Even if he didn’t know for what.
They didn’t bother blindfolding him, but one walked slightly ahead, and the other stayed close behind—flanking him with the efficiency of professionals. Riven limped between them, his leg stiff and aching, every uneven floorboard or slight jostle sending a throb of pain radiating up his thigh. He kept his face neutral, eyes flicking over the hallways they passed—bare walls, bare lightbulbs, no clear windows. Just a maze of corridors and turns, enough to make orientation impossible.
They brought him into a narrow room with a concrete floor and a single metal chair at its center. A second chair sat opposite, currently empty. There was no table. Just space and silence and the kind of hum you only noticed when you were alone with your thoughts too long.
Riven didn’t wait to be told. He dropped into the chair with a wince and leaned back, feigning ease he didn’t feel. He stayed silent as he was bound roughly to the chair.
A few minutes passed. Long enough to start getting under his skin.
Then the door opened.
Lareth walked in alone. He wore a crisp, dark jacket over a casual shirt, calculatedly approachable. His expression was easy, almost friendly. As if this was a conversation between acquaintances, not a prelude to violence.
“Riven,” Lareth said, voice warm. “Glad to see you up. How’s the leg?”
“Feels like I got shot,” Riven said dryly.
Lareth gave a faint laugh and took the chair opposite him. He didn’t bring out any tools. No threats, no theatrics. Just sat, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Lareth said. “I don’t want to hurt you. You were in the wrong place, with the wrong people. But that doesn’t mean you need to suffer for their mistakes.”
“Oh, I see,” Riven said, raising a brow. “This is the part where you pretend to be the reasonable one, right?”
“I’m offering you a way out. You’re not blood-bound, not family. So why die for a House that would let you rot if it suited them?”
Riven smiled, all teeth. “Bold of you to assume I’d die for anyone. But if you think I’m handing you estate schematics and security codes, you might want to try someone else.”
Lareth’s smile never wavered. “I don’t need schematics. I need specifics. Where are the war mages posted? What kind of internal response does the estate have to an incursion? Who actually makes decisions besides the Matriarch?”
“You really think they tell me anything that sensitive?” Riven scoffed. “I’m just the help. Mostly I dust the chandeliers and seduce the heir.”
That flicker in Lareth’s eyes was brief, but not brief enough. “That right? Funny. You don’t strike me as his type.”
“You strike me as the kind of guy who stares at paintings and thinks it makes him deep.”
Lareth’s hand moved so fast Riven didn’t see it coming. A sharp crack echoed through the room, and Riven’s head snapped sideways. He tasted blood.
“Let’s try again,” Lareth said calmly. “What kind of resistance should I expect on the south wing?”
Riven spit red onto the floor and smiled wider. “You’ll have to find out the fun way.”
Lareth stood without a word, pacing once before driving a fist into Riven’s stomach. The pain doubled him over, gasping. Still, he didn’t speak.
This was going to get worse, and that was fine. He could take worse.
Chapter 59
Lareth’s smile faded slowly, like someone dimming a light. The pleasant mask slipped, not all at once but piece by piece. He stood and walked behind Riven, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
“You know,” Lareth said, voice soft now, “I really did want this to go smoothly.”
Riven didn’t answer. His jaw ached from where he’d clenched it too hard to keep himself from reacting earlier. He focused on a crack in the concrete floor.
“You could’ve made this so easy. You’re clever, Riven. I like that about you.” Lareth’s tone sharpened. “But you’re also stubborn. Loyal to the wrong people. I don’t understand it.”
The air shifted, and Riven tensed a moment before pain lanced across his back—an electric snap, magic-born, that sent his muscles seizing. He choked on a sound, teeth grinding against the scream clawing its way up his throat. His vision blurred. He smelled ozone.
“You’re not of Virellien,” Lareth said calmly. “Thane uses you like a knife. Sleeps with you, probably. Promises you safety. But do you think he’d bleed for you? Really? Do you think you matter to him?”
