Page 70 of Her Tortured Beasts

Her eyes sparkle.

“But it looks kinda fun,” Emmerson says, getting on his hands and knees to peer inside. “Maybe we can do a sleepover?”

“No,” I say quickly. “This is not for kids.”

“Then who’s it for?”

I glance at Selena. “How did you guys get in here?”

A rare smile twitches at her lips. “A little loophole in Xander’s magic. He never wants harm to come to the kids, so his magic will let them in anywhere he’s locked.”

“Uncle Xander loves us,” Delilah nods.

“Heaps,” Emmerson says, raising a finger and touching the lock of the cage. Silently, and without protest, the door opens on its hinge. He reaches in and strokes Eugene, clucking softly under his breath.

“Let’s find some clothes, shall we?” Selena says.

I stare at the open door, at the children, at Selena. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Xander and Father will be at a long meeting this morning,” Selena says, and her voice is curiously sad. “We have at least three hours’ free time.”

“Free time!” The hatchlings cheer, fists in the air.

Eugene squawks with excitement, wiggling free of my vise-like hold and running out of the cage.

Selena, seemingly able to see the hidden doors in the room, finds the tiny cupboard that houses my two dresses and hands one to me. Delilah insists on helping me get dressed, tugging the hem of my dress in place and pulling my sleeves down for me. Emerson insists on brushing my hair and I sit through the ordeal, hiding my grimaces.

When Delilah starts looking for my leash, Selena gently explains that people don’t wear leashes.

“Then why does Uncle Xander lead her on a leash every day?” Delilah puts her hands on her hips.

“Uncle Xander is wrong to do that,” Selena says calmly, “But we’ll talk about it later. Let’s go see Grandmother. No doubt she’s waiting for us.”

Eugene and I are ushered out the door, fully ashamed to admit that it feels very much abnormal without my leash.

Have I gotten used to it so quickly?

Rubbing at my neck, I follow the scampering hatchlings down to the main hall and through to a part of the castle I’ve never been in before. The sounds of clanking, water running, and porcelain scraping on wood tell me what it is before we round the corner.

Lady Drakos sits on a stool at the long wooden kitchen bench, cutting up walnuts on a chopping board with a small paring knife.

When she sees us, she beams—as best as she can—and holds her arms out. The hatchlings run towards her for hugs before she casts her eye at us adults. “It’ll be a fig and walnut cake thismorning,” she says in that hushed, weak voice. “And a cheese and bacon loaf.”

My mouth immediately starts watering. They’ve not been starving me, exactly, but the food has been simple and unseasoned. Prison-fare.

“That sounds lovely, Mother,” Selena says, immediately heading to the ingredients piled onto the table.

I step forwards tentatively. “Are the chefs not in today?”

“We like to cook once a month,” Lady Drakos says. “It’s more satisfying to eat something you’ve prepared together.”

The backs of my eyes burn.

“Come,” Selena says, beckoning to the children. “Wash your hands and let’s measure out this flour.”

It takes a moment to realise that she’s also beckoning to me. As Lady Drakos continues to chop the walnuts, I head over to the other side of the kitchen and wash my hands too. The kids put on frilled tartan aprons with little dragons embroidered on them. They look hand sewn with love and well-worn, and I wonder how long it took Lady Drakos to make them.

Emmerson reaches into a drawer and whips out a neatly folded stack of white clothes. He unfolds one and plonks the material on his head, grinning at me.

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