Page 101 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

After a moment he stops and sighs. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. He’s walking the wrong path.”

“You can’t know that.”

He looks at me. “Maybe not. But neither can he. Or you, for that matter.”

Since he’s right, I stay quiet.

He exhales hard. “I don’t think I’m wrong. And you don’t know him as I do.” His voice is low. Ominous. He turns away from me, shoulders tight, his posture stiff. I want to speak. To find the words to soothe him. But before I can, I hear his sharp intake of breath.

I look up to see a latticework of dark, ugly scars appearing on his back. They weren’t there before. I explored every inch of his body tonight, and there was no way I could have missed that horrible pattern of raised scars. The kind of maiming caused by a whip. The kind of scars that are the result of torture.

“Chase…” I whisper. “What—what the hell?”

He says nothing, and I fear he’s simply going to ignore the question. Then the scars begin to pulse, red and angry. Some open, blood and pus seeping out.

I hear a whimper, then realize it’s coming from me.

He’s breathing hard when he turns to me, and I see the pain in his face as he forces out the words. “You want to know the kind of man your Nightmare King is? Then you should understand what he’s capable of.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“He had me locked away. I have no idea for how long. Time meant nothing. All I knew was the torment of the whip, and that he’d given the order. An order for pain. For breaking me down. And for scars so deep I would never forget the degradation. When I was finally released, the bastard who’d done the whipping told me I’d been in that room for a thousand fucking years.”

I swallow, horrified.

“Whips and fire, Cora, and never a word from him. Neither in hate nor in mockery. Just the torment, vile and unending.”

My stomach twists. “But why?”

“He never said. For stepping into the role I’ve claimed? For protecting the Realm of the Real from the mares? For trying in some small way to still be the Guardian that we were? He never told me. Never had the balls to look me in the eye after chaining me.”

“That’s monstrous.” I hug myself, hardly able to believe the Adric I know could do that.

“Monstrous indeed. So forgive me if I don’t share your optimism about his grand plans for unity.”

I can’t breathe. The weight of it presses down, hot and choking. I hate what he’s telling me—hate that I believed even for a moment that Adric might be misunderstood. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know.”

He looks at me for a long time. “No,” he says quietly. “You didn’t.”

The silence between us hums, thick and painful. Then he turns away again, the scars fading back beneath his skin as if ashamed to be seen.

I pull my knees up and hug them. “I don’t understand how he could do something like that. I’ve heard what he wants—unity and peace. He’s shown me. It doesn’t make sense that he’d think torturing you would be on that path.”

“Doesn’t it?”

I frown, then wipe tears from my eyes. “Not to me.” A shiver cuts through me. How could I have been so desperately, horribly wrong about Adric?

“Are you familiar with Westeros?”

The question is so absurd that it takes me a moment to make the connection. “Are we talking about Game of Thrones?”

“Daenerys Targaryen tried to unite Westeros, to make it better. And at first, it looked like she’d get it done. But by the end, she was wearing the cloak of a tyrant.”

I gape at him. “Last I checked, that was fiction.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. I was only trying to illustrate my point.”

“I think your point is that you’re jealous.”