Captain Knox’s face paled, and he looked to Skylar, silently pleading for intervention. The guards shifted restlessly, hands tightening on their weapons. Even they, men accustomedto violence, seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of slaughtering unarmed servants.
Skylar felt the weight of their gazes, the expectation that she would be the voice of reason. It was a role she’d played countless times before, tempering Arye’s rage with cool logic. But a part of her, still raw and aching from the attack, wanted to let Arye’s fury run unchecked. To watch as he tore apart those who had dared to harm her.
She swallowed hard, pushing aside her own desire for vengeance. “Put them in a separate cell for now,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “We might need them later.”
Arye’s gaze snapped to her, storm-gray eyes boring into hers. She feared he might object, might see her intervention as a challenge to his authority. But then he gave a curt nod. “Do as the Duke says.”
Captain Knox sagged with relief, quickly motioning for his men to lead the servants away. Their soft whimpers and shuffling feet faded down the corridor, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake.
Arye stalked into the cell, looming over the fallen princess. Skylar followed, her heart pounding. It was small, the air thick with the stench of mold and sweat. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady rhythm that grated on Skylar’s nerves.
“You were trying to flee,” Arye said, his voice dangerously soft. “Packing when we found you. Guilty conscience, Princess?”
She struggled to her feet, chin raised defiantly despite her disheveled appearance. Her emerald gown was torn and stained, her auburn hair a tangled mess. But her eyes blazed with a haughty fire that made Skylar’s blood boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she spat. “This is an outrage! When my father hears of this?—”
“Your father?” Arye laughed, the sound devoid of any warmth. It echoed through the dungeon, making Skylar shiver.“Your father will be lucky if I don’t raze Thorncrest to the ground for this.”
“For what?” she demanded. “You have no proof of anything!”
“Don’t I?” Arye’s hand shot out, gripping her chin roughly. Princess Quince gasped, trying to pull away, but Arye held firm. “One of your men confessed before I gutted him like the pig he was.”
Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking through her haughty facade. “He… he was lying. I would never?—”
“I don’t play games of deceit,” Arye snarled, his face inches from hers. “You cross me, you cross Regalclaw. And believe me, Princess, you will pay dearly for that mistake. Your whole kingdom will.”
Skylar watched as Arye’s hand moved to Princess Quince’s throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. She clawed at his arm, panic blooming in her eyes. Part of Skylar reveled in the sight, a dark satisfaction curling in her gut at seeing her tormentor brought low.
But another part of her, the part that had led armies and protected the kingdom, knew this wasn’t the way. It pained her to admit it, but they needed the princess alive.
For now, at least.
Arye’s grip intensified, his strong grip slowly compressing the vulnerable windpipe beneath. Princess Quince’s eyes bulged, her face draining of color as her fingers desperately scratched at Arye’s arm. But to no avail. The moist squelching of his grasp reverberated through the confined space as he methodically increased the pressure, seemingly savoring this moment of power.
Skylar’s heart thudded violently as she witnessed the atrocity unfolding before her. It wasn’t the first time they had been forced to take such measures, but it was clearly the first time Arye didn’t do it just because he had to.
He wanted it.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something the Gryphon inside her relished.
Or was it herself? She didn’t know for sure.
The princess’s kicking and twitching gradually subsided, her struggles growing weaker with each passing second. Just when Skylar thought Arye might actually kill her, he released his grip. Princess Quince collapsed to the floor, coughing and gagging, clutching at her throat where a bruised and reddened collar was already forming.
“I’m not done yet.”
Arye waved a hand, and one of Captain Knox’s men stepped forward with a large, battered trunk. The guard’s face was impassive as he unlatched the buckles, but Skylar could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly. He threw open the lid, revealing a collection of instruments that made Skylar’s stomach turn.
Arye’s fingers trailed over the countless saws, blades, and other items with excruciating slowness, each movement deliberate and threatening. The princess’s terrified eyes darted around the cell, landing on Skylar with a beseeching gaze, pleading for help. Their gazes locked briefly, and Skylar felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Hatred for what this woman had done, satisfaction at seeing her brought low, but also a creeping unease at the brutality of it all.
The Gryphon stirred within her; it whispered dark promises of vengeance, of letting Arye extract payment for every bruise on her body, every second of fear, every insult, she’d experienced in that alley. Everything that happened and that could have happened.
But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
“Your Highness,” Skylar said softly, reaching out to touch Arye’s arm. He flinched at the contact, his eyes wild when they met hers. For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize the man before her. “This isn’t the way.”
To her dismay, he shrugged her off, his gaze once more focused on the trembling princess. “I will kill you,” he hissed. “Slowly. Painfully. Make you suffer more as you intended for the Duke to.”
The Captain shifted uncomfortably behind them, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. The tension was palpable, like a bowstring pulled too tight and ready to snap.