Page 60 of The Throne's Undoing

Dr. Thorne picked up a vial filled with a milky liquid that made bile rise in her throat. He turned to her, a wide grin splitting his wicked face.

Myra's back slammed into the wall as she stumbled. Her body shook as she pressed her hands harder against herstomach, and the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "What--what are you going to do to me?"

King Domitius chuckled, and the discordant sound sent goosebumps skittering across Myra's skin. "Oh, my dear. We are not doing anything toyou."

"Then why--" Myra swallowed, her gaze bouncing across the room from the man to the king.

The king lifted a brow as an amused grin spread across his face.

"Why am I here?" Myra whispered, unsure where the gumption to question the king came from. She knew better, yet the questions continued to spill from her tongue before she could stop them. "What do you want from me?"

Regret spun in her stomach, but Myra needed to know.

She needed to know why she was here and still alive. She could no longer avoid the reasoning, not when she was in this room.

King Domitius folded his hands behind his back. Not an ounce of rage dripped from the king, yet the sinister glint in his brown eyes was even more frightening. But perhaps she was used to it by now.

"You see, Myra, due to your failure, Kalisandre is no longer in my hands. She is somewhere gallivanting with the Pontians. Although, if all is going according to plan, the Pontians will only taste victory for so long. I suspect that they are already seeing the consequences of their audacity.

"Nevertheless, because of the current circumstances, we have had to change our plans. You will do whatever I say, or else it will be your brother who will pay the consequences for your failure. You do not want him to lose another limb, do you?"

Myra's eyes widened, her skin turning clammy.

"Are we clear?" he pressed.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Myra said, voice shaking with untamed terror.

Domitius turned around and nodded to the healer.

Dr. Thorne walked toward the ivory curtain covering one side of the room. When he pulled it back, the metal rings screeched as they slid down the rod, revealing a large metal table sitting behind it.

Myra struggled to hold back a gasp at the sight before her.

A man lay chained to the table, bound by tight restraints at the wrists, ankles, and torso.

Myra's gaze flicked to Dr. Thorne, who wheeled the table over. The wheels creaked with every turn over the cement floor, but the man atop the table did not move.

It only took Myra a moment to realize why. He was unconscious.

Still, even with the blanket of sleep over his face, the stranger's expression twisted with agony. His features were familiar, yet Myra could not place him, though she knew she had seen him before.

His brown skin was a sickly hue. He wore only a pair of trousers. Across his bare chest and arms, ghastly bruises and scars marked almost every inch of his body that was visible. The skin around his eye was thin, and the veins protruding from his arms were prominent. His short black curls were matted and frayed at the edges.

Myra pressed her palms against the cold wall behind her as if she could force her body to slip through it.

"I am no healer," Myra whispered. "I cannot heal him."

"Healhim?" King Domitius laughed. "Oh, no. We do not need you to heal him."

Myra's brows drew together. "But he's in pain. He's clearly suffered immense injuries."

She was speaking too much, but she didn't understand what he wanted from her. She could not help this man.

The king waved a dismissive hand in the air. "His injuries are a result of his own insolence. They will heal in time, but that is not why you are here."

"Then why am I here, Your Majesty?" Myra forced the last two words out of fear of angering the king.

The table on wheels ran into the makeshift bed. The man inhaled, jolting awake. Fear immediately poured from his body, a tsunami of alarm and trepidation rushing from him and falling onto the floor, soaking Myra's feet.

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