“If I were able to find the second journal, would you be able to undo the enchantment since you were the one to put it in place?” Her fulfillment of the request was improbable, but I asked anyway. If there was writing in there that could help Seb and solve our Beaumont problem, I would search the entire continent for it.
Venay appeared apprehensive as she gnawed at what was visible of her slim, bottom lip.
Her hesitation suggested that her answer was as I suspected—no. But she surprised me for the second time tonight.
“I think if it is possible that the answer to saving her son is in there, Cicily would approve of me using such means.”
My smile couldn't be disguised. “So…is that a yes?”
She nodded near imperceptibly. “If you find the journal before you save Sebastian, I will undo the enchantment in the hopes that it has information that can help him.”
Chapter
Twelve
SEBASTIAN
Icouldn’t see out of my right eye. One of Beaumont’s soldiers had socked me with his armored fist the moment he hurled me into a cell in the dungeon. It was still bloody and swollen shut, but that was nowhere near the worst of what I’d experienced since I’d been here.
By now, Sawyer, Kohen, and Kade should have been back to Lumosia. And if my timing was correct, Maeve was probably in the middle of her shit fit over how they were going to help me.
Reckless.And I fucking loved her for it.
The past few days, I had taken more beatings than I could count on one hand. In fact, I was due for another assault any minute now.
The first—aside from the black eye—had been handed to me by none other than Bitchmont himself. Punishment for trespassing, he called it. The beating that followed was delivered by the guard who had introduced me to my cell. That one was forplotting to murder a royal figure. The other injuries I’d been granted? Pretty sure those ones were just for fun.
I had no doubt that in due time my friends would return to try and help me. For their sake, I hoped I was wrong. Ifdecomposing in this cell meant that Maeve was safe, then I wouldhappilyrot here.
Though I still planned to do everything in my power to get out, if the worst came to worst, I supposed there were far more despicable ways to die. For example, accidental murder by your own domesticated feline. Meeting your demise while relieving yourself in the washroom. Choking on your absolute favorite dinner that you spenthours preparing—what a pathetic way to go out.
Choosing not to focus too hard on any outcome involving my death, I instead planned for if Ididget out of this cell.
Despite her anger with me, I thought about the hug I knew Maeve would embrace me in. I imagined how soft her skin would feel against my fingertips as I soaked in her addicting scent—coconut and vanilla would linger on my skin long after she left. I practiced what I would say as another pathetic attempt at winning her back—and also planned what I’d do to my friends if I found out that they used her to try and bargain.
Chained to a stool in the dusty prison, I glanced around the space. It was lit with nothing more than a single, dying bulb and was entirely empty apart from a metal bucket intended for relieving myself.
Boredom was inevitable in such a desolate venue. In an attempt to mask that vexing torture, I spent the morning counting the bricks that shaped the walls of my cell, settling upon the number four thousand and twenty eight. With nothing else to do and an entire afternoon to kill, I started from scratch.
One. Two. Three.
Bright light shone through the bars of my cell as the main entry door swung open, my good eye squinting in an effort to block it out.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne. Ready for ourappointment?” Beaumont’s slimy voice slithered into my ears.He unlocked my cell, strolled inside, and untied the rag—made from my own shirt, nonetheless—from around my neck and then pulled it out of my mouth. “Miss me?” he taunted with a devilish smirk.
Though my mouth was as dry as a desert, I managed to spit in his face.
“Is that anyway to treat your host?” he sneered, wiping his lips that sunk into a grimace. “You just earned yourself ten more strikes.”
A soldier stepped in behind him, holding a few feet of loose chain in his gloved palms.
“Have at it,” I snarled, hunching my bare back to give him better access.
“You seem awfully eager to get struck,” Beaumont cackled. “A bit of a masochist, are we?”
“Are you going to stand there and chit-chat or get this over with?” I’d prefer the latter over having to talk to this dick. “I’m sure you have more important things to do—Actually, probably not,” I scoffed.
Beaumont crouched before me, his grey leather pants screeching with the movement. “I’m going to beat you almost lifeless, that is not up for negotiation. But before I do, I’m going to ask you something, and hopefully you’ll be more cooperative than you were yesterday.”
