Page 20 of Twisted Kings

The house was quieter than normal when we emerged from the dungeon. The bright lights hurt my eyes after so long underground and they watered like crazy. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, telling me it was late afternoon.

There was no sign of my father, but servants scurried around carrying trays of food.

“What day is it?” I asked. Had I missed Christmas? Was that why the house seemed lacking in Christmas cheer? Not that Dad ever put much effort into hanging tinsel and mistletoe.

“Your wedding day.” I slammed to a halt, grabbing the wall for support. Torrance spun around and smirked again. “Excited?”

Ignoring the rising panic triggered by his question, I asked, “Where’s Verity?”

“In the attic, where she always is. If you behave, I’ll let you visit her.”

My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour. If Dad planned to drag me to the altar today, the wedding must be happening here, on the estate. No doubt he paid off the local priest to do the ceremony. Or gave him free drugs.

The last time I’d seen Father Raphael, he was off his head, snorting coke off his altar while enjoying a blowjob from a whore dressed as a nun. A devout man of the cloth, he was not.

Torrance took me upstairs to my old bedroom. Inside, three women waited, along with an assortment of boxes.

“Get cleaned up. The wedding is in two hours.”

“I want to see Verity.”

“You’ll see her at the wedding.”

“I want to see her now!”

Torrance lunged for me, shoving me against the wall, his fingers around my neck. Apparently, I didn’t smell that bad. Good to know.

“Do as you’re fucking told, Thea. I’d hate for anything to happen to Verity before the wedding.”

“You can’t hurt her!” I hissed.

“Really? I can do whatever the fuck I want. Marku doesn’t give a shit about your sister. She’s the cherry on the cake. It’s you he wants, so if an unfortunate accident should befall dear, sweet Verity, nobody but you will care.” He stepped back and pulled a face.

“You stink worse than pig shit.”

“Thanks for the feedback. I'll file it under ‘Things I couldn't care less about.’”

The three women stared at the floor, pretending not to hear our exchange. After a few moments where Torrance looked like he wanted to strangle me some more, he stormed off, locking the door behind him.

“What day is it?” I asked the nearest woman.

She looked at her two friends and then at me, her brow scrunched with confusion. “Your wedding day?”

“No, I mean, what actual day is it?”

“Um, Friday?”

The ball was last Saturday, so it had been a week since Torrance threw me in the dungeon. My shoulders sank. Nobody cared enough to come looking for me, it seemed. Not that I wanted them to. It would be a suicide mission.

There was an awkward pause. No doubt they were wondering what the fuck they’d walked into, probably more used to excited brides full of pep about their special day. I was an anomaly. A reluctant bride being forced into a transactional marriage with a disgusting pig of a man,

I’d met Konstantin Marku once. Needless to say, he wasn’t my dream husband. I doubted he was any woman’s dream husband with his pinched little eyes, enormous gut, and significant personality defects.

“Yes, I stink. No need to tell me.”

“Um, if you get showered, then we can start with your hair,” the smaller of the three said, wearing a cautious smile. My stomach growled, and I wobbled, feeling faint from hunger. The last sandwich drop had barely filled the hole in my stomach.

“I need food,” I told the women.

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