Chapter Twenty-Seven
I followed Sitri through the mansion, trying to ignore the raised voices in the dining room as we passed. Once we’d made it outside, we started our long, silent walk to the shelter. Every step was laden with anticipation of the battle, the secrets that Sitri would unveil, and the revelations they might bring. I barely even noticed when we arrived at our destination.
We halted before a broad, stark-white building that towered over us, bearing no windows and only one reinforced door. Its rough stone walls looked sturdy, but weren’t sightly. This was the last place anyone would expect royalty to hide.
That’s why we were here—why Bronwen had sent us here.
The streets were indeed clear, and as she’d promised, the building bore no markings or fortifications. Our shelter was as inconspicuous as possible. Though I understood the idea, a knot of dread settled in my stomach. This wouldn’t be a restful evening for anyone.
Wordlessly, Sitri unlocked and opened the door. I peeked inside, finding the interior anything but ordinary. There were plenty of supply crates, which were stacked neatly into wall-like groups that separateddifferent areas of our base. They contained our food, water, medical supplies, and everything else we could need. Racks of weapons lined the far side of the room, and boxes overflowing with armor sat beside them. There was an open space that would make a good place to spar, so long as we were careful not to ram into the walls. Closer to the entryway, a dining table had been set with two chairs. A plush mattress perched on a freestanding box spring, fully dressed and adorned with decorative pillows, had been made a few feet to its side.
“She thought of everything, didn’t she?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Sitri nodded. “Bronwen is the best at what she does. I wouldn’t have brought her back here otherwise.”
“You two have a history?”
“That much should be clear by now, darling.”
He entered and waved for me to follow. Our eyes met, the orange glow of Lantyca’s streets dancing in his irises. Standing so close to Sitri, the bitter stench rolling off him nearly overpowered me. When I reached for my magic, I sensed something beneath it. He held a desire to unveil his secrets. The intent to do so.
And despite myself, despiteeverything, I trusted him to follow through.
I stepped inside. Once I’d cleared the entryway, Sitri barred the door with a heavy wooden beam before returning to my side. I took his hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. He squeezed back, muscles tense, never quite relaxing.
Then, he sighed. “I suppose you want to know what that was about?”
“An explanation would be nice,” I admitted, allowing my forced smile to fade.
“This is why I don’t do honesty. Even after two centuries, these conversations never get any easier.”
Sitri released my hand and paced towards the crude dining area, where he slumped down into a chair. I followed him, took a seat at his side, my heart thundering.
He didn’t look like royalty, sitting there with his shoulders crumpled, his restless feet tapping against the ground as he ran his fingers through his oil-slicked hair. The shelter’s darkness robbed his eyes of their supernatural silver glint. When he looked up, our eyes met, and I saw the raging sea of emotions beneath his calm facade.
This was no demon Prince. All that remained was the face of a beaten, broken man, backed into a corner, facing impossible odds.
“And I can trust you not to use what I share against me?” he asked.
“Of course.” I offered him my hand, letting him take it, letting him feel the truth in my statement—before flashing him a parody of his signature grin. “Unless you really piss me off. Or turn me on. Or both.”
At that, Sitri laughed, and he donned a smile to rival mine. “Devious little thing, aren’t you, darling? What a wicked sense of humor.”
Then, that smile faded, and the scent of his secrets along with it. Sitri posed a question, one I hadn’t quite expected: “Have you ever wondered why I don’t have any mirrors in my mansion?”
“No, I haven’t.” I bit my lip, confusion melding with my anxiety. “I always assumed they were difficult to make. Expensive, or impossible to justify in a time of war.”
“You aren’t wrong, but that isn’t the only reason. There were many hanging in that house before my rule. The day I became Prince, I shattered every single one and ground the pieces to dust.”
I drew a sharp breath. His eyes darkened, and his hands stilled.
“The Princess Sitri who ruled before me was a terrible thing,” he started. “She was a friend of Vapula’s, with a different choice of prey. Those rooms in which you and my legates now sleep were a glass case, a box filled with toys, withmen.From each round of humans captured, she selected her favorites. Inducted them into her collection. She hadgood taste and many fine specimens at her disposal. I was proof enough of that.”
“She took you as a slave,” I said, my chest tightening.
The words felt wrong in my mouth. The very idea of Sitri being so vulnerable, so exploited, made my heart ache. His hesitance when he bound me, his disgust when he learned what I meant to Vapula, and Bronwen’s insults… It proved difficult to swallow the bile rising in my throat.
“She did,” he confirmed, “and slaves didn’t last long in her hands. She had a nasty habit of breaking her favorite toys. The others and I… we heard the screams, saw the wreckage cleared out of her bedroom each morning. Every time she took us out to play, we wondered if we’d be next, if it was our turn to be hauled away in bloody sacks. There were always more souls to bind and break. We were replaceable. Disposable.
