Page 91 of Tortured Royals

“Now, that’s a trophy room,” Nate muses as his brows rise. “Looks like we had you all wrong, gorgeous. It’s not heads or fingers that you wanted, it was horns.”

I shoot an unimpressed look his way. “Don’t get any ideas. These aren’t trophies, they’re…” My words trail off as I realize why I felt unsettled the moment we entered the vault.

“They’re what, my mate?” Mason prompts.

Alaric has Dad’s other arm again, and I let go of the king, my wings snapping out as I launch into the air, looking at one case with horns and then another. I press my hands to the glass, cursing.

“What’s wrong?” Prince Callan asks, flying up beside me before following me to the floor.

Dad’s gaze meets mine, and it’s obvious he’s picked up on the same thing I have.

“A demon’s power is stored in their horns.” I gesture to my hornless head. “Except me, I guess. In any case, after the witches started robbing our graves and killing our kind to get the power from our horns all those years ago, a new law was made. When a demon died a true death, their horns were to be brought to the castle and stored here to decrease the chances that a witch or any other being could easily gain access to that power.”

Nate’s brow furrows. “Makes sense.”

“Yes,” I say, peering around at the glass cases that stretch high into the air. “Except normally even when they’re encased, the horns usually give off a buzzing energy. Now there’s…”

“Nothing,” King Dalton finishes for me.

“You think the witches have found a way to take the power already?” Alaric says, his gray eyes hard.

“Or something else has,” I reply grimly. My gaze goes to the black door on the other end of the room, and I pull out my sword. Following my lead, my mates do the same.

Dad stares at the black door, his eyes distant and haunted. No, not just haunted. He looks…scared. For my entire life, Dad has been a consistent pillar of strength, and to see that look in his eyes sends a chill skittering down my spine.Never show weakness.It’s the first rule Dad ever taught me. A mantra I’ve told myself countless times. A saying that became my whole personality. My whole damn life, really. And now…everything feels as though it’s unraveling.

“We need to know what’s in there,” I tell him softly, my hand resting on Dad’s broad shoulder. “Otherwise, we’ll be going in blind.”

The king’s chest falls as he exhales a long, resigned breath. He mirrors my gesture, placing his hand on my other shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

The room grows deathly silent, though my mates watch us carefully.

Dad turns his attention back to the door. “I always knew this moment would come, daughter, but I had hoped it would be under different circumstances. Even when the witches attacked, I had hoped we could defeat them before we faced this together. But it seems they’re stronger than I anticipated, and this will all play out differently.”

He moves from me and Alaric, and steps toward the black door. The moment he’s within reach, a red laser light scans his face, and he whispers something under his breath. Two beeps sound, and a bland feminine voice comes from the panel beside the door. “Access granted.” There’s a popping sound, and a rush of stale air reaches us as the door unlocks and slides open.

My mates and I follow Dad as he walks into the room, and I assess the simple dome space we’re standing in. An empty cushioned royal bed is positioned in the center of the room, and golden runes have been painted everywhere. The symbols repeat over and over, on the walls and on the floor, and some of the runes are smeared with blood.

“Witch runes,” Alaric growls under his breath.

The temperature is a few degrees colder than in the main vault area, and I feel the tension emanating from my mates.

“Serafine? You’re awake?” Dad lets out a surprised, choked whisper, and I snap my head up as the sound of that name crackles through me, familiarity making my head spin.Serafine. Serafine.I struggle to place it.

And then I see her. I inhale sharply.

Across the room, a female stands preternaturally still as she faces the wall. A long gossamer white gown hangs from her thin form, and her black hair is so long it trails to the floor.It wasn’t some beast or another kind of sentient being.

At the sound of Dad’s voice, she turns to face us, and my heart catches in my throat.Sera. Serafine.Dad rarely used her name, always calling her ‘his love,’ but a faint memory from when I was five surfaces to the forefront of my mind.

“Mom?” The whispered word is a foreign, strangled, surprised noise as it leaves my mouth. The female’s black eyes flick to me, and I take in the curves of her face. A face that looks so similar to my own. Black runes cover her body, like tattoos carved into her skin, matching the symbols on the walls.

“How?” Dad says, and his voice cracks, sadness embedded into the word.

The female jerks her head to the side, the movement unnatural, and her gaze remains locked on me. “She woke us,” the female says, and when she speaks, it’s as if a thousand voices are talking at once. “She called to us.”

I take a small step back. “What?”

“When you were with the deceiver,” those voices answer, the word ‘deceiver’ echoing back at me.

---