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“Different?” He repeats the word with enough bitterness to fill the entire corridor. “I’ve been beaten and locked in a cell. Exactly what part of this is different?”

“They brought orphans into the castle. Fed them. Clothed them. The fields are growing. Children who were dying are being treated. This kingdom is not what you think it is. They care for the humans here. They’ll care for you. I will care for you. If you just do as they say so they let you out.”

Arlo doesn’t seem to hear what I’m saying. He’s too focused on me standing in front of him. “How are you even here? Did Crawly sell you to the flesh markets too?”

I don’t know how to answer.

“We’re in Sangremere, right? I saw you with the Vampire King. Has he hurt you? Why were you with him?”

“I know what this looks like,” I say.

“He took you, didn’t he, as a feeder?” He curses under his breath. “I knew it. I thought something was off when I saw you. The way you stared at me . . .” He shakes his head. “We’ll find a way out of here and off the island,” he says in a rush.

“It’s not like that, the king isn’t that bad . . .” Arlo pulls back at my words, his gaze moving over me the same way Madam Dahlia’s did.

“You’re defending the man who kidnapped you, to . . . to use you as his feeder.”

I grip the bars tighter.

His laugh is hollow and sharp, carrying none of the warmth that it once held. “Brainwashed already.” He shakes his head, and the bitterness in his voice is so thick I can almost taste it. “How long have you been here? Days? And you’re already defending them. Already talking about how different it is, how these monsters aren’t the same monsters we’ve grown up fearing.”

The accusation drives into my chest and lodges there because I can’t deny that part of me has been wondering the same thing.

“What does he want with you?” Arlo’s voice drops, the laughter gone, replaced by something harder. His eyes hold mine through the bars, and in the dim light, they look more amber than hazel. “Why are you here, Ali? What does the Vampire King want with a servant girl from a farm?”

The truth rises in my throat, and I swallow it back down. Because how can anyone understand that my blood is the only blood in the world that can sustain him? How can I explain a bond I don’t fully understand myself?

“I can’t explain it right now,” I say, and the inadequacy of those words makes me sick.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. Arlo’s jaw works, the muscles flexing and releasing as he fights whatever he wants to say. I watch the war play across his face. The anger. The hurt. The helplessness of a man trapped behind bars watching the person he loves slip further into a world he can’t reach.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I say, and the fierceness in my voice surprises us both. “I’m going to get you home. Back to your mother. Back to Angie. I swear it, Arlo. On everything that matters to me, I will get you out.”

His hard exterior cracks, and beneath it I see the boy from the farm who took lashes meant for me without hesitation. Who killed a councilor to protect me from being sold, who loved me quietly for years without ever asking for anything in return. The boy who told me he loved me and didn’t feel anger when I never returned the words he needed to hear.

“My mother . . .” His voice cracks. “Do you know if she’s—”

“She was still at the farm last I saw her. I think she is still . . .” I don’t know how to finish the thought. I don’t have answers, and giving him empty reassurance would be crueler than silence. “I’ll find out everything I can. But I need you alive to keep my promise.”

I reach through the bars again, my arm sliding between the iron rods, and my hand finds his shoulder. He flinches at the touch and the flinch tells me everything about the pain he’s hiding. I move my hand lower, carefully, and my fingers brush the torn fabric at his back.

The wounds beneath are worse than I thought. The skin is swollen, the edges of each lash mark raised and hot. I lean closer, pressing my face between the bars to see, and the smell hits me. That sour, sweet, rotting smell that infection carries when it’s setting in. When the body’s defenses are losing the battle and the wound is beginning to turn. I’ve smelled it plenty over the years.

He needs herbs. He needs proper treatment, but then I remember how quickly I healed when Kylian gave me his blood. I could possibly ask Kylian for some and say I need it for medicine.

“I need to go. I’ve already been gone too long, but I will come back tomorrow night. I’ll bring medicine, but you need to promise me you won’t provoke the guards when they come down here.”

Arlo sighs. “I won’t provoke them.” He cups my cheek, and when I lean into his touch, it doesn’t warm me the way it used to. He drags me closer, pressing his lips against mine again, and I let him. He pulls back slowly. “Go before you’re caught here.”

I quickly step away, giving him one last look before rushing back the way I came. Only when I turn the corner toward the stairwell leading back into the laundry room, I collide with Eagan. His chest is like a wall as I bounce off and stumble back. He grips my arms tightly, steadying me on my feet. The look in his eyes isn’t surprise; it’s cold fury.

“Eagan?” I gasp.

“You lied to me earlier.” His voice is low and menacing.