His eyes caught mine, still on the surface, but rippling with delight at the mention of pain. I winked at him past the grit of my teeth, defiance stirring uneasily. The cell door unlatched in my mind.
Death I could bear. Torture at his hands? No, thank you.
“Your Majesty, this isn’t necessary,” Callum’s shackled hands clasped tight. “My mother has served faithfully for centuries. We’ve never given you reason to doubt her loyalty to the crown.”
“There is a thin line between confidence and arrogance.” Obrann flicked his hand. “You have insulted me for the last time.” A lazy finger pointed, sealing the command. “Start with him, Lord Ramsay. If you will.”
Callum stiffened as Killian closed in. “What secrets shall we peel from you?” Killian murmured, his eyes shifting as he stared into Callum’s mind.
Too easily Callum exhaled, his shoulders easing. Was he surrendering, or was Killian so ruthless, so skilled, that he tore through shields like they were nothing?
Killian’s pupils flared and Callum froze, body rigid, eyes unblinking. Killian tilted his head with a kind of curiosity that promised more than pain. “Youlesseralways make such a mess of your minds. Do you ever stop to clean in there, or is it all noise and guilt?”
Callum disorganized? I think he might have dipped into the wrong mind.
Despite it all, Callum gave a crooked grin. “You’ll find plenty of both, try not to get lost. Just wipe your boots before you walk in.”
Smothering a smirk, Killian stepped closer and said, “You understand that I now hold your mind. That you will only speak the truth. If you try and fight it or lie, I’ll know.”
Callum’s nod was slow, mechanical. “If I tell the truth, you’ll twist it anyway. Seems like we're both predictable.”
Killian’s glare burned for half a second, blue haloing to gold. “Careful, your fear is dripping, even from your eyes.”
Chains rattled as Callum leaned to meet him, irises alight with whatever glow the shackles hadn’t dulled yet. “I’m angry, not afraid. Learn the difference before you dig too deep.”
Killian snickered, almost impressed. “Very well.” His hands clasped behind his back as he prowled in a circle. “Did you murder the prince?”
“No.”
I exhaled. A truth, clean and easy.
“Did you help plan it?”
Gemma’s breath faltered, gag muffling the sound.
“No.”
Another truth. Thank the gods I didn’t tell him.
Killian stopped before him, lowering until his smile was all teeth. “Bow to me.”
I cocked my head, what kind of demeaning request was that?
Obrann lounged, almost bored on the throne, otherwise uninterested in Callum’s answers. Likely because he knew it wasn’t him who killed Perseus.
But Callum, godsdamn him, folded and dropped to a knee, his chin bending low like a broken man.
Killian’s laugh echoed, low and mocking. “Rise.” Callum did. “How did that feel?”
There was a tic of his jaw, his throat working as he fought. “It felt,” his glare cut upward, defiant even as he obeyed, “necessary.”
Fair enough.
Killian nodded once then straightened his spine. “Are you the leader of a rebel group sworn to destroy the Luamis throne?”
Greedy for the answer, Obrann, at last, curved forward.
Sweat carved a trail down Callum’s temple as he opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Killian said, cruel as a snare, “Drink from your goblet.”
