Page 148 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

How very… predictable.

Beside the elf stood the source of the feminine voice Brynleigh had heard earlier. The woman had long strawberry-blonde hair and glowing blue eyes. She stared at Brynleigh with malice, and it was clear she would not be of any help.

This was fucking bad.

The first guard canted his head. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Honestly? No. Jelisette would never bring Brynleigh to a place like this. She would’ve killed her—painfully and slowly—before leaving her to rot. This wasn’t her. Brynleigh was confident about that. Her Maker wasn’t behind this imprisonment, but she had betrayed her and left her to die.

Brynleigh didn’t say that, though. She stared at the inquisitor, unblinking. She might not have known there were still dungeons in the Republic of Balance, but she’d been trained in dealing with interrogations. After all, there had always been a chance her plan for revenge might end up with her in jail.

She’d assumed—wrongly, obviously—that they would put her in a more civilized prison with tables and water and lawyers. She’d also assumed that Jelisette would promptly get her out of prison.

Evidently, she had been wrong on many fronts.

Betrayal was tart at the back of Brynleigh’s mouth.

Her body surged with a primal need to destroy, yet she couldn’t.

She was trapped. Vulnerable. Exposed.

And…

Alone.

The sting of loneliness had never been as strong as it was at that moment.

Even though nothing was civilized about this prison, Brynleigh knew what she had to do. She would have to unpack her betrayal later.

Right now, she needed to concentrate on surviving. She closed her mouth and glared at the menacing trio. She could do this.

Seconds stretched into minutes as they waited for her to say something.

She wouldn’t be talking. She might have been betrayed and left alone, but she was strong. She’d survived her family’s death, and she would survive this. Somehow. Or not. Without Ryker, it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

Eventually, the woman snickered. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you, Victor.”

The guard who’d slapped the manacles on her—Victor—tilted his head. “No, it seems she doesn’t.” He tsked. “Shame. I thought we might be able to do this the easy way.”

This was easy? Brynleigh didn’t want to know what the hard way was.

“Did you?” the Death Elf drawled. “Because Emilia and I both know how much you love it when the prisoners aren’t talkative.”

Emilia snorted. “You mean he loves to torture them, Preston.”

Brynleigh’s heart stilled. Torture.

Oh gods.

Damn Jelisette and Zanri for abandoning her. Their betrayal had hurt before, but now it was like a knife to her heart. She could barely breathe, barely think. Fear caused her blood to run cold. Her nails curled into the armrest.

Brynleigh had done everything Jelisette ever asked—save for killing Ryker—and this was how her Maker repaid her. She abandoned her and left her alone to be fucking tortured. Brynleigh’s eyes burned, and tears tried to force their way out of her.

This wasn’t fair. None of it. Had she been such a lousy progeny that this was how she was repaid?

Ignorant of Brynleigh’s mental turmoil, Preston laughed. “Yes, well, it’s semantics, really. One person’s torture is another’s?—”

“Enough!” Victor snapped.

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