by Cameo Renae
“Sabine,” she said, tucking her blade back under her skirt.
“Thank you, Sabine.”
“You’re brave,” she said, plunging the rag back into the pail and wringing it out, continuing to wipe my face, neck, and arms. “If it were anyone else, we’d be dragging a corpse out from this cell. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?” I laughed, then grimaced in pain. “Lucky to have been punched and kicked so hard my ribs are broken and I probably have a fractured skull?” My tone had a sting to it, but I was furious. That bastard didn’t blink an eye before he struck me.
I’d heard about the cruelty of Morbeth but had now witnessed it firsthand. There was a hatred for this man that had seeped deep into my core. I wanted him to die.
“I’ve seen him do much worse,” she stated, glancing toward the door. She stood and walked over to it, peering through the few barred slats at the top. When satisfied, she returned to my side.
I groaned, trying to move, but a shooting pain in my side held me still. “I’m surprised he didn’t force me to consume his blood.”
“He can’t force you,” Sabine replied, wringing out her rag.
“Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t work. A blood bond must be reciprocal. Each person must agree wholeheartedly for it to be sealed.” Her brow crumpled, and that look of worry was back. “If you stop resisting, even if you don’t consume his blood, you might be able to get out of this cell.”
Looking into her eyes, I saw something . . . maybe pity. But I didn’t need anyone’s pity. “Why do you care?”
“Because you are the first person who has stood up to the prince and lived.” She placed her warm hand over mine. “I respect you for that. But I wouldn’t press him. His limits are exceptionally low. But realize this, he does favor those who submit.”
Power-hungry, evil prick.
I tried to sit up, but the shooting pain knocked me back down, making me gasp for air.
“I’d rather wither away in this cell than give that bastard my submission.”
“You don’t have to surrender,” she whispered. “Just pretend.” She shrugged and didn’t say more. I knew what she was trying to say. And maybe what she was saying wasn’t so bad. To play the submissive captive until I could find a way out of here, and ultimately . . . out of Morbeth.
Her almond-brown eyes swirled with worry. She stood and untied her smock, then rolled it up and tucked it under my head. “Rest. It might take a few days before you feel better because you’re malnourished.” She settled her hand on my shoulder and leaned down so her mouth was close to my ear. “Don’t tell anybody about the blood I gave you,” she whispered. “He’ll kill me if he ever found out.”
“Why?”
She glanced back toward the exit. “Because I am meddling in his affairs. And all who interfere with the prince end up dead.”
“But he ordered you to tend to me.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Tend, but not heal. That’s why I provided you just enough blood for the healing to be slow, so he won’t notice something is amiss.”
“Don’t worry,” I breathed. I could play the injured victim. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.” She bowed her head, then carried the empty bowl to the drain in the floor and poured water inside to rinse it clean. Grabbing a water bucket, she splashed it over Roehl’s blood, and scrubbed it as best she could, pushing the bloody water down the drain. When the floor was as clean as it could be, she reached back into her satchel and drew out a small vial filled with clear liquid and placed it in my hand. “This will help ease the pain. If it becomes intolerable, drink it, and you will fall asleep.”
I didn’t notice it before, possibly because of the severe pain wracking my body, but I could hear a heartbeat . . . loud and strong.
“You’re mortal,” I said.
“Yes,” she grinned. “All servants in the kingdom are. The prince likes it that way, to be surrounded by the weaker species. If anyone steps out of line, they are punished, and used as an example to keep everyone else in order.”
“Sadistic prick,” I exhaled, and she nodded in agreement. “Is the king as evil as his son?”
“No. The king reigns with a steady hand, but he is also just. He’s never killed without cause, and his people truly respect him. But the king has become ill, and after his brother’s death, Prince Roehl has done nothing but instill fear and terror throughout the kingdom. He thinks his people react better to fear than reverence. In that regard, he is not like his father.”
“Which makes him more of an ass than I expected.” I moaned as sharp pains continued to wrack my insides.
“I heard your friend was brought here too,” she whispered, and I gave a slight nod. “Just be prepared. Roehl will use her to try to break you.”
I sighed, knowing the one thing that would break me would be the safety of Brynna and my father.
“Sabine,” I murmured. “Earlier, Roehl spoke a word and I couldn’t move.”
She let out a lengthy exhale. “All pureblood vampires are born with a unique ability. Prince Roehl’s is magic. When he was mature enough, his father brought in high witches from across Talbrinth to teach him. Although Roehl was powerful, he coveted more, pleading with his father to let him practice dark magic.
“His father forbade the practice of dark magic in the kingdom, but once he became ill, Roehl sought out the dark mages and brought them in. Now, he’s even more powerful than before, and I’m not sure there is anyone who can stop him.”
“There has to be someone.”
“There might be,” she muttered. “A few months ago, a Seer on the outskirts of town had a vision. She saw a girl. A young woman with great power who would rise up and defy Morbeth and eventually claim the throne.”
I laughed, then groaned in pain as Sabine looked at me with a hopeful expression.
“Wait. If you assume that girl is me, you’re dead wrong. First, I am not a noble. Second, I want to get my ass out of Morbeth and stay the hell out. And third, I’ve been a vampire for less than a week, thanks to Trystan.”
“Trystan?” Her eyes expanded. “Do you mean Prince Trystan Vladu?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, her hand settling over her heart. “The Prince of Carpathia was the one who bit you?” I could see it in her eyes. She was smitten by him too.
“Yes.” I didn’t see why this mattered. “Do you know him?”
“No, but he came to Morbeth once with this father, to speak with the King. I was there. He is—” she batted her lashes.
“Believe me. I know,” I sighed.
“But think about it. Why would the Prince of Carpathia bite you? There must be a reason.”
“It’s not what you think,” I sighed. “He was just trying to save me.” But as the words escaped my mouth, the truth remained . . . he traveled a considerable distance to claim me, a mortal girl. Then sent his personal cadre to watch over me. Even Kylan said the cadre didn’t understand his motives.
What were the real reasons behind his decisions, besides a feeling or connection? Would any normal person risk their life to save someone because they felt a connection?
Roehl must have considered that too, wondering why Trystan claimed me so abruptly. “Does Roehl know about the Seer’s vision?”
“I’m sure he does.” Sabine gathered her things. “Seers are required to share every vision with Roehl. The last one who failed to share a vision was beheaded in the courtyard.”
Good gods. “Do you think he believes I’m that girl?”
“I don’t know.” Her head angled toward the door. “I’ve said too much. I should go.”
I snatched her hand. “Thank you.”
She gave me a smile before she left without turning back.
It was days before the cell door groaned open. I was terribly weak and could barely move my head to see who was entering. With much effort, I managed to peel open one eye. It was one of the guards.
&nbs
p; “The prince wanted me to make sure you were still alive,” he replied smugly. When I didn’t respond, he strode over and booted me in the side. I wailed in agony, folding into myself. He shifted toward the exit and yelled, “She’s still alive!” Then he walked out and sealed the door.
Piercing pain radiated through my entire frame. I could hear him and another guard laughing as they made their way down the hallway. When it was silent, I decided to sit up, but couldn’t.
My wounds weren’t healing, and I was starving. I tried to eat the stale bread, but after ingesting it, I vomited it up minutes later.
I was sure this was hell, and there was no escaping it.
I’d lost count of the days. My wrists were still cuffed, the skin raw and infected beneath them. With each passing day, I became weaker and weaker. Everything, inside and out, throbbed. It was an utterly cruel punishment, and the only thing getting me through was my hatred for the man who put me here.
As minutes bled into hours, the hatred increased.
The moments I slept were dark and just as lonely as my waking hours. The cell was deafeningly quiet, and the seclusion slowly nibbled away at my sanity. The longer I lingered in this hell, the more I could feel the depression and desolation and fear of death from all the past prisoners who stayed here. Maybe I was delusional, but I could nearly hear the stifled sobs and whispered prayers . . . pleading for someone, anyone, to save them. So much pain. So much suffering. So much death.
Rats scattered in and out of my cell, squeezing through small fractures in the walls, stealing the uneaten bread and crumbs from my tray. I normally hated the rodents and would’ve screamed in horror to have seen one, but here, I accepted them. Hearing them scamper about made me feel not so alone.
I needed to talk to Trystan and let him know where I was. To thank him for attempting to save me and not to blame his cadre for my capture. But every night, those silent prayers went unanswered. Every night, the same darkness and silence gobbled me up.
Why did it suddenly stop? Why couldn’t I see Trystan anymore? Was it this place? Or had Roehl’s bite erased the blood bond we had?
But as time bled into itself, now and then, I would recall the pictures in Melaina’s bowl of water. Of Nicolae, and how, with a flip of his hand, made his entire camp disappear. He had magic. Powerful magic, Melaina had said. I recalled the Wanderer’s words to me. There is magic in you. Dormant and suppressed by even greater magic. Find a way to release it.
Was there magic inside of me? And was there anyone in this castle who could tell me how to release it? Anyone besides Roehl?
In the following days, I attempted, in every way imaginable, to free my magic. I tried willing it to life, to break free from whatever spell had bound it. But there was nothing, nary a spark nor a glimmer. And the more I tried, the weaker I became.
Maybe they were wrong. Maybe I didn’t have magic. Perhaps the magic had disappeared, just like my hope was gradually fading, day by day.
I awoke countless times from pain and hunger. I was freezing yet covered in sweat. My skin beneath the metal cuffs was raw and burned like fire. I knew the infection was getting worse and there was nothing I could do. I was dying, and at times, prayed for death, but my new immortal body wouldn’t grant that small wish.
I could scarcely move without suffering. My mouth was parched, my lips dry and cracked, my eyes swollen. I hadn’t eaten anything in what seemed like ages. The Prince of Morbeth was forcing me to suffer and feel everything.
Chapter Twelve
“Get up!” A kick against my boot sent a jolt of pain through my body, waking me.
It took every effort to open my swollen eyes, but when I did, he was standing above me.
“Hello, pet,” Roehl crooned.
I wished I had enough energy to punch him in his smug face, but even at my strongest, it probably wouldn’t do a thing except piss him off.
He kneeled at my side, sweeping his icy fingers across my face. I was so weak I couldn’t even flinch away. The only thing I could do, with the strength I had left, was close my eyes.
“Look at you, shriveling away into nothing. If you surrender to me, I will take care of you. If you surrender to me, I will keep you, your father, and your lovely friend Brynna, alive.”
Bastard.
He picked off a few pieces of hair glued to my face from either perspiration or vomit. “This can all go away if you answer the one question.” He lay his palm on my arm, his eyes narrowed. “Will you surrender to me?”
I had nothing left. If I remained here any longer, I’d turn into a living corpse. There was no alternative, other than to continue being starved and abused.
A tear trickled down my cheek as I gave him my answer—a single nod.
With a snap of his fingers, the cuffs around my wrists fell away and I was lifted into his arms. My limbs were limp, my head lolled sideways, resting against his large, sturdy shoulder.
Roehl carried me out of the cell, down a series of torch lit corridors and up a long staircase. The stone walls were dank, and the air smelled musty.
When we arrived at the top, he opened the door and we stepped out into a wide hallway. Curtains blocked the sunlight, but my eyes throbbed, even in the dimmed light. I inhaled the clean, cool air that carried a wonderful floral scent mixed with lavender and vanilla—my mother’s favorite smells.
All around us were large flower arrangements and potted trees with beautiful blooms in vibrant hues.
These pieces of beauty were nothing I would relate with Roehl or Morbeth.
I drew in another deep breath, savoring the rich floral essences.
“My mother,” Roehl murmured. I didn’t want to hear his voice, which was causing my head to pulse, but I was too weak to move, and my tongue too swollen to speak. “My mother loved flowers. If she were still alive, this entire castle would be laden with them. She would set them in places around the castle she related with misery and death. Like right here, outside the dungeon, to conceal the stench. My father’s wedding gift to her was a garden. She claimed it was the only gift that truly made her happy.”
Why was he telling me this? Did he think I cared, or that it would make this place a bit more tolerable? His mother sounded like a decent woman, and by the tone of his voice, it sounded like he genuinely loved her. So, what happened to him? What made him become a monster?
We finally halted, and I opened both eyes to find us standing in front of a door. A guard opened it with a key—an outside lock—and shoved the door open.
The draperies in the room were drawn, but there were candles everywhere, and a fire crackling in the fireplace.
“This is your new room,” Roehl spoke.
New cell.
He carried me through another doorway and inside were three women; one of whom I recognized but didn’t acknowledge.
Sabine. Her eyes met mine but displayed no emotion.
Between them was a wide tub filled with water. “Bathe her, feed her, and put her to bed,” Roehl ordered.
“Yes, Prince,” they answered, bowing in unison. Sabine and another blonde girl received me from him and seated me on an armchair. It took every ounce of strength I had left to remain upright and not topple over.
Roehl gave a swift gesture to the older woman, who had white hair and a stern face, and she followed him outside.
I concentrated on their voices.
“Give her a minimal supply of blood. Not too much,” Roehl’s deep voice uttered.
“Yes, my prince,” she responded.
After a few moments, the elder woman strode back into the washroom and they started undressing me. I would have been embarrassed but was too weak to care. As soon as my shirt came off, Sabine gasped at the bruises all over my body.
The skin around my wrists was gone, the exposed flesh was bright red and oozing yellow from the infection.
They carefully helped me into the tub, and as I slipped under the water it was like a hot blanket being wrapped around me. Sabine and the youn
ger girl carefully washed my hair and body. The soaps, in several floral essences, smelled like heaven. So much better than vomit and excrement that had clung to me for too long.
After I was washed, they applied medicine to my wrists and carefully bandaged them. It stung like hell, but I didn’t make a sound. I knew once I had some blood, it would heal me. But Roehl ordered the woman to keep it minimal, which meant he wanted to keep me in a fragile state. Then the blonde girl excused herself and withdrew from the room.
Once I was dried off, they dressed me in a comfortable, white, cotton bedgown and laid me on a bed fit for a queen. The sheets and bedspread were luxurious, feeling like silk against my delicate skin. I sunk into the mattress and let it mold to my frame. After sleeping on a rock floor for so long, this mattress felt like I was floating on a cloud.
The older woman shuffled over to me with a golden goblet caressed in both of her hands. Tired green-gray eyes, obscured behind dark circles and wrinkles, tightened in on me. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.
“Here,” she said, sitting on a chair next to my bed. “Drink.”
I hesitated and shook my head when a warm hand clutched mine.
“Don’t worry, Calla. It’s not the prince’s blood,” Sabine whispered. Her brown eyes were soft, caring. Raven hair tumbled down her shoulders in perfect curls. “It’s from a contributor—a young woman.”
The older woman huffed at her, but Sabine extended her hand and the woman reluctantly handed her the goblet. Sabine stood by my side, slipping her other arm under my head to raise me up.
As soon as she brought the goblet close, I could smell the blood. Every cell inside my body went mad. I closed my eyes, my incisors lengthening, and as soon as Sabine pressed the cool rim to my lips, I lost control.
I was starving. The thirst grasped and kept me in its clutches. I snatched it from her and poured it down my throat. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. My body demanded more.
My eyes opened. The room and everything in it had turned a deep shade of crimson. The woman gasped, reaching for the goblet. I seized her arm and yanked it to my mouth. My teeth sunk deep into her flesh.
