“Inside,” Aiden ordered.
Soturi in black leathered armor, all bearing the silver gryphon across their torso flanked us. We were quickly separated from each other, and marched from the promenade through the front hall of Seathorne.
The inner walls were just as plain and modest-looking as the outside. The hall was grand only in scale, with ceilings several stories high, intimidating in their structural height, possibly originally sized for gryphons.
As we were ushered deeper into the hall, I found more paintings of gryphons and sculptures lining the walls of Seathorne. The soturi pushed us between two silver statues–both life-sized and grandiose.
“Against the wall,” sneered a soturion, shoving Meera back. Three men guarded each of us—all flanked by a dozen more soturi of Ka Hart, poised and ready, their daggers out.
“My name is Lady Meera Batavia,” Meera said, her voice full of the affect of an Heir Apparent. “I have done nothing to deserve this ill treatment. I demand an audience with His Highness at once.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” her captor snorted.
“Then unhand me,” Meera said. “He’ll be displeased to see me like this.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Dario said. “All three are wanted by His Highness.”
Meera opened her mouth again, but was quickly silenced as her soturion grabbed her shoulders.
“Now no trouble from you,” said the man before me, and before I could muster a response, he slammed my cheek into the stone wall.
“Get your hands off her!” Rhyan growled. He was instinctively moving toward me, but his guard slammed his entire body back.
“No! He’s hurt,” I said. “Can’t you see his face? He’s bound! You don’t have to shove.”
“I’m about to shove myself into you just to shut you up.” A rough hand gripped my neck, turning me around and pushing my face against the wall. The stone scraped against my cheek. Another hand ran over my body, and I tensed, my heart thumping. I could hear the unclicking of my belt buckle, and the sudden lightness around my chest and shoulders as my armor was unclasped between my bindings.
No. No.
I squeezed my eyes shut hearing the snap of every buckle, and each subsequent closure come undone. Each one seemed to echo. Piece by piece, my armor, my belt, sword, dagger, and knives hit the ground.
Powerless, I pressed my cheek to the cold stone, trying to keep my entire body from shaking. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop remembering Vrukshire. I strained against the ropes, desperate to claw my way out.
Then my captor clapped his hand against my hip, and I froze, my eyes watering. There was nothing more he could remove from my body beyond my clothing. He’d already threatened me. Heart pounding, I waited. He moved closer and closer. Suddenly, my hip warmed beneath his touch, his fingers squeezing me with propriety.
My breath came short.
We’re going to fuck your girl. We’re going to do it until you get here.
No! No! No!
“Partner.”
I opened my eyes and found Rhyan’s face a few inches from mine, also smashed against the wall, his swords strewn at his feet. I wasn’t in Vrukshire. I wasn’t trapped by Brockton, or Brett, or Geoffrey, or Trey. There were no wolves here.
But we weren’t free. Not even close.
“Breathe,” Rhyan mouthed. “Breathe.”
I did, meeting his eyes. I sucked in a breath just as I was hauled backward. Weaponless and relieved of my armor, I was dragged beside Rhyan and Meera down the halls of Seathorne.
To Imperator Hart’s Seating Room.
Dread built in the pit of my stomach when we finally stopped before a set of looming double doors. A gryphon with his wings outstretched had been carved into the wood. A sentry, the herald I supposed, stood in the center and stepped aside upon our arrival, speaking quietly with Dario who shared our names and titles. The herald’s eyes swept across Rhyan’s beaten face, his lips lifting into a smug smile that I wanted to punch.
But Rhyan hadn’t noticed. He looked lost, his eyes haunted like he was imagining the last time he’d been in there. Then he snapped to attention, his gaze focused on me.
A soturion I hadn’t noticed before moved suddenly out of the shadows, smirking at Rhyan. “Welcome back, Your Grace,” he jeered.
