by Denali Day
“Then there’s only one more matter between us.” He straightened. “I’m prepared to spare your lover’s life.”
Joselyn’s lips parted. Her hand flew instinctively to her chest, to the place where her tanshi mark had been. Pain made her wince even through the bandages.
Joselyn didn’t miss the spark of triumph that flickered across Lord Fury’s face, and she didn’t care. If there was any chance he was speaking truly, she must do everything in her power to make it so.
“You will free him?”
“Life, Daughter. What I’m offering is life. Your filthy savage will never fly again.”
Joselyn’s hope broke apart in uncertainty. “What will become of him?”
“Imprisonment. Indefinitely.”
Joselyn’s mind scoured the possibilities. A life in prison was no life at all for Hollen. But given enough time, who knew what was possible? She could petition the king, bribe a guard, and who could say what else?
Lord Fury seemed to watch her run through the myriad of scenarios. A corner of his mouth curled upward. No doubt, he’d considered each of them himself and knew they’d give her hope. For Marcus Fury, hope was a double-edged sword, and he wielded it masterfully.
“And the price for your mercy?” Joselyn already knew the answer.
“Your oath. You will marry Dante Viridian, and keep to him.”
The weight of Hollen’s life slumped over her narrow shoulders. The burden was enough to crush her. And yet, bearing up under it, Joselyn only felt relief. Her spine straightened.
“Is that all?” she asked.
“It’s more than you deserve. Remember what I taught you, Daughter. This world owes you nothing.”
“No. But you did.”
The man who’d been her father had cheated her. And now, Joselyn must cheat herself.
“I swear it.”
38
The Butcher of Brance
Joselyn sat upon the white linens of the turned down bed. Waiting.
Dressed in a fine, gossamer gown, she might as well have been naked. She was almost grateful for the bandages which covered her burn and bound her breasts. Fallen into a hearth. Fainted from exhaustion upon her recent rescue. That was what she was to tell her new husband when he asked about her wound. The thought of Dante Viridian becoming intimate enough to make such an inquiry sickened her.
The small horde of candles flickering in the chamber gave the richly designed room a nauseating effect. Joselyn’s eyes searched along the tapestry-covered walls for a chamber pot, or anything else that might hold the limited contents of her choppy stomach. They grazed over the small pile of artfully wrapped gifts that were meant to enhance the wedding night. Negligee, most likely. She grimaced.
The metallic groan of the door’s iron hinges drew Joselyn’s immediate and complete attention. She straightened, sucking in a breath. Too fast.
Steady Joselyn. Breathe. Just breathe.
No longer a maiden, Joselyn had something just as precious to lose. After tonight, gods help her, her body would no longer belong to only Hollen. Never again. Yet another price she must pay.
With thudding footfalls, Dante Viridian entered the room. Joselyn looked up at the man she’d married just hours ago. Like the other Viridians, Dante was tall and thin. He had sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose. His long hair shined black as a scavenging raven. His skin was pale, more so than even hers. He didn’t look fragile, though. The eerie nature of his chilling expression saved him from that.
His dark robes swayed behind him as he moved. Stopping several feet across the room, he drove his green eyes hard into her. He tsked. “No, no. This is all wrong."
Joselyn inclined her chin, wary.
“They should have brought you to me.” He looked around the elegantly furnished chamber. “Though indeed, our host seems to have given you the preferential accommodations. Do you know much of livestock?”
She blinked.
Dante tilted his head to the side and went on, stepping closer as he did. “Doubtful. House Fury has long since risen above such things. No matter, I’ll share with you something I’ve learned over the years.”
Joselyn bristled as he closed the remaining distance between them. He moved just before her knees and stared down at her.
“When rabbits are bred—”
Ice spread through her veins at the word bred. She sensed that whatever comparison he was about to make, she would not care for it. Not in the least.
“—they put the doe into the buck’s hutch."
He reached down, took her folded hands, and drew her up. Joselyn stood smoothly, holding his gaze. She fought the urge to pull away when he didn’t release her. His hands were soft, narrow, and cold as winter stone.
"Do you know why?”
“No.” Her eyes remained willfully dull.
“Because”—he quieted a moment. The man seemed to delight in long pauses between his points, as though the suspense might provoke his audience to cheer for the next word—“the reverse makes the female feel threatened. Enough to turn on the buck. Kill him outright . . .or die trying.”
Dante gave her hands a gentle squeeze and leaned down until his face was but inches from hers.
“Do you feel threatened?” His breath was cool on her face and hinted of sour wine.
Joselyn held his gaze and kept her voice even as she lied. “No.”
An easy smile crossed his face. “Shall we take a walk?”
She blinked, cocking her head. “Now?”
His black brows rose. “Indeed."
Joselyn glanced awkwardly down at her nightgown as if to say you can’t be serious.
Dante snickered. "Surely our host has provided you with a robe?"
When Joselyn didn't immediately respond, Dante lifted his hands to either side of her face and swept up thick sections of her cascading, flame-colored tresses. He drew them in front of her shoulders. Joselyn stiffened.
"Do not worry, my little candlestick. The guests are surely abed by now."
She didn’t want to go anywhere with this man, but she wanted to stay here with him even less. She nodded her agreement.
Quiet, Joselyn and Dante made their way down the stairs and across the grand foyer. She didn't know where he was leading her, and she didn't ask. Settling on a destination might end their diversion that much sooner.
They walked down a carpeted corridor, passing several of the intricately carved statues which littered the estate’s halls. Dante kept his gaze focused straight ahead, and Joselyn followed suit. It wasn't until they were passing the stone likeness of a wyvern that Dante's interest was piqued. He slowed, drawing them both to a halt.
Regarding the carving, he said, “As you can imagine, I took an intense interest in your family’s history once our engagement was finalized. Your family crest is a dragon.”
He nodded at the statue with appreciation. Joselyn stared at the open-mouthed figure, wishing it were alive and could fly her away, back to Bedmeg. Dante continued his monologue.
“A fine sigil. A great deal mightier than a thornless rose. It seems your ancestors were richer than mine in wealth and imagination.”
Joselyn turned and stared at him. She didn’t care for the contrast he kept drawing between their houses. Though he esteemed hers over his, the comparison felt bitter. Dangerous.
Not meeting her gaze, Dante continued to look pointedly at the carved gegatu. “Remarkable! To think that a mere man might master such a creature.”
As Dante shook his head, the hairs on Joselyn’s arms stood on end.
He tsked, “Do you know, I heard talk a dragon appeared at Castle Arland just last night, if you can believe it.”
He released her hand then and turned to face her.
“That’s not half so fascinating as this, reportedly it was being ridden by a man. What madness!” He laughed, but the sound didn’t match his stiff posture.
Misery tightened through Joselyn’s chest, making it harder to breathe. Her body ten
sed as he twisted a finger into a strand of her hair and wound it around.
“It makes me think of your family’s words: ‘The Dragon Submits to None.’ A powerful statement.”
He released her hair, holding her instead with his eyes. “What say you?” He batted an absent hand toward the statue. “Has this dragon been mastered? Tamed?”
He took one of her hands and leaned downward. His skin put off no heat. His deep voice dropped to a lower timbre.
“Ridden?”
Bastard.
Joselyn gave a slow blink and cocked her head. “You’ve made an error, Lord Viridian.” Her voice remained cool as ice as she swept her free hand toward the statue “This is a wyvern”—she paused, mimicking his style of speech—“not a dragon.”
Dante’s eyes darkened even as his lips slithered into a smile. “Please, call me ‘husband.’ ”
Joselyn didn’t respond.
They were moving again, a bit faster than before. He clutched her arm so high, Joselyn had to rise to her toes to keep from leaning into him.
Her ambivalence began to fade as they walked deeper, and lower into the castle. They passed a pair of guards and descended a flight of stairs until they were presumably below the ground. The air was cool and musty. There were no windows. Perhaps just as disconcerting was the lack of tapestries, carpet, embellishments of any kind. Wherever they were, it was not meant for the likes of a noblewoman.
Joselyn’s gaze flitted around the bare halls. Anxiety was beginning to overcome her stubbornness. She was just about to ask where they were going when Dante turned them around a sharp corner and stopped at an iron-plated door. There was a little window at the top, covered with a grate of metal bars.
Joselyn opened her mouth to speak just as Dante reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a long key. Words caught in her throat. He winked at her before shoving the key into the lock and turning it loose with a metal scrape. The door swung open with a low creak as Dante gestured for her to enter.
Joselyn eyed him, with his casual posture and easy smile, so out of place in this dark corridor. Her rising fear leapt to anger. She opened her mouth to demand that they return above ground, but as she did, Dante jerked his head inward, as if pointing something out. Without thought, Joselyn’s eyes skipped through the doorway and fell instantly to the back of the room.
There, behind bars and pasted against a stone wall, was Hollen.
Lightning shot through her body. He didn’t appear conscious. His head slumped against one arm which, like its twin, was locked against the wall in an iron cuff. Dark bruises covered his shirtless body. Thin streaks of dried blood seemed to have come from his unkempt hair. Was he alive? Every urge, every instinct, bid her run to him. Joselyn’s will to preserve his life, if he still breathed, was the one thing that kept her feet planted to the ground. She couldn’t disguise her shocked expression as she turned her head toward Dante.
He grimaced as though in apology. “I know. I know. A grisly venue for our wedding night. I promise, we won’t tarry long. But—”
Still holding the door back, Dante glanced at Hollen.
“—humor me.”
Before Joselyn could respond, Dante brought an arm around her back. His hand crawled across her shoulders like a venomous serpent. He nudged her forward.
With knees locked, Joselyn nearly tipped forward before she took the barest of steps into what she now recognized was a dungeon. One step. Two. A third. Soon she was striding steadily into the dingy room. Within the swooping sleeves of her robe, Joselyn’s nails dug into the backs of her clasped hands.
Beyond the bars, Joselyn assessed the dusky pallor of savage’s hands and bare feet. He’d been left secured to the wall for quite some time. The dungeon door slammed loudly behind them, and Hollen stirred. Suddenly, Joselyn could breathe again. His head lulled to the opposite shoulder, and his dark lashes fluttered, but didn’t open. A pain-filled groan rumbled in his throat.
Dante’s voice snuck up behind her. “They spotted him on the roof, his winged beast crouched upon the highest tower.”
Joselyn didn’t take her eyes off Hollen. She was waiting for him to rouse. To give her another sign he wasn’t mortally injured.
“Do you know precisely where this savage was spotted?”
Pale fingers gripped her by the arm before swinging her gently round to face Dante. Joselyn’s hands broke apart and she looked up into her husband’s cruel, green eyes.
“Outside your window.”
Joselyn sneered and pushed his hand off her arm. “Are you responsible for this brutality?” She demanded, gesturing to Hollen.
Dante’s hand flew over his chest, and his face twisted with affront. “Of course not, dear wife! Little candlestick. You insult me.”
Joselyn scrutinized him, measuring his words. She sensed no lie in them. There was something far more insidious lurking there.
“This man has given me no cause to harm him.” His brow furrowed. “Or has he?”
She’d been thrust into a deadly game, one where she still had much left to lose.
The ghost of a smile played at Dante’s lips as he turned away, pulling open the gate of Hollen’s cell. He entered like a wolf into a pen of lambs. It wasn’t until he shut the door behind him with a click that she realized she should have followed.
Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Dante plucked out what looked like a crude, metal spoon with a long wooden handle. He set its curved end into a nearby ensconced torch.
Joselyn took a halting step forward, just close enough to rest a tentative hand on the bars of the cell. She breathed in, trying to gain control of herself. She dare not let on how much Hollen meant to her. Something told her that doing so would end poorly for both of them.
Dante regarded her. “Your father’s made a gift of this creature to House Viridian. A gift…with a most curious caveat. He says the prisoner must not be sentenced to death.”
Her mind went alight. Frantic. What had she thought? That Lord Fury would see personally to his humane treatment? She’d expected him to keep Hollen close, within the dungeons of Fury Keep. There, at least, he’d be at the mercy of men who weren’t given to madness. She looked on in thinly veiled horror as Dante walked toward her. Joselyn’s very soul began to tremble. She would soon learn if the rumors about her new husband were true.
“It’s so very odd since I also hear this barbarian is the reason our nuptials were delayed. I have little patience for idle gossip, so I hoped you would confirm the whispers.”
He already knew. Of course he did. His question was a trap. A cruel trick. Joselyn’s mind raced through a myriad of possible responses until Hollen’s voice claimed both hers and Viridian’s attention.
“It’s true,” he rasped.
Hollen was staring at Viridian from across the cell. No longer hanging limp, he’d risen to his full height, which was equal to Dante’s.
His words, though they spared her from answering, ignited her heart into a frenzied panic. Her gaze snapped back to Dante. He wasn’t looking at her. His interest had shifted totally to Hollen.
“He awakens. Providential timing. I sensed my new wife was about to lie to me.”
Hollen’s gaze flicked to Joselyn’s just long enough for her to see the misery there. A misery that had nothing to do with the abuse littering his body.
Dante stopped a mere two feet away from Hollen. He seemed to be scanning the expanse of her savage’s body, lingering on his idadi. Dante crossed his arms and huffed. “You are an impressive specimen.”
Somehow, Hollen managed to smirk. “Don’t tell me you came all the way down here just to stroke your cock.”
If Viridian was vexed, he showed no sign. “Tell me, for what purpose did you steal my wife away?” His tone was easy, passive, as if the question were being asked merely to scratch an itch of curiosity.
Hollen wasted no time in answering. “I had need of a bride.”
“So you simply”—he shrugged—“took her? Pluc
ked her up and flew away? Must all savages resort to stealing their brides?”
“No. Some men buy them.” He stared hard into Dante’s eyes.
There was a moment of tension when Joselyn thought her stomach would implode. All at once, Dante broke into genuine laughter. “I admit, you are entertaining.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if to impart some secret, though Joselyn heard every word. “More so than she.”
Hollen’s expression was empty, blank.
Dante straightened and his voice rose once again. “A pity. I have a lifetime to share with her, whereas you, on the other hand, will be here only until you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Joselyn’s fingers went from touching to clutching the bars of the cell. With Dante’s back turned, she looked pointedly at Hollen, trying to speak without words. She wanted to beg him for forgiveness. To swear to him this hadn’t been her intention. He didn’t look her way again.
“Fear not. I sense my bride is a compassionate woman. Fortunately for you, it’s upon her shoulders that your fate resides.” He stepped away from Hollen and turned to Joselyn.
Too quickly, Joselyn released the bar. Her hand dropped to her side. “What do you want?”
He approached the bars until he was standing only inches away, keeping his body turned so that Hollen wasn’t left out of the conversation. “You, my little candlestick. Only you.”
Of course. The only thing she had left to give.
“Though legal, and thus, effective, I regret that the execution of our wedding was met with little enthusiasm by our guests. I can’t help but wonder if an enthusiastic bride would have changed that.”
He was offended that she’d not danced her way into the sanctum? It was true, she’d approached their altar like a widow approached her lover’s casket. She’d regurgitated their vows like acid bile bubbling out of her throat. No one had cheered. No one had even smiled.
“You’ve an iron spirit. I sensed it the moment you looked into my eyes as we were joined.” He glanced at Hollen, a hint of smugness evident on his face.
