The backs of my eyes burned and no matter how many direct orders he barked at me, or forced me to obey I couldn’t get the image of Galen out of my head. Couldn’t stop seeing his swollen face, the pain in his eyes, his gaping, empty mouth. The way his head had fallen forward when the Bastardmaker—when he?—
“Left at this hall,” he commanded.
I frowned. Left took us to the Heir’s wing. Toward Naria’s bedroom.
“That’s not my room,” I said.
He frowned, looking me up and down slowly, his eyes staying a moment too long at my crotch. A wide smile formed across his lips. “No?” he asked. “But it’s Lady Naria’s.” His eyes lit with amusement. “What? You only pull your cock out for your friends? Not for her?”
“Fu—”
“Ah! No!” His hand wrapped around my neck, and the wall hit my back.
I closed my eyes, trying not to cry. Trying not to scream. I couldn’t fight back. I only had one working hand. They’d had me seen by the best healers in the Empire, my bones had been reset and already I had some movement back in my fingers. But it was going to take weeks for the soreness to go away.
The rest of my life to forget the memory of how it happened. Of what happened after.
Maybe I should resist. Maybe I should scream. Blurt out the truth, and admit to anyone who’d listen what I’d done. Maybe I could drive him to kill me, too. End my misery.
He sneered and shook his head as if he could read my mind. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.
My mind went blank. Fuck. Fuck! I knew I had to obey every order given to me now that I’d signed that damned contract binding me to him. But I had no idea it could work on my mind.
“You’re not going to get me to kill you. You’re not going to join your little friend. No matter how desperately,” his eyes lowered, “you want to be with him.” He bared his teeth. “Not for,” his fingers squeezed around me tighter, “a very,” he squeezed again, “very, long time.”
“I … understand,” I said, gasping for breath.
“Good.” He released me, and I slumped down against the wall, coughing as tears filled my eyes. I clutched at the sling my arm was in, a splint still strapped to my hand to ensure the bones remained in place. “I am taking you to your room. But I thought,” he shrugged, “you might want some female …comfort.”
“No,” I said, my heart hammering. Because I already knew how this game was played. He’d want to stay. He’d want to watch. I’d be unable to do anything about it, unable to make him leave, unable to stop it.
He shrugged. “To your room we go.” He pushed me back down the hall and barked out, “Turn right.”
Right toward the wing of the Arkasva’s Second, the rooms where every member of Ka fucking Grey was now sleeping. The Bastardmaker stopped in front of my bedroom door. But before he could turn the key, the door swung open.
My grandmother stood on the other side, her red lips pursed together.
For a second, I was relieved. So fucking relieved to see her, to see the one person who was supposed to protect me, who had protected me as a kid—taken me in, comforted me after my parents—after they’d?—
She stepped forward, her eyes filled with concern when she saw me, taking in the sling, the way I still limped as I walked. My face had been tended to, but it was still swollen and red, still full of cuts and bruises that would take weeks to heal. Before they’d sent me off, a mage had applied glamour magic to my skin,clearing all blemishes. It had to be fading by now. But even if it hadn’t, she had to know. She had to see the difference in me, see the pain in my eyes.
Suddenly I was three years old again. A scared little boy, terrified of the things he’d seen, the things he’d lost. I needed a hug. I needed to be protected. I needed my grandmother. Bamaria’s Master of the Horse, Arianna’s Second. At this moment, she was the most powerful person in the country. The hope that she could do something, that she could somehow save me surged forward.
Gods, could she tell? Could she see it in my eyes? Feel it in my aura? In the way we stood together? Could she see what he’d done to me? Could she undo it? Help me? Fix it?
Her eyes filled with disdain. But too late, I realize they weren’t for him, for my captor and torturer. For Galen’s killer.
They were for me. For her own Godsdamned grandson.
“Arkturion Waryn,” she said. “Thank you for bringing Tristan back to me.”
He grunted. “No problem. I think he’s learned his lesson,” he said.
My grandmother nodded and my heart sank. No—it fucking plunged to my stomach, was drowning. “Please, come in,” she said, moving behind the doorway.
He nodded and closed the door behind him
“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble for you. The sorts of things young men can get up to. He’s normally perfectly behaved. You’ve been very patient with him.”
