Page 89 of The Curse of Ophelia

Finally, boots echoed down the hall, and a masked guard opened the iron door to our prison.

“Hello, Warrior Prince.” My eyes flashed to Malakai at the name, and he tensed. He knew these men, and from the subtle shift in his posture, I guessed he knew what their presence meant.

Malakai pushed himself to his feet roughly, muscles flexed to fight, but his voice was lethally calm. “You can have me. Leave her.”

“Malakai—” I started.

He turned to me, his eyes pleading. He got here by protecting everyone else, including me. I didn’t put the chains around his wrists or wield the weapons against him, but the physical, emotional, and mental scars he bore were the result of the undying love he held for me. What he had done to protect me and what he would continue to do.

But he was making another decision about my life without consulting me, and that was what tainted our relationship two years ago. The war, the Curse, the Undertaking, and our life together had all been affected by his lies, and I’d had no say.

No more. Despite my anger, I would not let Malakai sacrifice anything else for me. I would not let him continue to choose my fate. We had bound ourselves together by the tattoos on our flesh, partners and equals for eternity, but he had turned his back on that. Now, I would make my own choices.

Because Lucidius had revealed that I was born to be the greatest warrior of our generation. With newly-ascended strength thrumming in my blood, I would fight for myself and for Malakai.

I raised my chin and turned back to the men, assuming the same composure I had seen on Malakai. “Don’t listen to him.”

I heard Malakai’s protests but shut them out.

The guard in front shook his head. “Touching, really, but stupid.” A smile was barely visible beneath his obsidian metal mask. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She wants to tend to you both herself.”

Tend to us. Kill us.

He stepped aside and no less than a dozen masked guards filed into our prison, half approaching each cage. They gave me the same size guard as their Warrior Prince. So, they knew about my heritage. They knew that I was as lethal a threat as Malakai—perhaps more so. The thought brought a satisfied smile to my face.

The closest guard, a broad-chested figure with a tangle of purple scars down his exposed arms, spoke in a rough voice. “Stick your hands through the bars, girl.” When his mask shifted, I could see something in those black eyes. Regret? Apology?

I latched on to it and slid behind my own mask. I shut out the fear, the heartache, and became the vicious creature that lurked beneath my bones, revenge-driven and cunning. Lucidius had said this was a twisted game. If it meant survival, I’d learn to play.

I took a step back from the bars, shaking my head. “No, I don’t think I’ll make it that easy for you, sir.”

The kind-eyed guard balked.

I merely shrugged, my smile widening sweetly. “Did you really think I would?” I lowered my voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know who I am, don’t you? I assume you do, otherwise you would have stationed more of your guards around him.” I flicked my hand in Malakai’s direction and walked to the front of my cage, leaning against the bars with ease and tossing my bloodstained hair over my shoulder. “I am a daughter of Alabath. I am the most powerful warrior of my generation.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “So, truly, what did you expect?”

They were silent. Two guards in the back of the room shifted slightly as if they were going to step forward, but a third halted them. The picture of calm, I picked flecks of dried blood and dirt from my nails as I waited, masking the storm brewing within my blood.

“Griffus! What are you waiting for?” an Engrossian from beside Malakai’s cage shouted at my tender-hearted guard.

“Griffus, is it?” I looked up at him through my lashes. Tension radiated from Malakai across the room.

The same guard from Malakai’s side of the cavern called to me now, “Let him chain you. Or your lover will suffer the consequences.” I straightened my spine, my pretense of control slipping as he uncoiled something sinister at his hip.

A whip.

I will not let Malakai sacrifice anything else for me.

“Ophelia, don’t listen to them,” Malakai pleaded. “They’ll torture me regardless; you can’t give in.” His voice called to that nest of guilt in my heart.

There was a commotion on his side of the cave, and he was thrown back from the bars. His scarred back crashed into the rock wall behind him. The guard in front burned through the bars and all six of them entered his cage, forcing him against the wall and aiming various blades at his flesh.

It was a challenge to fit both of my wrists through the narrow bars, but I did it quickly, with steady hands. They would not see me shake. The rope was rough as they wound it around my scarred skin.

They burned my bars with volcanic fire, and Malakai and I were pushed into the center of the room, bumping against each other. Blindfolds cinched across our eyes, but even the feel of his muscled skin against mine was comforting. I wanted to sink into that feeling. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to fall back into our clearing and the endless nights we spent there. The cool breezes guarded me in a cocoon of jasmine, honeysuckle, and him.

But it was a false safety that belonged to people entirely different than the two standing in this cave. Someone prodded me in the spine. I shook my head and started forward.

The guards marched us through the maze of volcanic hallways, and I tried to memorize the dizzying path of my steps. The silence of the mountains was threatening, looming up and around us with ghostly whispers of warm volcanic winds. Even beneath the blindfold, the essence seemed to swallow us whole, like it knew what fate we were walking toward and the Spirits in this sacred place wanted to save us.

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