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“Guess which hurts more,” he growls before sliding his grip down the blade and grasping my hand around the hilt.

“Kye . . . Stop, that’s enough,” I choke out as his blood continues to fill the glass and stain my hand. Kylian lets go and steps back, and my whole body shakes. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER 48

• King Kylian •

I SHOULD NOT have snapped, and the truth of that irritates me more than the act itself.

She does not understand what I am asking of her, what it will cost her, what it will make her, and I knew that before I placed those books in her hands. I wanted her to learn what being bound to me truly means. For some reason, I believed the bond would be equal on her side and be as strong for her as it is for me.

It is not her refusal that unsettles me.

It’s knowing that she might never choose me at all.

The lower corridors greet me with their usual silence, the cells quieter now that most of the cargo has already been processed, leaving only those whose presence here serves a purpose.

Including her.

Dahlia is exactly where I told Eagan to place her, curled into herself with a blanket that does nothing to hide the truth of what she has become, stripped of title, of power, of illusion, left with nothing but the shaking remains of a woman who once believed she was untouchable.

It almost disappoints me.

This is the creature who thought herself above my bond, thought she could hurt her without consequence. Or perhaps it’s being so close to Draven’s spies that has her curled in on herself. I’m sure she’s aware that the blessed collars around their necks are all that’s keeping them from incinerating her.

When I step into view, her head lifts.

“My king,” she breathes, her voice breaking, ready to beg for the mercy she has likely never shown to others.

I let the silence stretch until it begins to choke her, until tears fall and drip from her chin.

“I have done nothing to deserve this,” she rushes. “There must be some mistake. I have always fulfilled my duties. My estate has never failed its quotas. I have served the Crown faithfully.”

Stepping closer, I watch the way her fingers tighten around the bars.

“You believe this is a mistake?” I ask, my voice calm enough to make her hope, and hope is always the cruelest thing when broken.

“Yes,” she says, relief flickering across her face. “Yes, exactly. There has been a misunderstanding.”

I study her for a moment.

“Do you know what I have learned,” I ask, “after centuries of watching people like you build your lives on the suffering of others.”

She only stares.

“Karma,” I say.

Her brow furrows as if she doesn’t understand, and that almost amuses me, because of course she doesn’t. She has lived her entire life believing consequence is something that happens to other people.

“I have watched kingdoms burn from the inside out,” I continue. “I watched the Arcanum burn, watched the flames turn to screams, then witnessed their tears drowning the kings who ordered them lit.”

Her breathing grows uneven, and her grip tightens on the iron between us.

“You believe what you did simply vanished,” I continue, grabbing her hands on the bars and squeezing. She tries and fails to muffle her cry. “That the pain you inflicted dissolved into nothing the moment it was done, that it was absorbed, forgotten, erased.”

Her lips part, but no words come.

“Your sins were carved into her back for the world to see. You made sure she would never forget!”