by Hope Hart
Then I will kill him for daring to keep me from my mate.
I lose myself in visions of his death, his blood spurting, his eyes dimming forever. It is the only thing that brings me joy, other than the few stolen moments I have with Meghan.
Unfortunately, the King is paranoid. For good reason. His guards are with him at every moment, their eyes continually scanning for new threats. I cannot get close to him, so I turn my thoughts to the females in his life. He seems to not care for the Queen at all, and would never risk his safety for hers.
His daughter and heir, however…
From the whispers I hear whenever I hide among the shadows, the King wanted nothing more than a son. Instead, he got a daughter, who he, in turn, loves and loathes. The Queen was given centuries to give him a son and was then finally overlooked for a number of mistresses, none of whom have even given him a bastard son to take his throne.
If I kill his daughter, I kill his only heir. The only legacy he has.
While she is also protected, her guards are not as well-trained, and I find enough opportunities that I begin to plan. Unfortunately, taking her hostage relies on the King valuing his life more than his pride and the whispers that would occur if he were to once again be seen as weaker than the Arcav.
His hold on power is tenuous, and only possible due to fear. People who dare to whisper a word against him soon end up as the night’s entertainment, forced to battle to the death. But a King who rules solely by fear is only as powerful as that fear, which can soon lessen if his weakness is displayed to his court.
Meghan
“Why do you gaze at the Arcav with such longing?”
The Princess wants to chat again, and sometimes, when she’s in a good mood, she’ll give me an extra bathroom break, another chance to stretch my legs.
“He’s my best friend. My mate. I miss him.”
She snorts. “Males are a weakness. He leaves you for days at a time, likely bedding half of my court. And you would still pine for him?”
I ignore the pang of hurt at the thought, the little voice inside my head that says maybe Methi will find someone who’s not locked in a cage, if only to release some tension. But I know him, and I trust him. The Princess is poison. Unhappy people like to make other people unhappy.
“Methi would never do that to me.”
He’s trying to find a way to get us off this planet, and I won’t let her turn me against him.
She snorts. “If that is what you choose to believe.”
We both watch as Methi speaks to a Lahmu female. He is mostly ignored by the King now, and the courtiers have gotten used to him coming and going. The males give him a wide berth, while the females discuss his attributes loudly, wondering what he would be like in bed.
The female bats her lashes at him and I snort. Methi looks exactly like what he is— a large predator playing nice only because he has to. A tiger who may eat from your hand if he’s starving, but will rip your face off the moment he has a chance.
Unfortunately, the Princess knows just where to strike. Methi and I have only been able to have a few minutes of time together, and I’m longing for him with my every breath. It’s torture watching him talk to another woman, even though I know he’s just trying to convince these people to help us leave.
A little part of me still wonders if he’ll get tired and seek comfort elsewhere. Maybe he’ll fall in love and leave me to rot in this cage.
Methi would never do that. Don’t let her get to you.
I glower at the Princess. “Why don’t you leave?” I ask her. “Surely you could get out of here if you wanted to.”
She casts me a look of such scorn that if I were a lesser woman, I’d shrivel.
“Why would I want to do that? Leave a planet where I will one day rule?”
“Maybe you’d be happy.”
She laughs bitterly. “As leaving your planet has made you happy?”
“It did until we landed here,” I mutter.
“You are young. Tell me child, how many years have you been in existence?”
“Seventeen,” I mutter.
Her mouth falls open. “You are little more than an infant. What do you know about life?”
“I know that it’s not who you are when life is good, that matters,” I say, getting to my feet, even as I hunch my shoulders. “It’s who you become in your darkest moments. There are bullies throughout the universe. And everyone knows that bullies are just hiding their own pain and hoping others feel it instead.”
The next day I am moved to a new cage. One with no slice of sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Meghan
Five Months Later…
I spend my eighteenth birthday in a cage.
I’ve counted days since I got here. You know how long it’s been since I saw the sun? Since I felt a cool breeze on my face? Two hundred and six.
Two hundred and six days.
It’s a rough day. Even if I was in my old cage, the one with my slice of sky, I don’t think it would be any easier.
Maybe it would be worse if I could see that slice of sky. Maybe the Princess did me a favor by taking it away, so I wasn’t continually looking at something I could never have.
I snort. Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what she was going for.
Six months of life wasted. No adventures. No new friendships. No sunrises or sunsets. No fresh air. No belly laughs, hugs, or the feel of clean sheets against my skin.
I try not to let my thoughts stray to my mom, who probably thinks I’m dead.
I’m bitter. Six months of my life stolen from by a vicious, cruel King with a bone to pick with Varian.
Is this my life from now on? Will I be in this cage for the rest of my life? Maybe I should try to get used to the iron bars of my cell, shiny in places where other hands have gripped them over the centuries.
I can’t do it.
For the first time, I’m coming perilously close to breaking. Spend enough time in a cage, and you begin to feel like the animal they want you to be.
Often, I contemplate time. The collection of it, the use of it, and the wastage of it. In particularly bad moments, I think about all the things I could have done over the past six months.
I try not to have too many bad moments. The fury hurts like an ulcer.
Sometimes, the most difficult fights are the ones you have internally. Every day, we fight against the voice in our head that wants to convince us that life is too hard, we’re too weak, and it’s better to just give up.
But even in my darkest moments, when I’m convinced that it’ll never get better, when I’m sure I’ll die from sorrow, or worse, grow old in this cage, I keep going. The tiny spark of hope, the will to live refuses to let me roll over and give up.
Because it’s not just my life. If I give up, Methi loses his mate. We lose any chance to finally be together. To live the life we’re supposed to live. And then all these creatures, who lock people up in cages just to watch them fade away… they win.
And then one day, everything changes.
Methi
I have scoured this planet looking for fuel. I have traveled for months at a time, each time returning to a mate who seems more and more distant. The last time, her face was blank, and she gazed at me with almost no recognition until I managed to get close enough to touch her.
Even then, her eyes were shuttered, as if her hope has been extinguished and she is resigned to living in hell.
We have both changed. I am not the male I once was, now that fury has eaten away at me, every moment of every day that my mate is caged. I wonder how she can look at me after my failure to secure her freedom.
After she lost her view of the sky, it was as if something died inside her. The Meghan I once knew, the one with the quick smile and flashing eyes is gone. I do not know if she will ever return.
I’m watching as she returns from her trip to the bathroom. She has been allowed to bathe today, and her hair is a wet rope down her back. Her c
lothes are simple— the same grey shirt, pants, and cloak that all beings in the King’s ’collection’ are forced to wear.
The Princess approaches her, likely to hiss some poison in her ear.
And then it happens. A courtier, one who likely has been tormented for decades, rushes toward the Princess, a dagger in her hand.
The Princess turns, eyes widening in shock, likely realizing that her guards are too far, too complacent.
Satisfaction fills me. I hope her last moments are agonizing.
But then Meghan is there, pushing the Princess out of the way, and the dagger slides smoothly into her chest instead.
I roar, feeling the dagger slice between my own ribs as Meghan falls to the ground. Creatures scatter as my claws extend and I slice anyone unfortunate enough to be in my way as I stalk toward my mate.
I kill three guards in the blink of an eye, and then slice the attacker’s throat open, blood spurting into the air. Creatures flee to the corners of the room, watching me warily as I drop to my knees. I howl as I pull Meghan into my arms and a river of blood soaks my clothes.
Someone is pulling at me, and I lash out.
“Arcav,” the Princess says between gritted teeth. “Let the healer work!”
I snarl. No one will touch my mate. These creatures are responsible for the lifeblood that soaks the stone beneath us.
“Do you want her to die?”
Meghan’s eyes flutter open, meeting mine. They’re dark with pain, and yet I see a touch of humor in their depths.
“The things I have to do… to get your hands on me,” she smiles and I snarl in response.
“You will stay with me.”
The world is coming back into focus, the princess’s voice a shrill demand.
Meghan’s eyes close. “Can’t I even die without her ruining the moment?”
The Princess drops to her knees, and I bare my teeth.
“Come any closer and I will end you.”
She ignores me and directs her attention to Meghan.
“You wish to live, child? Tell your oversized male to let the healer close.”
My head jolts up, her words finally becoming clear.
My eyes find the healer, clutching at his chest where I must have lashed out with my claws, even as someone pulled him out of the way.
“Approach,” I order, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Do it,” the Princess says, and he bows his head, warily moving toward us.
“Fix her.”
Meghan’s eyes are still closed, her breath a shallow pant. I am consumed by terror, convinced each breath will be her last.
The healer orders someone to bring him some herbs, and the King approaches.
“If she dies, I will kill all of you,” I vow, and the King pales slightly, even as his eyes narrow.
“What is to stop me from killing both of you now?” He asks, gesturing to where I kneel, surrounded by guards.
The Princess looks up, narrowing her eyes. “The human saved my life,” she says, her voice carrying over the silent room, and her meaning is clear.
If the King is to kill us both now, what little honor he has will be nothing but a memory.
He glares at her in return but waves a hand for the healer to continue.
“You need to put her down,” the healer says, and I ignore him, trembling as I nuzzle closer, burying my face in her neck.
“Arcav.”
I reluctantly comply, a growl tearing free of my chest as Meghan groans weakly.
“We have a matter of moments to control the bleeding once the dagger is removed,” the healer says. “It did not penetrate her heart or she would already be dead, but depending on where human lungs are located, one or both of them may be punctured.”
I shake with rage. If my mate was on Arcavia right now, our expert healers would not have to wonder where her lungs are.
Of course she would never have been stabbed in the first place.
“If she dies, you die,” I say, and he simply nods, likely used to such threats from the creatures here.
Meghan and I have not had the chance to finish our mating and complete the bond. But I reach for it anyway, searching for the wildfire that has always represented my mate. I find the faintest spark, flickering weakly at the edge of my consciousness. And I surround it with hope and love. I whisper to her of the life we will have together. Of the children I would be honored to raise with her, perhaps with her eyes or her quick smile. Maybe with my eyes and her courage.
“Just hold on,” I whisper in her ear as the healer begins to mutter, gathering the herbs he apparently needs. This so-called healing process is barbaric, but it is all I have, so I will her to live.
“You cannot leave me,” I tell her. “Where you go, I go, remember?”
“It’s time,” the healer says, casting me a wary look, even as sweat forms on his brow. The Princess examines the mating bands, stark against the pale white of Meghan’s skin. She has not seen the sun in more than half of one of her human years, and the golden glow she once had has disappeared.
One more reason to slaughter them all.
I grind my teeth until my jaw aches, holding onto control with the barest tip of my claws. I cannot kill these vipers until Meghan is healed.
The healer leans over, handing me a bunch of sweet-smelling herbs.
“When I pull out the dagger, you must push these inside.”
Everything in me rebels at this. “You will introduce infection,” I snarl and he shakes his head.
“We have been using this method for thousands of years. Trust us, or she dies.”
“I will never trust you.”
“Then she will die.”
I snarl, but the healer simply raises a brow.
The Princess tuts. “You have no choice, Arcav.”
She is right. I clutch at the herbs and lean over Meghan. Her breaths are becoming shallower, her stomach rising even as her chest barely moves. She is turning a light blue, and I know instinctively that she is running out of oxygen.
I nuzzle her cheek, wishing I could take this pain from her.
“Do it.”
Blood gushes as the healer pulls the dagger free and I quake under the effort to keep control as I push the herbs into the wound, even as every instinct I have tells me that it will kill her. The healer begins to chant and his voice is joined by those surrounding us. The hair on the back of my neck rises as a strange electricity fills the air. My mate’s blood is wet between my fingers as I push against the wound in a bid to stop the bleeding.
A strange hum sounds and I curl even closer, covering Meghan’s body with mine. The blue is slowly leaving her skin, but I am focused on her shallow pants, willing her to breathe deeply.
Bandages are brought forward, and the healer gestures for me to move my hands away from the wound. I hesitate but finally remove them, relieved to see that the bleeding has slowed. However, there is no way to see what is happening inside her body, and no scans to reveal internal bleeding.
The healer nods, seemingly satisfied, and rips my mate’s shirt open further, revealing pale skin and the wound, surprisingly small for the amount of blood staining her clothes. I watch intently as the healer covers the wound, planning to replicate it myself as soon as I take my mate from this planet.
They will all pay for this.
Meghan
An elephant is sitting on my chest.
I take a deep breath, hoping to dislodge the elephant, and I realize it has claws, and they’re dug into my skin, piercing something deep inside.
“Ow,”
“Meghan?”
I tense, certain I’m dreaming as I feel Methi’s arm’s around me. I’m so starved of physical contact, but especially contact from him, that I figure I’ll stay in this dream for as long as I can, even if the elephant is trying to kill me.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers. “Please, just once. For me. Open your eyes, my love.”
I frown. He sounds grief-stricken. Th
ere’s a level of desperation in his voice that I’ve never heard before, even during the brief moments that he was able to visit me.
My eyes are the heaviest they’ve ever been, but I force them open and meet Methi’s violet eyes. His pupils are blown, his gaze almost frantic as his eyes track over my face. Someone comes closer, and he pulls me even closer, rocking against me, even as he growls a clear warning.
“Leave.”
“You must allow the healer to check her.”
“Do not think to tell me what is best for my mate.”
“Think. If she is not properly healed, she could still succumb.”
Methi slowly raises his head, and I blink up at him. It’s all coming back. The courtier with the knife. Me, pushing the Princess aside. I hadn’t realized Methi was back, but he obviously watched the whole thing. I wince. No wonder he’s finding life difficult right now.
“Do not pretend to care about her health. Your people did this.”
Methi sounds more bitter than I’ve ever heard him, and somewhere deep inside, I’m mourning the man that he was back in Arcavia. The rest of me, however, feels as if the world is now devoid of color. I’m obviously no longer in my cage, but I can’t even celebrate. I’ll probably be locked back away within the next hour.
The Queen appears. I hadn’t realized she was the one speaking, and she raises her eyebrow as I peer up at her.
“Thank you for your actions today,” she says. “It was very brave of you.”
“Please,” I say as Methi begins to growl again at the reminder, “don’t mention it.”
She nods, and one of the healers steps forward. I raise my own eyebrow. This is the Princess’s personal healer. Why would he have anything to do with me?
The healer gives Methi a wary look and then kneels down. He does something that makes me suck in a breath, fire shooting through my chest, but I resist the urge to look down and see the damage.
Methi snarls, and I reach up, ignoring the pain that hits me like an earthquake. I cup his cheek and he leans into my hand, pressing his lips to the center of my palm.
