Page 95 of A Tale of Treachery

“He’s dead,” Aiden answered.

I leaned back a little, wary of his tone, and searched his face. “Did you—”

“You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” Aiden snapped.

My breath left me, and I looked down at my fingers, rubbing the material of the cloak between them.

He’d killed his father. Aiden had committed patricide, which meant he knew what I’d done.

“I had a plan.” His voice was low and biting. “I asked you to trust me. But instead, you stepped in and freed the prisoners yourself.”

“How—”

“How did I know?” Aiden’s asked incredulously. “I had Brandon follow you. Did you think I would leave you to your own devices?” He slid closer, his breath fanning over my ear. “I found the dead guard in your bedroom. And that’s not even the worst thing I found. I know all about what you did and who you did it with. I know all about your friendship with the witches. I know about your magic.”

Thomas was dead? My eyes widened with alarm, and I moved, but something cold and heavy clamped over my wrists, trapping me. A pair of thick iron rune cuffs were wrapped around my wrists like manacles. Aiden gripped the small chain attached to them.

“I can explain, Aiden. They’re my friends. I just wanted to save them.”

“I told you that you could trust me, Dahlia! I would have accepted you! But you lied!” Aiden roared. “All I ever asked was that you trust me. That you trust me with your truth. I asked you to trust me with the prisoners, but you couldn’t, could you?” His voice broke. “And now…I can’t trust you.”

“Aiden, please,” I begged, but he turned his head from me and toward the door.

“Take her away!”

I had no clue who he was shouting for, but it became apparent when George entered the room with a downtrodden look. My mouth dropped open. He’d known what was going to happen and hadn’t warned me. They’d all known.

George grabbed the chain of my manacles and tugged, dragging me out of the room. I begged and pleaded with Aiden, but he wouldn’t look at me. His eyes looked lost and sad as he ignored my cries for mercy.

The cold air hit me as we exited the palace and made our way out through the sunlit courtyard. Onlookers out for their morning stroll took their fill of me in chains, chuckling under their breath and whispering amongst themselves.

We walked on until the crowd disappeared and George drew to a stop. “I’m very sorry about this, Dahlia, but it will only be temporary.”

I followed his gaze to the underground structure set deep within the palace walls and whispered my denial. “No, please, George. Anything but this.”

He offered me a sad look, one filled with apology, and led me into the dark depths of despair.

My new home.

The dungeon.

EPILOGUE

I’d never felt this level of despair. I’d been down here for a week with no visitors and no blanket, the cold air of the dungeon numbing my fingers to the point that they could no longer be felt. Food was scarce and rarely offered. The heavy iron walls slowly crushed in on me, day after day, dampening my magic and leaving me depleted of energy. And the iron manacles and chain around my neck didn’t make matters any better, the skin beneath them raw and red.

I’d been forgotten, now that the kingdom had bigger enemies to face with the portal being opened, but my mind kept drifting to Aiden and Gabriella. I was so angry with Aiden but trusted he would free me with time. I hoped he could forgive me and treat Gabriella right. I hoped Eulalia and Fin were safe and happy in the dragon lands. And I hoped George and Brandon were safe, despite how deeply they’d betrayed me. I worried about Redmond and could only pray he’d been pardoned and wasn’t suffering too much because of my secrets.

But most of all, my thoughts drifted to my mate. I didn’t have the same hopes for him.

I hated him with a burning passion.

I wanted to make him pay and suffer, the way he’d made me suffer.

The bitemark burned against my neck and I reached up to touch it. It had healed, forming a scar—a mark that would stay embedded in my skin for eternity. Neither the cold nor my despair in the dungeon was more painful than the feeling of being claimed and abandoned, a feeling so agonizing, it made me wake with nightmares and a stabbing feeling in my chest.

I bundled up in my ratty cloak, the fabric now a dull green and torn at the seams, and put my hands over my ears. The slow dripping from an unknown water source trailed down the wall, driving me to the brink of madness.

My breath crested the air, the vapor forming a white cloud that hung over my head. It was cold down here, but not that cold.

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