“That means I’m anidiot, not that you’reexcellent.”
“I think that makes us both idiots.”
Darian hummed in agreement.
“You’re a good friend too, you know,” I added quietly.
Darian adjusted his head, letting it rest more comfortably against mine. “Gods, I hope not. I’ve worked very hard to cultivate my reputation as an asshole.”
I let out another laugh. “Well, you failed.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “All that effort wasted.”
Sleep tugged at the edges of my thoughts, dulling the ache in my limbs, in my heart.
As I drifted, I heard him murmur, “I hope we make it out of this.”
I wanted to answer, wanted to promise we would.
But the words never came.
64
She’d summoned him early. That alone was cause for unease. Ashterion stood in the centre of the hall, wrists dusted with dried blood from the last errand she’d sent him on, the scent of iron clinging to his skin.
Xyliria hadn’t said a word when he entered. Just reclined lazily in her throne, swirling a glass of dark wine between her fingers as if she were entertaining a guest instead of planning another goddamn spectacle.
It was the quiet that worried him most.
When Xyliria was quiet, it meant she wassavouringsomething.
“Sit,” she said at last, gesturing to the throne beside hers, the one he never took unless ordered to.
He didn’t move. Not until her eyes cut toward him with that sickening amusement. Ashterion sat. Let his body settle into the rigid, uncomfortable curve of the gilded stone.
She was watching him like a cat watches a dying mouse. “You’re sulking.”
He said nothing.
“You always were so transparent when nervous.” She took a sip of wine, licking a dark drop from the corner of her mouth. “Do you want to know what I’ve planned for today?”
Still, he didn’t answer.
Xyliria hummed in mock disappointment. “No curiosity at all? And here I thought you might enjoy a little… performance.” She leaned over, trailing one gloved finger down the armrest between them. “Your pet is due to arrive shortly. I thought we might give her a little test.”
His throat tightened. He didn’t show it.
“Oh, don’t sulk.” Xyliria’s laugh was soft, honeyed poison. “You’ve had her, what, three sessions now? Four?” She tilted her head, studying him with that predatory focus that made his skin crawl. “She certainlylooksappropriately broken. All those bruises, the trembling, the fear in her eyes...” She waved a dismissive hand. “Aesthetically, she’s perfect. Well done on that front.”
He forced himself to breathe evenly. To keep his expression blank.
“But aesthetics aren’t enough, darling.” Xyliria set her wine glass down with a delicateclink. “I need to know you’re actuallybreakingher. Not just playing with your food.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have a tendency to get… sentimental. To hold back when you should be pressing harder.”
“I’m not holding back.”
“Mm.” The sound was noncommittal, disbelieving. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
Ashterion’s mind spiralled—not because he didn’t know what she meant,but because he knew her well enough to understand she hadn’t decided yet. Or worse, that she had, and was playing with him.
