Page 136 of Mistress of Lies

“She was the top of her class at the Academy, and she has proved her loyalty a hundred times over. So please let me present to you, Lady Shan LeClaire, Royal Blood Worker.”

The crowd erupted, and Shan did the only thing she could.

She curtsied to all of Dameral, accepting the new chains that bound her.

Epilogue

Isaac

Isaac was used to the sound of his Guards’ heartbeats.

After months of imprisonment, he had gotten used to the individual rhythms of the Guards that rotated in front of his cell. He did not know their names, their passions, their wants or their dreams, but he knew the steady beat of the woman who watched over his cell at night and the slight arrhythmia of the man who watched over him now. The gentle pitter-patter that had worsened, slightly, over the past weeks, a dangerous clock that ticked away in his chest, hardly noticeable. One that Isaac could have warned him about, if he cared to.

But he didn’t care.

What use was caring at this point?

Everything that he worked so hard for, all the atrocities that he had committed in the Eternal King’s name, and all the atrocities he had done to try to atone for it, all of it had been ruined by one simple mistake.

Trusting the wrong man with his heart.

He heard the new heartbeat before he heard the footsteps, before he felt the first of protective wards, wards of the King’s own making, shudder and split. It wasn’t the King—he would have sensed that, the overwhelming power of his presence almost enough to choke him. Logic sparked in the back of his mind—there was only one person who could even cross that line without the aid of one of the Guard’s tools—but he already knew. He would recognize that heartbeat anywhere.

His own downfall, come to visit him at last.

He sat up straighter in his chains, pulling against the manacles that held his hands apart, pressed against the edge of the chair he had been chained to for his disobedience. He dug his teeth into the bit that had been fitted into his mouth, the muzzle that held him fast, wishing he could steal even a mouthful of his own blood.

When he had first been imprisoned, he had tried just that. The beating the Guard had given him hadn’t even been the worst of it; no, that had been what happened after. When the King had come down to speak to him personally, the one time he had been graced with his royal presence since this imprisonment began. When he was told that if he wouldn’t behave like the man he was supposed to be, he would be treated like the rabid dog he was.

He didn’t think he could sink any lower, but he had been wrong.

So very wrong.

Samuel rounded the corner, looking even more handsome than Isaac remembered him. Isaac couldn’t help but compare them—he knew what he looked like, how thin and emaciated he had become. He knew that his hair had grown long, an unimpressive shag of curls, and his beard was patchy and rough from the careless way an uninterested valet handled him on those blessed days when he was freed long enough to bathe and receive his treatments under the careful eye of an entire squad of Guards.

He was a ruin of what he was once, but Samuel was perfect, his skin glowing with health and vitality, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck, hanging over his shoulder in a luscious fall of sunshine. His suit was impeccable, though he wore a higher collar than fashion called for, and pristine white gloves on his hands.

So the scars Isaac left hadn’t faded, then. He did feel somewhat bad about that.

But still, there was something different about Samuel. Something colder. They hadn’t seen each other since that ill-fated morning, but that sweet and awkward man he had fallen for was gone, and in his place stood the very thing Samuel had feared the most. A Blood Worker.

An heir the Eternal King could be proud of.

“Lord Aberforth,” the Guard said, snapping to attention before dropping into a bow.

Samuel barely even looked at him, his eyes only on Isaac, cool and assessing. He held out his hand. “Keys, please. Then leave us.” The Guard hesitated, then Samuel turned his head. So cold. So regal. “Now.”

“As you say.” The Guard stepped forward, pulling the keys looped on his belt and handing them over before turning sharply on his heel. There was something strange about the way he acquiesced so easily, but no—

That couldn’t be.

He didn’t have long to contemplate it, for the second the Guard was gone Samuel was slipping the key into the lock, opening the door to the cell and stepping through. He hesitated for a moment in front of Isaac, hands flexing in the air, then he reached forward, soft fingers working the muzzle free.

Isaac gagged as it came loose, his mouth so damned dry, but Samuel was already moving to the pitcher of water in the corner, pouring a glass and returning to hold it to his lips. He was so much gentler than the Guards usually were; who cared not if more water ended up splashed against his shirt than down his throat.

Samuel let him drink slowly, carefully, brushing the tangle of Isaac’s hair away from his face. “They’re not treating you well.”

“No shit,” he wheezed, his voice harsh and drained, even to his own ears. “But you must have expected that.”

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