy contender, the King knows a power match when he sees one. That's when the first seeds of a potential alliance take root...

Alinar snorts, turning to his wife. "Why do you care? It's not like this female or his mate is prancing around our realm. We'd surely know already."

Amara continues peering at me sharply. "Yes, perhaps you're right," she murmurs, though skepticism lingers in her gaze.

The thought summons Erik's face, and chilling urgency grips me. I pray he heeded my wishes and fled with Dani rather than attempting a reckless rescue. But Erik, that loyal son of a bitch doesn't always play by the book.

The thought of him busting us out of this hellhole... no way. He wouldn't throw Dani into the fire like that—not on purpose. But the seed of doubt is eating at me. Erik vowed to keep Dani safe, yet his drive to watch my back might bulldoze over rationale. The fear of that reality shadows my every thought, an unwelcome ghost I can't shake off.

Oblivious to my spiraling disquiet, Amara breaks the tense silence. Turning back to me, she adds acidly, "I'll call on you later, pet. We have much to... discuss."