Not that she found any.
It must have been meal time, as the table was laden with food of various kinds and there was an abundance of Thorns who were stuffing their faces.
Adalia felt sick.
These creatures were off-putting with their mannerisms—licking fingers covered in grease and wiping them on their clothing. Something about them seemed wrong. As if, for all their elegant attire, they were still only beasts underneath.
“Ahhh, so kind of you to join us, Lucius filth. I trust your accommodations were up to your standards?” The king’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Adalia refused to meet his eye or waste her breath on him.
“Still playing the silent, brooding prisoner, are we?”
A chair scraped across the stone floor as the king rose from the table. He sauntered over and took the chain from the male that held her. “We can make this as horrid as you like,” he sneered as he yanked on the metal binding her wrists. The iron bit into her skin and Adalia closed her eyes against the pain.
“Until you answer all my questions, you will serve me wine at each meal so that not only can I drink to my heart’s content, I can drink you in with my eyes as well,” the king purred before licking the side of Adalias’ face, his black hair brushing her neck—his hot breath burning her skin.
It took every ounce of her willpower not to respond to the stomach-curdling sensation.
“Now, be a good girl and serve the wine,” the king growled at her.
Adalia squared her shoulders and picked up the bottle of wine. Every part of her wanted to resist—to fight, but there were too many abled bodies in the room. She would bide her time and come up with a plan. Adalia tried to still her trembling hands as she poured the king a glass—he watched her with an insufferable smirk.
Once she’d finished, she moved on to the Thorn seated next to the king. He was staring at her with yellow eyes and a lopsided grin on his oddly beautiful face. Adalia shuddered as his fingertips grazed her bare thigh below the table. She made her way around until she reached the last person.
The male placed his stringed instrument down as he offered his cup. Adalia met his gaze as she poured the liquid. He didn’t smile or offer her any form of sympathy, but something in his eyes made her linger a second longer.
They were cloudy grey in the centre, bleeding out into ice blue, framed with dark lashes. His pale coloured skin was a striking contrast against her own. Adalia’s eyes flicked to the small, golden nose ring in his right nostril. It was the first time she’d seen a malewith jewellery in their nose, and she didn’t want to admit to herself that she liked it.
His dark-brown hair was short at the sides but held a tangle of curls on top. Adalia wondered how it might feel beneath the touch of her fingertips.
His face bore a small black marking etched just below the outer corner of his left eye—a waning crescent moon. As Adalia’s eyes travelled further, she saw it wasn’t the only marking upon his skin.
Peeking from the collar of his shirt was a huge moth, drawn in fine detail across his throat, its wings stretching over either side of his neck. The muscular hand that held the cup was covered in tattoos as well. Adalia wondered if there was any skin on his body that an ink filled needle hadn’t touched.
Her eyes travelled to the black feathered wings that fell over the back of his chair, the tips laying against the floor, still and unmoving like the gaze that hadn’t wavered.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Adalia back to the current situation. The male dropped his stare, and she shuffled her feet towards a dark-haired woman who was throwing daggers with her eyes. Adalia poured her wine and placed the bottle down on the table.
“Eyes on the floor, Lucius filth,” the woman hissed before returning to her glass.
Adalia flinched at the woman’s harsh words. No one had ever spoken to her in this manner before, not until Oscuro. Perhaps this woman was the queen? The green-eyed beauty certainly looked like she could be a queen, not that a royal status gave one permission to be rude.
Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself, Adalia backed away from the table, her chains dragging along the floor as she shuffled her feet. Closing her eyes, Adalia imagined she was back in Lucius—seated with Nikolas and Shiloh around her table. Everything was safe and warm. There were no glaring eyes or offensive words—just peace.
What if she never experienced that again? What if True Death found her here?
The room filled with the hum of chatter and utensils clinking against crockery as people ate and drank.
Adalia stole a glance towards the king as he picked up his stringed veslo and started strumming. It looked identical to the one the blue-eyed male had played earlier. The king’s arms circled the instrument, and he hummed a tune while the rest of the table ate or drank, throwing insults at one another or laughing at crude jokes. Adalia eyed the doorways and windows, but knew trying to run for one would cause more pain or even death.
Flicking her gaze across the room, they fell on the blue-eyed male. Adalia noticed he was barely touching his food or partaking in any conversations as his tall frame slumped in the chair. He seemed bored, perhaps annoyed even.
Who was he? And why did it seem like he didn’t belong here?
As if he could feel her watching him, he looked up and caught her gaze.
Her body warmed in response and she inwardly scolded herself.
