Mae always hated being called Your Highness. “Please, call me…Mae.” The request tastes like metal on my tongue.
Eliza raises a single eyebrow. “You want me to call you Mae?”
I nod and force myself to swallow. “What did you mean yesterday?” I ask again.
Her eyebrow drops and she goes still. “I meant what I said. That I came here to see you.” Truth.
I step forward, wrapping a hand around steel. “That’s the third time you’ve said that. What do you mean? You moved to the Deer Court to see me? I’ve only been on the throne for a few months now.”
“Yes,” she says, but it’s a half-truth. Instead of something snagging on my net, it merely brushes against it.
I place my other hand on the bars of the cell. What I really want to do is open the cell door and wring the truth from her. “Is your real name Eliza?”
“Yes.” Liar.
I don’t know who this female is, but I know she’s from House Serpent and she’s lying about something. My stomach drops. What if she’s a spy for Marik? What if this was all a test? What if she’s reporting my interest back to him, and that’s why he even let me come down here? I place my hands to my sides.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Eliza,” I say with a half-smile. I straighten and walk away, trying desperately to stifle the panic, to calm my heartrate.
“Mae,” Eliza calls. The name sends a shock through my system. I turn. Eliza stands at the edge of the cell, fingers wrapped around the bars as she stares at me. “I like your necklace.”
“Thank you,” I say, touching the cool black metal on my collarbone. “It was a wedding gift from my husband.”
Her features shift, turning into something darker. “It’s beautiful.”
I offer her a tight smile before turning and walking away, her lies echoing through my mind. The mud under my shoes squelches as I walk back to the stairs, and I let my dress trail along the ground. Marik will likely frown when he sees the mess I’ve made. Perfect. I veer from the path and walk through a puddle, dragging the cream train through its sludge.
“Please,” a voice whimpers. “Help us.”
I chance a glance down the tunnel. No guards in sight.
The cell is dark, but there’s enough light for me to see that it’s crammed with emaciated bodies all wearing tattered formal clothing now covered in dirt and mud and what I’m assuming, based on the smell, is likely waste. The contents of my meager lunch churn in my stomach.
“Your Highness, please,” a young woman dressed in a gown that was once the color of the sky begs, forearms straining as she grips the cell bars. “There is a girl on the brink of death. Please, show some mercy.” Her voice wavers at the end, and her desperation makes me equal parts horrified, sad, and furious.
It kills me to be so trapped. So unable to help. “I?—”
The woman jerks her head to the left. A guard lumbers down the walkway, torch of black flames illuminating his dark armor.
“Your Highness, it’s time,” he orders.
I nod to the woman in silent promise, but I have no idea how I can help when everything I’m doing is being watched. When I’m a prisoner, too.
“Champagne? Wine?” Marik asks across the formal dining table. He’s enjoying a nice, thick steak while I choke down bread.
Last week, he began demanding that I join him for dinner. The first few nights, my body was forced to dress itself and walk down the stairs to sit with him at the large oak table. I was just grateful he didn’t make me use the sigil.
The last few nights, I’ve taken myself. I hate it, but it’s easier. I waste so much time fighting it, and all it manages to do is leave me exhausted and hopeless.
“No.”
No, thank you,his voice commands inside my mind.
“No, thank you,” I say mid-chew, stale bread in my mouth.
He eyes me with disgust, then takes a sip from his own glass of redwine. “You’re the High Queen, Elle. You should enjoy a glass of wine every now and then.”
I am no High Queen. I am your prisoner.I flex my jaw and swallow the retort. It’s what he wants, I’ve learned. He likes the fight. Instead, I ask, “What do you plan to do with the prisoners?”
