2. Reina

Chapter two

Reina

B lack surrounds me.

It's cold and wet.

My empty stomach turns and my head thunders like the crash that ripped open the palace. My memories are so foggy, but I know I saw Alyse covered in blood. Gods, is she dead? She can't be…

My eyes burn and I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry. I lick my lips and taste salt. Maybe I'm all dried up from crying.

Something is holding my arms overhead. I blink in the darkness and stare up at it. Tiny rays of moonlight pierce the wood above me, glinting off the manacles on my wrists. The green oxidization lets me know they're copper, probably enchanted, blocking the use of my magic. I try to summon my fire, just to see, and the heat flickers painfully below my skin. I groan and drop my head.

A matching pair of chains are around my ankles, giving me barely enough space to shift from sitting on one hip to the other. The restraints on my arms make it impossible to lie down comfortably, and so I'm stuck in this seated position.

The world cants to the left and my stomach roils with nausea. The sound of whining wood and flapping sheets filters through the pounding pulse in my sensitive ears.

I'm on a boat.

I take a deep breath through my nose, smelling the sour stink of body odor and the putrid reek of waste. Bile surges up my throat and I dry heave.

I'm on a slave boat.

The ship rocks again and I close my eyes, willing myself back into unconsciousness. I can't deal with this. Not right now. I need sunlight.

But sleep doesn't come, only more nausea and agony.

By sunrise, my head throbs as if someone is beating my skull like a drum. My eyes are so dry and scratchy I fear I might lose them. My throat feels like it's coated in sand. If only I could make a little spit to swallow, but sucking on my tongue is useless.

Heavy tromping draws my attention to the stairs on my right. There's a clank like chains hitting the deck, and then light floods the hold. I groan in anguish and delight as sunlight washes over my face. I lean into the radiant light, stretching against my bonds. My skin soaks it up and I feel the power swell beneath the enchanted copper.

But then it's over just as fast and the door is shut. Three men stomp their way down, two of them grumbling loudly about "feeding the wretches." Their voices grate against my ears and I hiss, wincing my eyes shut to get through the pain.

One set of footsteps stops in front of me. I crack my eyes open and glare up at the owner of the scuffed leather boots. He's wearing loose-fitting black pants and a thick belt with two thigh holsters, one sporting a flintlock, the other a dagger. His shirt is gray—though I assume it used to be white—below a black, button-up vest.

Finally, my gaze reaches his face. He's cruelly smirking down at me with his angular, stubble-covered jaw. The bridge of his nose sports a lump and a scar, but it doesn't take away from his infuriating beauty.

He crouches down on his haunches, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "So, you're not dead."

Where the other men's voices were grating, his is like silk, soft and soothing. I fucking hate it, and I hate him. I'd tell him so if my mouth wasn't so gods damned dry.

As if sensing my thoughts, he holds up a full skein. "Want some? You were out for two days. Must be thirsty."

I purse my lips and clench my teeth, desperate not to throw back my head and beg this man—my captor—to squirt the liquid into my mouth. I don't even know what it is. It could be poisoned.

He chuffs. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you? I won't make you beg for it. I won't make you trade anything, either."

He stands, moving closer to me. "Open your mouth, princess. I can't have you dying before we get to our destination."

"But dying once we reach our destination is not your problem," I rasp up at him, my voice broken and quiet.

"Dying isn't in my plan for you at all. Now, open your mouth," he orders, uncapping the skein.

Around us, the other two men are kicking the slaves and throwing down chunks of something I can't make out.

My gaze snaps back to my captor. "Why do I get special treatment?"

He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. "You want their fate? Or do you want some water?"

I hate myself, and him, but I open my mouth.

If the rebellion could see me now, stuck on my knees, pleading for water with my eyes in the same moment I'm wishing to kill him, they would be ashamed of me. Not as if I'm anything more than a weapon to them, but still…sometimes I think Lumi is proud of me, of my strength and will. Sometimes I wish she'd been my mother instead of the cold bitch of a queen.

The man presses the tip of the skein to my mouth and tilts the bag upward. Cool, fresh, life-saving water touches my tongue and I devolve to the basest instinct. I latch onto the nozzle and suck hard, swallowing desperately again and again. My breath wheezes out through my nose in heavy pants and the smell of waste makes me so ill, I retch. The water comes barreling back up my throat, but I swallow hard until it's all back down.

"Easy now, that's enough," he says gently and tries to pull back the skein, but I can't let go. If I let go, I may never get another drink of water again.

I bite the nozzle and keep sucking, pulling in as much water as I can.

He drops down until we're eye to eye, and whispers, "I'm not going to deprive you, princess. Let go before you throw it all up."

I take one last greedy drink and release my jaw. Some of the water spills out over my cracked lips as he pulls it away, making them sting. I lick the droplets up and his eyes glint like opals for the briefest flash.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, my voice still rough.

"You need something to eat, too. Just a little, since your stomach is now crowded," he says, holding up a large cracker. He breaks off a corner and puts it to my lips.

My stomach groans needily and he smirks. "See, your body knows what's best. Open."

I hate him.

"No."

His eyes sheen with opal again.

Fuck, I know him.

"Jasper," I grit out. "You vile, worthless bastard."

He tsks at me. "Such language, princess."

"Take me home. Now," I growl.

His face hardens. "Eat."

He pushes the cracker against my lips and, hells, I'm so gods damned hungry. But I didn't pray to Zephrom for the fortitude to overcome torture, to deal her justice, just to succumb at her first test.

I turn my face away and my jailer sighs like my plight is a minor inconvenience to him.

"Eat, or I'll hold your mouth open and force-feed you."

"Good luck," I say between my clenched teeth. "I'll bite off anything you put in me."

He chortles.

Fucking.

Chortles.

Like my captivity is some fucking joke.

"You think it's funny," I say, keeping my teeth closed tight.

He shakes his head. "No…I just." He sighs with a smile. "I just didn't expect you."

"Well, expect that the second I can, I'll fucking kill you," I say, my water-fed body feeling bold.

This makes him grin. "You're cute."

"I'll make you regret that," I say, throwing myself forward.

The chains hold me back, putting us face-to-face. He doesn't even flinch, as if my strike couldn't hurt him.

I open my mouth to curse him and it's stuffed full of food. I cough on the biscuit, but chew it too. I want to spit it out, I do, but I swallow instead.

"Good girl," he murmurs, then holds up another chunk.

I bite down on it and shame rolls through me.

I want to cry.

I want to kill him.

I want to die.

"More," he says, holding another piece to my lips.

I manage to rein in my bestial side, glaring at him instead of devouring the meager food. "Fuck you," I say, keeping my jaw clenched.

He huffs, putting the cracker back in a pouch at his hip. He stands. "I'll be back tonight with more."

He's going to leave me alone down here, hidden from the sun. Panic surges through me. "Take me home!"

He doesn't look back as he leaves me behind in the dark.

My wrists hurt. I know it's because I'm pulling on my bonds. It's useless to pull, I'll only hurt myself more. I need to conserve my energy and breathe as little of this putrid air as possible to keep my mind clear.

I can escape this.

I can escape him .

Jasper will rue the day he took me—right up to the moment I put a blade in his back.