I flinch.
“Easy. I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, tone tender and familiar, though I don’t trust a single fucking person in this castle.
“You won’t?” I ask, skeptical.
“We all wear masks around here, Princess,” he responds with a wink.
What does that mean?
I push myself off the floor—pain in my ribs flaring, my scorched skin raw. No doubt it’ll get infected down here.
I can’t help it—I internally laugh at the idea of a flesh wound killing me before the prophecy ever does.
“And what mask doyouwear?” I ask Correk, curiosity getting the better of me.
“I’ll bring you something for that wound,” he says, ignoring me.
“You sure you won’t just poison me with it?” I bite, unwilling to trust a single moment of kindness.
“Nah, not me Princess. I’m the only friend you’ve got in here,” he assures me.
Princess? Friend? Is this man Dravari? A friend of Kael’s? A trick?
“Who are you?” I narrow my eyes.
“For now, I’m the man who released your ankle, Princess Elyssara,” he stretches out his arm to help me up, and this time, I take it.
“Thank you… Correk,” I say hesitantly.
“There is much at stake, Princess,” he responds cryptically.
“Care to elaborate?” I snipe.
And his only response is a half-smile that never reaches his eyes before he leads me into my cell and locks the gate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KAEL
“You need to eat, brother,”Therion’s low timbre cuts through my thoughts, dragging me reluctantly back to the present.
The fire burns low, embers drifting into an open, ink-black sky, and the smell of meat over open flame hits my senses. Light still flickers in Council Hollow—the others still making preparations for travel to Nymeris and Caeloria.
I don’t respond, and he prods me with his elbow. “Eat.” Therion’s voice is all command. “One way or another, we’re about to go to war with someone. The least you could do is not wither away to a fucking skeleton who can barely handle the weight of his own blade.”
I grunt my acknowledgment.
For a heartbeat, I don’t speak.
But I know I’m festering in the wounds of my own silence.
So, I let the words that have been choking me tear free, “I can’t handle the weight of anything, Ther.”
The admission tastes like ash. I’m meant to know what to do. To be unbreakable. Immovable.
He takes a long pull of his drink and sucks his teeth, thinking.Always thinking.
He’s the voice of reason. The steady hand. The sharp mind.
