Page 397 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 9

The sound of screaming sent daggers through Boris's head. By all that was holy, why had he drunk so much? And why in heaven's name must they scream so?

"Enough, woman," he grumbled.

But the screams only grew louder. He fancied he could hear his name amid the wordless shrieks.

Boris forced his eyes open, and felt as if the light were stabbing them, too. The light of a single torch lit the stone room, but it was enough to see a pair writhing on the floor together.

"Go bed the girl in your own chamber," Boris grumbled, lifting his hand to shade his eyes.

Or at least he tried to, but he couldn't seem to reach. His hand stopped short, and he squinted to see why. A manacle encased his wrist, fastened to a chain that he assumed was fixed to the wall behind him. His other hand bore a metal cuff, too, and equally heavy chains.

"Boris! Help me!"

Boris blinked. Vica? Some other man was bedding Vica? He roared and tried to reach them, but his chain was too short.

His struggles attracted the man's attention, though, so he left Vica alone to stride over to Boris. The stranger wore the livery of the castle guards, though he was no one Boris knew.

Boris's eyes darted to Vica. Blood stained the front of her slashed gown, and tears streaked her cheeks, which already darkened with a blooming bruise no doubt inflicted by the villainous guard advancing on him.

"I will have you executed for daring to touch the Princess of Rostov," Boris declared, glaring at the man.

"Me and the princess are busy," the man declared, throwing a punch at Boris.

Between the mother of all hangovers and his chains, Boris was too slow to dodge the blow. Instead, the man sent him reeling against the wall, and the impact sent him back into the darkness, followed by the sound of Vica's screams.

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