I hesitate a beat, but hunger, exhaustion, and the sting of being so easily discarded win out.
“I did notice that,” I say, my gaze zeroing in on the queen, who’s leaning so far into Alder’s towering frame she might as well start taking notes on his molars. “I assume you’ve been dealing with that talent for a while, then?”
“Long enough to know when to stop fighting it and just let her tire herself out.”
I take a long sip of wine, purely for survival. “Like a toddler having a tantrum.”
“Except with more jewelry and sharper claws.”
I snort laugh before I can stop myself.
“It’s refreshing to speak with someone who isn’t afraid to say what they’re thinking.”
That sobers me slightly. As much as I want to laugh this all off, to let myself get swept up by this decadent setting, by a literal king, the truth settles like lead in my stomach. Alder isn’t the only one who needs to tread lightly.
I force a placid smile and lift my glass in a mock toast. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one,” Victor replies, leading me toward a gilded table draped in midnight blue silk and arranged with platters of food so decadent it would make a Michelin chef weep. “No one should endure Delphara’s company on an empty stomach.”
I eyefuck the table, then side-eye him. “You say thatlike she gets worse.”
He plucks a grape from a bunch and pops it into his mouth. “She hasn’t even gotten started.”
The double doors groan open, and a cloaked, masked figure barrels inside, their robes flowing behind them like dark water with the force of their strides. The hush spreads like a ripple, the party’s soft laughter and music strangled by the steady clink of their metal-tipped boots against polished stone.
They move with purpose toward Victor, and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the masked guard whispers a hushed message to the king.
The energy shifts the moment they speak.
Victor stiffens. His grip tightens around his glass, knuckles white. His jaw locks so hard I swear I hear the grind of his teeth before he finally speaks. “How did he get past the water?”
Awareness prickles against my skin.
The cloaked figure gestures sharply, their gloved hands slicing through the air with quick, clipped movements. Whatever they’re saying, it’s not good.
Victor exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing against the goblet before he sets it down. His gray eyes cut across the room, scanning, hunting.
I don’t know what he’s looking for. Or who. But I do know what it feels like when the air shifts before a storm.
The floor vibrates, a low, ominous hum that slithers up my legs and coils tight around my chest. One by one, the chandeliers flicker to life, spilling golden light across the room. The pipes lining the walls hiss in unison, releasing spirals of steam that twist toward the ceiling.
Partygoers gasp and squeal, but the sound is brittleand too sharp around the edges to be anything close to delight.
“What fresh hell is this?” I suck in a breath, my gaze automatically searching for Alder across the room. His broad frame is rigid, his expression composed, but even from here, I catch the slight shift—the faint crack in his mask as his eyes dart from me to the massive machine at the center of the room.
With a grinding screech, the contraption lurches forward. Gears turn, metal grinding against metal in a shriek that sets my teeth on edge. Its once dormant mechanics roar to life, sending energy pulsing through the castle walls, shaking the very foundation beneath us.
Near its base, the lovers untangle in a frantic blur of limbs and silk. A woman stumbles backward. The silver chains draped around her bare waist and cascading down her legs like a decorative gown catch in the machine’s grinding gears with a sickening snap.
She freezes. Her wide, terrified eyes dart to the chains as if disbelief alone could stop what’s coming.
The machine jerks. The chains pull taut.
A scream tears from her throat as she’s yanked off her feet. She flails, grasping desperately at the hands that reach for her. They grip her arms, her legs, straining against the machine’s relentless pull. But the gears devour the chains inch by inch, dragging her higher, tangling tighter.
Another jerk. Another cry.
And then her final, desperate wail is cut short, swallowed by the wet crunch of bone snapping beneath the relentless grind of metal. The machine roars, aguttural, mechanical growl as it pulls her under.
