Page 11 of Twisted Kings

Me: What about? I need to sleep.

Milo: Thea.

I took one look at his message and swore softly before tossing the phone on my bed. Not a fucking chance. That bitch was dead to me.

5

Thea

The first thing I noticed was the cold. Had I passed out on my bed after the ball? From the way the boned bodice of my dress dug into my boobs, I hadn’t changed into my PJs.

I shivered. If this was my bed, and considering how hard and unforgiving it felt against my cheek and hip, I doubted it was, I must have left my window open.

My head throbbed, each inhale and exhale sending ripples of pain through my temples. When I attempted to move, my stomach lurched in protest.

Fog swirled inside my head as I lay still in a feeble attempt to avoid vomiting. The more my chaotic thoughts cleared, the sicker I felt.

The minute I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was. In one of my father’s cells. The place where I’d spent many unhappy days as a child.

The dungeon.

I closed my eyes again, and as soon as memories from before Torrance kidnapped me began to replay on a loop, I wished I hadn’t.

The look of betrayal on Cassian’s face as Dar played the audio clip. Landon’s horror and hurt. Kyril’s blank expression.

They hated me.

Hell, I’d hate me too if I were them.

But none of that mattered. My current predicament took precedence over their hurt feelings. I’d circle back to that when I was no longer locked up in the dungeon. This place was the pits. Literally.

Our family home had once been a military stronghold back in the 1700s, and although the main palazzo had been upgraded and extended numerous times over the years, the dungeons still retained their original cast-iron bars, heavy oak doors, and all-pervading atmosphere of despair.

Throwing me into the dungeon had always been my father’s preferred punishment. He knew I feared what I couldn’t see. Locking me in a dark cell with nothing but a bottle of water and a bucket was far more effective than anything else he could inflict.

I’d learned to withstand physical pain early on, thanks to Torrance’s vicious lessons, but psychological pain was a different animal. It was much harder to block out the monsters in my head.

Nothing kept those writhing, deranged creatures at bay when my father left me in here for days at a time. Thoughts of Verity were the only thing that saved me back then. I knew if I succumbed to mental collapse, she’d suffer at my father’s hands.

The only light in here came from a lone bulb by the stairwell. Whoever brought me down here while I was unconscious must have forgotten to switch it off on their way back upstairs.

Thank fuck. The faint yellow glow barely made a dent in the thick, oily shadows of the dungeon, but it helped keep the monsters at bay. In my head, the monsters circled me, red eyes crawling over my body, but if I focused on the light, I could ignore their clicking claws and slithering tails.

They weren’t real. The only monsters in this place were my father and his side-kick.

I dragged my body up from the floor and moved toward the metal bars. Some cells down here were nothing more than holes in the ground, with a thick door covering the entrance.

This cell was an upgrade compared to my usual accommodation. For one thing, it was quite spacious, and for another, it had bars rather than a door. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars for bars, not a door, so I could see the light.

If my father left me down here for a few days, which was possible given someone had left two bottles of water, then I’d need all the luck I could get.

There was no way of escaping this cell, but at least I stood a better chance of retaining my sanity.

Time had no meaning in the dungeon. It had been hours, days, maybe longer. For all I knew, Dad planned to abandon me down here. Leave me to die alone. It would definitely be on-brand for him.

I’d lost count of how often he’d locked me in the dungeon for some perceived mistake. The older I got, the less often it happened. Probably because being locked away was less of a threat when I knew he could do worse to me. Far worse.

On all but one occasion, it had been me and my nightmares sharing a cell. The memory of a disembodied voice talking to me as I huddled against the wall drew me back to a time when I still dreamed a prince would one day rescue me from the corrupt king who ruled over my small kingdom with malice and pain.

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