Page 73 of Royal Captive
“You want some next?” I snarled to the two holding Ellis’s hands behind his back, whipping around so quickly the braid in my hair smacked painfully against my shoulder.
They gave each other indignant looks, stepping forward to take me on next. One man with dirty blond hair saw the wound on my neck and froze, grabbing onto his partner’s arm and hissing in his ear to stop. He tugged his buddy away, leaving the ringleader on the ground, coughing his balls up.
I was so busy basking in my victory that I didn’t see the fae with golden skin sneak up behind me. “You little whore. Think you’re so high and mighty? You can’t fight all of us. Show us your dance from the pleasure house!”
Hands descended around me as the crowd moved in, and once again I was back at the pleasure house before Shyllon had intervened, alone and at the mercy of the drunk crowd.
A frightened whimper left my throat as I was unable to act, transported back to the same feeling of helplessness.
There was a roar of fury and hot wind blasted over my head, scorching the few stray hairs sticking up. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, along with horrific screaming. Four figures were down, so burned and charred, I couldn’t tell if they were human or fae.
“Ellis!” I rushed to his side as he’d fallen to one knee, his handcuffs bright red like liquid fire. My hand reached forward toward him.
“Don’t!”
An unseen force snatched my hand out of the air and threw it backward, the unexpected magick screwing up my balance as I toppled over. Hayida marched toward us, pissed.
“They’ve been here less than an hour, and this shit is already old,” he grumbled darkly. “Everyone listen up!”
I swore every head in the yard turned toward him and absolute silence descended.
“You all see them, yeah?” Hayida challenged, baring his fangs. “You know what that means?”
Blank looks and stunned faces stared back at him.
“Well?” he grit out, an odd pressure in the air pressing down all around us.
“Yessir.”
“Yes’m.”
“Yes, Hayida.”
Grumbles from all the prisoners rang out, petulant but subservient.
“No more problems,” Hayida growled.
“No more problems,” they all chanted back, though Strumo’s glare was still mutinous.
A few prisoners inched forward toward the smoking bodies that were still breathing.
Hayida growled. “Leave them.”
They changed direction abruptly, as though helping the fallen had never once crossed their mind.
At Hayida’s rumbling and posturing, the entire yard cleared a wide berth around us.
Hayida held a hand out to Ellis, and I noted the hot cuffs had gone back to their previous black color.
“I hate throwing around my weight like that, but I have less patience for bullshit at my age,” he spat out.
I gave him a weak smile, and Ellis winced.
“Just be glad you came on a rest day. Tomorrow training starts anew,” Hayida remarked, tucking his pipe away somewhere in the tunic he wore.
“Training? For what?” Ellis asked, brows furrowed.
Hayida laughed, but it was a rough sound full of scorn and mockery. Memories of Peri filled my mind, and the horror stories she’d told us around the campfire about how they’d been trained in prison for the Royal Hunt. Ellis had been out for most of it, dealing with withdrawal symptoms, so he’d missed it.
