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“Grab your bags, witchling.”

“Bags?” Fear and anticipation tangled in my gut. Were we leaving? Going somewhere? Transport was allegedly prime opportunity for escape. Could I pry myself free? All I needed was one chance to get past the wards, and I could jump for help. I’d never crossed an ocean before, but it couldn’t be harder than jumping home to the Middle. Could it?

My enthusiasm dimmed right along with his eyes before the captain clarified, “Your medical bag.”

Right. Duh. “Of course.” I nodded with a confidence I certainly didn’t feel, sucked down a breath, and summoned the kit in question. Then I followed Bartholomew… right around the corner.

It seemed our journey would be a short one.

A crawling warmth crept up my neck as we entered the room directly beside mine, my stomach sinking as I took in the meticulous space.

Black bedding. Black curtains. The place looked like a funeral threw up. A very expensive funeral full of pretentious people I had no intention of socializing with—gods, the fabrics alone could feed a family for months. A meticulously organized bookshelf claimed most of the far wall, and not a speck of dust marred any dark wood surface. Two wolves carved into the pillars stood sentinel on either side of French doors opening onto a balcony. Enormous pots overflowing with stunning pink and purple flowers sat beneath twinkling porch lights, and my breath stuttered in my throat.

No way. I’d recognize those devious little blooms anywhere.

I jerked my eyes to the captain’s back and fought to slow my pulse, praying that if Bartholomew noticed the spike, he’d write it off as nerves instead of anticipation.

Hushed voices drifted from what could only be the bath chamber, the now-familiar rumble among them confirming my suspicions.

Because I knew whose room I was standing in. There was no mistaking the rich navy suit haphazardly draped over an armchair, shoes discarded with equal carelessness. And there was certainly no mistaking the chessboard by the window—crystal pieces just like the set he’d used with Magnolia.

I was standing in Adrastos’ room. The betrayer hadn’t just placed me above the dungeon. He’d placed me in the chambers adjacent to his own. The fucking bastard.

Before I could think too hard about the implications of him keeping me so close, Bartholomew waved me forward. With my heart in my throat, I followed him across the room toward the soft flicker of light beyond the doorway.

Holy shit, this place was otherworldly.

Windows stretched along both walls into the depths of night, each pane at least fourteen feet tall and framed in the same elegant drapery as the bedroom. Oil paintings hung against the navy walls, ornate gold gilding shimmering in the low light. Plush red runners traced paths between pools of glimmering, steaming water and the vanity across from them.

Then Bartholomew moved, and my gaze snapped straight to the cocksure grin of the devil himself.

Adrastos was leisurely submerged in a glimmering pool, steam rising from his arms and exposed chest where he leaned against the marble surround. His lower half was mercifully concealed beneath the bubbles. I fought back a sneer of disgust when I surveyed the very naked, very unashamed women in and around the pool with him or draped across the marble like real-life sculptures. Fuck me, the fair-skinned, auburn-haired one closest to him was feeding him grapes.

Seven Sisters, my face was going to get me executed if I didn’t learn to control it. As it was, disgust had already carved a sneer across my mouth.

Every adoring eye was trained on him. Either they didn’t care to acknowledge me, or they genuinely hadn’t noticed us enter. Maybe the servants here really did grow used to not existing in the eyes of royals.

A fourth woman finally drew their attention—a blue-eyed brunette in a sheer gossamer robe who swept into the room on sure feet, rounded the pool, and knelt without a word. Ruby lips pressed to Adrastos’ ear as she delivered some message that had him grinning like the cat who caught the damn canary, his dark eyes tracing me like he had a fucking right.

After a few words too soft for me to catch, Adrastos jerked his chin in dismissal. The woman nodded and vanished with the same haste she’d arrived with.

I blinked, raising my brows pointedly as I cleared my throat.

“Evening,” he greeted with a smile that raked goosebumps up my arms—fake, detached, his eyes somehow dead above it. Something heavy hung in the air, as though I’d wandered into a funeral instead of an orgy. “Join us, won’t you?”

Some mangled blend of disgust and disbelief choked out of me. Evidently, it said enough, because that maddening smirk broadened into a lopsided grin.

“No one is permitted to work on me or my girls without first entering the bath,” he supplied nonchalantly.

“Good thing I have no interest in either.” I turned to leave and smacked face-first into Bartholomew’s chest instead.

“My friends and I value discretion,” that lilting voice was gentler this time as Barry steadied me. Was he attempting to creep closer to the voice he’d used as Bellamy? If so, it wasn’t working. If anything, it was just drawing my anger up faster. Bartholomew’s eyes turned pleading, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw flexed.

Whatever we’d come here for, it was bothering him.

I’d barely turned back toward the prince’s devious little party when Adrastos continued his insane explanation. “The pools ensure the safety of things best kept close. Only those I trust explicitly with confidential matters are permitted to enter this room.”

I swallowed the knot in my throat, eyes flicking to the chestnut-haired beauty beside him as she set aside her plate of fruit and propped herself on one elbow, head canted curiously. Perhaps deciding to ease the discomfort, the prince snapped his fingers. Sheer robes of shadow rippled over her curves like silk.