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“One shout,” he crooned. “One word.” He gripped Lyadna’s ankle. “One peep.” He made sure that Nyri was watching when he lightly nipped the arch of Lyadna’s foot, the biting kiss almost flirtatious. “One, single movement from the youngest and most beloved cousin of your King, and it all blessedly ends. Swift mercy shall be yours.”

Lyadna’s body trembled, fear practically oozing from her pores.

“Did you hear that, Nyriadne? You control her pain. The longer you withhold yourself, the worse it becomes for your friend.” He chuckled, nuzzling against the leg he held. “And I have a feeling you can’t begin to imagine what worse truly means.”

“Don’t…you dare, Nyri,” Lyadna choked out, blood pouring from her mouth and down into her blonde hair. “Not for my sake.”

Very interesting.

“Shall we begin?”

Lyadna didn’t even remotely resemble a once-living creature by the time she died hours later, and Nyri…

Stone. Fucking. Cold.

It should have infuriated him that she didn’t crumble, and yet, he was strangely glad. Her defiance left something for him to look forward to in the days and weeks to come. Rather than having to perform logistical acrobatics to merely inch towards his endgame, he’d be able to make real progress by visiting whenever he liked. Could see her whenever he liked.

Just as soon as he finished their relocation.

Nyri was the last to be moved, dawn already approaching. He took the others in large groups, chains and cages and all, but he had something special planned for her.

Arms like a vise around her wasted body, he misted into the new space to a cacophony of roars and bellows. The argument happening between the remaining Demons was almost loud enough to drown out the creatures around them. Then again, they had to shout to be heard across the massive cavern, since he dispersed them amongst those from the other realms.

He wanted Baldrir and his warriors to see how little hope they had of escaping. For the Wolflords and Riders to speak to them when he wasn’t around, so they could tell their horror stories and chip away at the Demons’ determination. For the Fae and Nachthellians to shatter them with their weeping. For the distance between them to wriggle its way in and rot their resolve from the inside out.

They needed to know that resistance was futile and helping him meant helping themselves.

“What’s the matter?” he shouted over one shoulder. “Your change of scenery should excite not anger you!”

He’d picked a particular spot for her, as far away from Baldrir as possible.

On the farthest reaches of the yawning space, a pair of oozing stone walls jutted into the cavern from either side of a now-sealed entrance. The two prisoners already there didn’t bother to struggle. They were the first of this collection, and well aware there was no point.

Nyri’s updated shackles swung innocently from bolts lodged into a rocky protrusion on the cave ceiling above, conveniently placed for best effect. The jewel in the crown was that it dripped relentlessly with substances that even he didn’t want to think too much about. The image of it ruining her precious hair was perfection, really, and just one benefit of holding them beneath a capital city.

He should’ve done it sooner.

She didn’t struggle when the first restraint went around her long neck, just tight enough to make her perpetually wonder if it was worth it to take that next breath. Didn’t react when he gathered one of her emaciated wrists for the next.

In fact, he was beginning to wonder whether he imagined that lone spasm before, if the flickering firelight had only made it seem like she reacted to seeing her friend butchered, when Nyri’s other hand landed softly on his cheek.

Sneaky. He hadn’t seen her move.

Curious, he glanced up to find her eyes burning into his with a violent sweetness that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You know…”

He nearly—nearly—jolted back when she spoke, voice just shy of numb as she stroked his face.

Fuck. In that moment, she was utterly riveting.

“I’m going to kill you, someday,” she rasped, “and I can’t wait.”

And when she clawed four, deep grooves into his flesh from eye socket to jaw line, earning herself a fist to the side of the head?

Night take him. He almost believed her.

Brand rose slowly from the depths of sleep, loose and languid. A long stretch and inhale brought the scent of amber and warm spices, something else familiar in the notes that he could practically taste. Utterly lovely.