22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

F or the first time since his arrival, Azriel joined the prisoners herded through a large bathing house in preparation to enter Melia's chateau. Servants were not there to clean them. Rather, guards stood around the edges to bark orders over the chaos. Fights broke out to claim places amongst those lucky enough to be the first into the sunken pool.

Azriel stood back. He looked on as the humans and fae clambered to the front. Beside him, Sasja crossed her arms and shook her head while Raoul chuckled in wry amusement. They'd endured this far more often than he did.

Yet this time around, no one offered him blood he couldn't refuse. Melia had been wise to keep the vampire half of him starving, so each time she wished to drug him, he had no self-control. She didn't seem to want to keep him hidden, though. Not one drop of blood was provided.

By the time they reached the bathing pool, Azriel understood the scramble to get in first. It was filthy, and the mage guards did nothing to help them clean it prior to washing with the water. Better than nothing, he dried himself off with a clean towel, wiping off any excess grime, and dressed in a simple white tunic much too small for him. It cinched at the waist with a rope and fell to mid-thigh.

They were given no trousers.

Feeling far too exposed to be in front of the Desmo and her guests, Azriel followed Raoul and Sasja on their way to the chateau.

"Keep to the place they put you," Raoul instructed under his breath. "Don't leave your room unless invited by the Desmo or a guest."

Sasja glanced at the human, her crimson eyes growing dark. She understood more of the common tongue than she let on. She added in the dhemon language, "Do not engage with anyone if you can help it. They can do anything to you short of kill you. Give them no reason to harm you…or desire you."

Azriel knew the chateau would be grand and impressive but it exceeded his expectations. She'd always had an eye for exuberance. With the use of gaudy jewelry and bright clothes, she loved to be the center of attention.

Her home was no different, and the way she displayed her prisoners only highlighted how much she still desired it. As such, the moment they entered through the side door, they were separated into different rooms.

Azriel ended up in the corner of the dining room. A long, bronze oval table with a dozen chairs around it sat in the center beneath a chandelier depicting the stars and moon. Along the unbroken terracotta wall, a mural of the gods stretched its length with the Goddess of the Desert and Steppes, Emry, at its center, holding her bowl of flames.

On the far side of the room stood another prisoner. The high fae man with his deep brown skin, long pointed ears, and shaved head glared at him openly. After what he and Sasja had done to his kinsmen in the Pits, Azriel didn't blame him. Still, he knew the benefit of gathering allies within the walls.

"How long have you been here?" Azriel asked, well aware he was the only fae prisoner left of Melia's to have been with her before him.

The fae scoffed, those blue of his eyes shining bright against the tattooed whites of his eyes. Not many of the high fae Azriel had met had gone through whatever ritual required them to taint their eyes black, but he knew the coloring was significant. The man was deadly and revered among his people.

When he replied, the fae's voice was lighter than he expected. "A year."

"Crime?"

"Made a mistake in my assignment."

Azriel cocked his head, his horns casting a strange shadow on the wall, thanks to the chandelier. "An assassin?"

"In a past life, perhaps." The fae crossed his arms. "You?"

"Being born."

He rolled his eyes. "Dramatic."

"Name?"

Now, the fae narrowed his eyes, his arms slackening but not falling back to his sides. "Liulund."

In all honesty, Azriel hadn't expected to receive the honor of his name, though he noticed the obvious lack of his lineage. High fae had a tendency to list their given names along with who their mother was in honor of the womb who bore them. With how rare a high fae child was, they never missed an opportunity to show their gratitude to their parents and the God of the Forest, Silve.

"No need to ask who you are," Liulund said, still eyeing him with suspicion or, perhaps, hatred. "Azriel the Crowe. Half-breed. Dhomin ."

His blood turned cold. The name he could live with. He loved his father, even if he'd been raised in hate and murder. The Crowe had done his best to give him and Madan a life. What he didn't appreciate was the dhemon term that still managed to haunt him within the walls of the prison.

Little prince .

Before he could respond, voices spilled into the dining room, and guests made their way through. A pair of mages glanced at them before sitting at the table to talk, their wine glasses between them.

They spoke as though no one else could overhear them. It was like being a personal guard again. None of the Caersans had cared if he heard their conversations, either. None of the debutantes of the Season batted an eye when discussing whether or not they considered him handsome.

A sick, desolate part of him wished he were still in Laeton overseeing the pompous vampires' balls. He'd rather endure night after night of watching Ariadne dance with the horrible Caersan men than spend another minute in Melia's home. Gods, he'd even hold his tongue as she married Loren fucking Gard if it meant he could be free to see her again.

Azriel almost chuckled to himself. No. No, that was too far. He'd put a sword through that false General's gut before he let the man anywhere near Ariadne. Gods, he should've done just that during the duel. It would've saved them both.

"Is something funny?"

Melia's voice drifted to him before he registered her presence. He almost snarled in response but instead trained his gaze away from her and said, "Not at all, Desmo."

She stepped into his line of sight and held out a glass to him. "I didn't think so. Drink up."

He didn't take the offered drink. He glanced at it before shaking his head. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No." She snapped her fingers, and one of the guards slipped into the room.

Before he could register what was happening, the guard slammed their fist into Liulund's stomach. The high fae doubled over with a wheeze. After a moment, he sputtered and straightened…only to be met with another blow. This time, when Liulund's body caved forward, the guard followed up by cracking their knuckles across the fae's temple.

Azriel grit his teeth. "What are you doing?"

"Drink." She held up a hand, the guard stopped, and she offered the glass again.

"I know what you've been doing to me."

Melia's silver eyes glittered. Anyone who didn't know her would say her lids lowered with mischief. Azriel knew better. He knew the slight uptick of her lips and crinkle of her eyes meant she had the upper hand.

The guard struck again. Blood dripped from Liulund's nose. The fae bared his teeth, his body locking up as his attempts to summon his fae magic were kept at bay by the cuffs around his wrists and neck. Every spark seemed to double in on itself, lighting him up from the inside until he let out a groan of pain.

"You're going to let your little friend pay for your disobedience?" Melia leaned a little closer. "What kind of dhom would that make you?"

Azriel sneered. "I am no prince. He is not my responsibility."

Her smirk grew. "A monster just like your father."

The taunt hit its mark. She'd believed him to be in league with his father's plans all those years ago and continued to see him as nothing more than a gilded pawn. He'd played her game…and lost.

He took the glass from her hand and swirled the blood inside. "Where'd you get it?"

"Don't think about that," Melia said with a satisfied tone.

Behind her, the guard stepped away from Liulund, who watched him with curiosity, blood dripping from his mouth. Whatever the high fae saw as he drank from the glass, Azriel wasn't certain. Perhaps he saw a monster, as so many considered the vampires to be. Perhaps he saw a dhemon with nothing left to lose.

Azriel didn't know. Azriel didn't care.

And within a few heartbeats…Azriel couldn't keep track of anything.

Guests came and went through the dining room. Some stopped to speak with him, but his head felt heavy, and his tongue was like lead. Faces blurred. Hands groped at him, over and under the too-short tunic.

He tried to move away when people got too close. He tried to push away the hands that felt his muscles or tugged on his horns. He tried to tell them to stop, but the words wouldn't form any more than the movements to separate himself would come.

It wasn't until he saw her that he felt any semblance of normalcy.

Because the bond would know her anywhere. He could smell her from across the room. The gentle scent of florals. He saw her dark hair cascading around her shoulders loose, and perfect, just like she wore it when they were home together. Just as he liked it so he could run his fingers through the soft curls.

Through the haze, he even heard her soft voice. "Does he know how to complete the oaths?"

Azriel lurched forward, his gaze fixed on her. The words meant nothing. Not when he needed her. Needed to hold her. To breathe her in. To kiss her.

Then she was gone. As quickly as she'd appeared, she vanished.

He blinked, trying so desperately to clear his vision. Fuck the rules. Fuck Melia. Fuck all of them. He wouldn't let her just walk away.

So he followed her. Out of the dining room, he stumbled into a wall. Someone shouted at him, but he still couldn't get his tongue under control. If she left him there, it would be because she didn't care…right?

A gentle hand laid on his chest. He looked down at a curtain of dark curls. Ocean blue eyes. The scent of flowers. It smelled odd. Something wasn't quite right, but it'd been weeks since he'd seen her. Weeks since he'd held her.

"It's okay," she said and laid a hand on his cheek. He leaned into it, as he'd done so many times before, but something about it felt strange. "I'm here."

Azriel frowned. His brain frantically scrambled to keep up. To find purchase on something, anything to say. To do. He blinked down at her. Her skin was tanner than he remembered. Maybe it was just Melia's drugs again.

"Come with me." She took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and started off, dragging him along. "I need you."

Fuck…he needed her, too. Needed her so badly, it ached. So he followed, ignoring the way the bond screamed at him to look back. After all, if his mind was as muddled as he knew it to be, there was no reason to ever disobey her .

When she had seen Azriel in the dining room, Ariadne almost cried. He was there, alive and so very close. She had wanted nothing more than to run to him, wrap herself around him, and never let him go again. It had taken all of her self-control not to act upon her urges and to remember what Phulan had warned on their way over: Melia cannot know the truth .

It had been the only thing holding her back as she asked Phulan questions about what to say, though her heart had ached. He had looked right at her, yet somehow did not seem to fully recognize her right away. His eyes had widened after a moment as though registering that she had, in fact, been real.

Then Phulan grabbed her wrist and yanked her away.

"What is it?" Ariadne looked back over her shoulder to where Azriel had been, just around the corner. "He was right there . I thought I needed to speak with him."

Phulan said nothing at first, merely shaking her head until they were tucked into a corner alone. Her amethyst eyes were wide with warning, though her expression gave nothing away to onlookers as she said, "Something's wrong. He's not himself."

"Of course he is not," Ariadne breathed. "He has been imprisoned for weeks!"

"No." Phulan nodded over her shoulder with a grimace. "Look."

Azriel crashed out of the room, stumbling over his own feet and slamming into a table, spilling the drinks across the floor. His bright red eyes almost glowed as they scanned the room, his nostrils flaring as though following her by scent alone. He blinked rapidly, and his face screwed up in a heart-deep pain at first.

And that was when she understood. She had never seen him so out of sorts. Like his mind would not clear and nothing stayed in focus. Never had she seen him so uncoordinated. Not even as he had been bleeding out in the Pits.

"What did she do to him?" she whispered, stomach knotting.

Her heart thundered as another woman whispered something to her friend, set down her drink, and hurried over to him. Even over the hushed commentary, she could hear what the woman said with her vampire ears. She knew by the way his eyes darkened and how he leaned into her touch that he believed that imposter to be her .

She lurched forward. She had to stop it. He would not be able to live with himself if he realized what he was about to do. The bond connecting him to her ran too deep for infidelity, and she could not live with herself if she could have prevented it yet did nothing.

But Phulan held firm to her wrist and squeezed hard. "Do. Not. Move."

"Please…"

"You'll ruin everything ."

"I cannot let him—"

"You must." The urgency in her tone made Ariadne peel her eyes from the disaster before her. Phulan stared at her with more intensity than she had ever seen before. "Would you rather help him heal later…or watch him die now?"

She did not need to voice her answer.

So Ariadne watched in horror as the mage locked her hand with Azriel's and started up a set of stairs to the second floor. She knew what happened to the prisoners in the rooms above. They were used like toys and expected to fulfill any demand, no matter how atrocious. The notion had mortified her the last time she visited Melia's home. She knew all too well that feeling of helplessness.

Now she wanted to vomit.

"I will kill her." The words left Ariadne on a breath before she could consider the truthfulness behind them. Her heart burned, the agony spreading through her like wildfire. "I swear to any god listening, I will kill her for this."

Phulan's grip loosened. "Not yet. Now get ready to play nice."

Ariadne frowned, dragging her gaze from where her drugged husband had disappeared. Melia entered, likely drawn by the ruckus, back straight and a small smile curling her red-painted lips, and surveyed the room.

Upon seeing the two of them, she swept forward. Her layered gossamer gown matched her eyes, each movement like quicksilver. Had she seen the final moments between Azriel and the human?

"Phulan. Cressida." Melia lifted her glass toward them as she approached. "I am pleased to see you join us again."

Ariadne forced herself back into character. Cressida would not care about that prisoner. At least not the way she did. Instead, she curtsied to the mage and plastered a tight smile to her face. "Desmo. I am honored to have received the invitation."

"Now, now." Melia gave her a wink. "Friends don't bow to one another. Be at ease."

"I didn't know he was a prisoner under your watch," Phulan said, nodding toward the hall through which Azriel had disappeared. "I'm surprised you haven't run him through yourself."

Melia's answering laugh was like chimes in the wind. She sipped her drink and shook her head. "His time will come, same as them all."

A very different attitude than the last time they had spoken. What had happened to the morose Desmo who had appeared so very heartbroken over the fighters she lost in the Pits? This was the Melia they had warned her about. A viper who did not care for the souls she shepherded toward death.

"The dhemon?" Ariadne asked, forcing curiosity into her tone. "He was not here last time."

Phulan shook her head. "The poor girl had been so interested, she almost spoke to him. I caught her just before the whole ordeal. Who knows what he would've done had she been the one in his way?"

With a scoff, Melia's smile slipped into an eyeroll. "There's a reason I keep that brute locked away. It's for everyone's safety. He's bloodthirsty, and I'm shocked anyone chose him for such…activities."

Ariadne bit back the scream rising in her throat. She spoke of Azriel as though he were a monster.

I hate you more than you hate yourself .

Gods, she had been no better when she learned the truth about him. She had seen a monster, a beast, when she had looked upon his dhemon form. But so much had changed in so little time. From frightened Golden Rose to the Caersan who trained with the enemy.

"Bloodthirsty?" Ariadne pressed, praying her question sounded innocent enough.

"Do you not find all dhemons to be so after what happened to your parents?" Melia quirked a brow. "He is imprisoned for a reason."

She curled her shoulders in and shifted her gaze to the floor. A quiet, meek Caersan woman with a past still too fresh to discuss. "I did not mean—"

"Of course not!" Phulan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Don't think on it."

Yet when she looked up again, Melia studied her with a sharp eye. The silver glinted as she drank again, not so much as blinking as she did so. "Apologies."

She did not sound the least bit apologetic.

"If you'll excuse us," Phulan said and steered Ariadne away before Melia could respond. "We should go."

The mission for the evening, after all, was forfeit. There was nothing left for them to accomplish. With Azriel not in his right mind and doing—gods, she could not think about it—they would be forced to rework their plan. Seeing the evils of the Pits and the parties only lit a fire under Ariadne.

If they did not act quickly, there would be no one left to set free.