Page 19 of Dark Fate

The guard, oblivious to the exchange, departs after delivering terse warnings.

Once the room is empty, Lucian lets his sardonic amusement ripple through the air. "Whoa—what's this? Holding auditions for a fan club? And look at her go, she's got nerve. Not every day you see someone give the queen the finger—takes guts... or a death wish."

I pace, thoughts spinning as I analyze the servant's cryptic hints. What answers does she believe reside in the library? Lore that could help remove these collars? It seems too much to hope for, yet hope refuses to be defeated. Not when freedom feels closer than it has.

I reply to Lucian absently, "What the hell are we supposed to find? If that wasn't vague as shit, I don't know what is."

"Let's wager it's a damn book, dumbass,"Lucian's voice rolls out laced with irritable wit. "I'm so fucking tired of this godforsaken pit and her demented little torture fetishes."

I scowl toward the wall separating us. "No shit, it's probably a book. But what book, smartass? That's the question. Now shut the fuck up and let me think."

Lucianlets out a chuckle tinged with mock reverence. "Oh, forgive me, oh enlightened one. Go ahead, find your Zen or whatever. I'll just be here, holding my fucking breath for that pearl of wisdom to drop." The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Keep it up, and I'll beat that breath out of you once we're free," I shoot back, making him laugh more.

"The service here is appalling," he continues loudly. "Free room and board, but they cram us in fetid rooms and feed us cold blood. And the activities—being forced to watch Fae porn is not my idea of a holiday!"

I can envision his exaggerated eye roll and gestures. Leave it to Lucian to find dark humor even now.

Lucian's voice crackles with sarcasm, "I'm considering dropping a scathing Yelp review. 'To whom it may concern: Rooms are filthy, staff is sadistic, and cuisine is abysmal. Barely merits a star—would rather stake myself than recommend.'"

Even when everything's gone to hell, Lucian's got a way of painting the air blue with his rants that can't help but yank a chuckle out of me. His wiseass comments are like a life preserver in an ocean of crap—keeping my spirits from sinking.

The door crashes open, and the guard lumbers in. "Turn around, hands behind your back," he barks. "The queen demands your presence."

Of course, when I thought her Twisted Majesty might forget about me for a spell. Wishful thinking.

With that cold steel kissing my neck, options aren't sprouting wings. I do the only thing I can: spin around and clasp my hands.

The second those silver manacles click shut, I can feel them sucking the juice out of me. Every muscle itching to ram my head into the guard's mug, but I gnash my teeth and lock it down.

Now's not the time. Gotta play the long game.

Lucian calls out sarcastically, "Do I get to join in the fun too?"

"Shut your mouth, slave scum," the guard bellows.

"Well, now, I'm almost convinced you find me endearing. And here I was, starting to think we had a moment." Lucian fires back with sass.

His fearlessness in provoking our jailers never ceases to impress me—great courage or foolishness.

The glowering guard shoves me toward the open door. "Get moving, bloodsucker."

I imagine all the ways I will make this lout suffer once free of these bonds. The vivid fantasies bring a small smile as I march.

Standing before the massive doors to her chambers, the guard knocks, signaling I'm here. The King's deep voice grumbles out an "Enter."

I hesitate, thrown off. What's got the King sharing air with the queen when he usually can't stand her? Their cold war's the stuff of legends. His showing up could be a break in the clouds or a storm brewing.

The doors push open, and I stride in. This place is dripping with luxury, all to show off royal bullshit. Black silks and tapestries hang everywhere. Glowing crystals and fae lights make the place glow—the furniture's fancy, carved from woods you can't name. The ground's an artwork of river stones, and rugs break up the glitz. Windows curve around, showing off the eerie woods and peaks.

But none of that prepped me for the cozy picture of Alinar and his lady, lounging like they're on a honeymoon, him feeding her grapes, both knocking back wine. They're acting like they've just made up big time—a bad feeling knots in my stomach.

The queen's hungry gaze settles on me, appraising. "Uncuff him," she demands. "Do come in, pet. I've missed your company terribly."

Her playacting turns my stomach. I rub my wrists and move carefully closer, raising my head defiantly. "What do you want?"

Amara lounges upon her chaise, watching me with violet eyes that reflect no warmth. Her night-black hair cascades over her pale skin, contrasting with her blood-red gown. Pointed ears mark her fae heritage.

---