Page 37 of Wicked Prince of Carnage
Sterling dried herself off before dressing in a new tunic and trousers that had been left for her beside the tub. She opened the door to find Amalli waiting beside her cage.
“Good luck tonight,” the servant said, surprising Sterling as she climbed inside.
After Amalli handed Sterling a glass of water, she adjusted the pillow at her back and asked, “Does the prince treat all his prisoners like this?”
“Not even close. Seems you’re a rarity.” Amalli shrugged and shut the door.
“I hear the king is almost better,” Sterling said, taking a sip of water. “I didn’t even know he was here.”
“You better hope you never meet him.” Amalli’s tone turned serious. “He has a liking forallwomen. Scarred or not. Murderer or not.”
“Oh.” Sterling furrowed her brow. She hadn’t known he’d pleasured that many women. Like father, like son.
Amalli frowned, seeming to war with herself about something, when she finally spoke, “The prince is allowing your brother outside privileges. You may catch a glimpse of him in the garden.” Without another word, the servant left the room.
Sterling ate her meal and, twitching anxiously, stared out the window until she finally caught a glimpse of Cyan in the garden. She watched as he pointed to the soil, and she wagered that he was telling Amalli about the herbs that should be planted there. He looked healthy, still his scrawny figure, but not the bones and sagging skin as she’d imagined. His new clothing wasn’t ripped or torn either.
“I’ll win tonight,” she promised him even though he couldn’t hear her.
The door opened and the prince sauntered in, his collar torn, pink rouge staining his neck. He didn’t look in Sterling’s direction as he entered the bathing chamber.
“At least one of us could get off,” she muttered to herself.
Cyan had already returned inside the manor hours ago, and Sterling stared up at the ceiling. She didn’t read that often, but if she got through this next game, she would possibly ask for a book to pass the long days when she wasn’t dusting.
The bathing chamber door creaked open and the longer side of Winter’s damp hair hung near his chin, several strands stuck to his sculpted cheek. He walked past her, his skin bare, and a few drops of water kissed down his back and the curve of his buttocks.
She wouldn’t think about fucking now when she needed to focus on what was at stake.
The game.
Once Winter slipped on his fresh clothing, he unlocked her cage. “Follow me.”
Sterling exited the cage and tugged on her worn black boots near his bed.
As she walked behind Winter, along with the wolf shifters at her sides, it was as though she was entering a dream she’d already been a part of before. The manor was mostly empty besides the guards at the main door and two servants scrubbing the windows.
Outside, the night’s dark blanket colored the sky, the stars beaming down at her in anticipation. The drums filled the silent night, and she wondered if Cyan could hear them from his room, if he’d been informed that Sterling was competing for his freedom.
Up ahead, the torches flared, their flames burning brightly. The guards left her as the door to the enclosure was drawn open. On both sides of the door, atop the walls, sat a line of shifters, waiting to watch the spectacle beneath the glowing full moon.
The prince dipped his head near Sterling’s ear, his voice somewhere between stern and gentle. “If you live, don’t bleed on my floor afterward.”
“I take that as you’re hoping I’m well enough to suck your cock.” She rolled her eyes and lifted her chin, striding past him into the familiar enclosure. The trees swayed and creaked from the gust of wind, the guards on their drums silencing their pounding.
Sterling took in the group of prisoners, male and female, this time nineteen instead of twenty-four. Their arms were all chained behind their backs, grime and dirt covering their forms. Talia’s face was nowhere to be found, not even watching from the walls. She prayed to the gods that the bitch wouldn’t interfere again, but if she did, Sterling wouldn’t be caught off guard this time.
Once the chains were off the prisoners, Winter edged toward the drummers. “For tonight’s game,” he shouted. “Red Riding Hood and the wolf prisoners will work in pairs.”
Wolves. Sterling’s eyes widened. Of course this game would bewolves…
“The last team standing will be the winners,” the prince continued. “Whether one or both members are alive, the wolves on that team will gain freedom. It sounds simple, doesn’t it?” His gaze met Sterling’s. “But if you get trapped, your life is forfeit tomywolves.”
“What do you meantrapped?” a male prisoner asked, his long greasy locks of hair clinging to his filthy skin.
Winter’s smile grew wide, vicious, his dimples showing beneath the moonlight. “You’ll know if it happens.”
The male snapped his mouth shut and Winter turned to Sterling. “Red Riding Hood, your teammate is the first in line.”
