Page 11 of Broken Kingdom

“All I have is Juliet,” I say when the women cast expectant glances my way. “And she knows how I feel.”

She does. I know she does, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

If anything, it makes it harder.

She’ll know exactly how much it’s killing me to know she’s in trouble. But hopefully, she’ll also know that I’ll stop at nothing to set her free. I will get her back or die trying. Nothing will stop me but Death himself and hopefully Jean-Paul isn’t expecting that level of commitment.

And hopefully I’ll be the one to teach him just how dangerous it can be to underestimate the power of a fated mate’s devotion.

Seven

Juliet

The bodyguards are still spraying Lucas’s blood off the rocks with a garden hose when the food—and the coffee—finally arrives.

The server turns a blind eye to the carnage the same way he turned a blind eye to my handcuffs and proceeds to set down enough food to feed fifteen people. There are two omelets—one with vegetables and one with spicy sausage and mushrooms—French toast, strawberry crepes, avocado toast with arugula and goat cheese, two sides of bacon, a green smoothie for a palate cleanser, and a heaping helping of homemade whipped cream.

Jean-Paul digs in with gusto, leaving me to watch him stuff food into his mouth while the puddle of bile by my feet grows cold and the last traces of my cousin are washed away into the drain at the edge of the roof garden.

I killed him.

I killed little Lucas, the boy who took such joy in stealing my butterfly wings from my room and wearing them during the winter solstice celebration. He was only two and so delighted with his own mischief that I couldn’t get mad at him, no matter how dented and torn the wings were by the end of the night.

Now Lucas will never become a man, never join the kinder, gentler pack I long to lead, never grow into his massive jawbone or make his teenage dreams come true.

I try to tell myself that I only did what I had to do. That I had no choice. If I hadn’t given him a name, Jean-Paul would have killed both of my cousins.

At least now, Bethany has a chance.

But my gut continues to roil with shame and self-loathing, which is no doubt precisely what Jean-Paul had in mind. With this one, horrific action, he’s made me his accomplice. I’m complicit in his evil and I will never be the same. I’ve proven I can withstand incredible amounts of personal suffering, but can I withstand the guilt of giving the kill order for an innocent member of my own family?

I don’t know.

And I hate Jean-Paul even more for it.

Unfortunately, this level of hatred isn’t good for steadying the nerves, and I’m too rung out from the trauma of what happened to risk an escape. I’m still trembling from the adrenaline rush of my terrible choice and from watching one of my cousins slump to the ground while the other was dragged away wailing in grief and terror.

“Come now, eat up,” Jean-Paul says around a mouthful of bacon. “You’ll need your strength for the day ahead. You have a dress fitting in just over an hour and then an appointment with my stylist right after that, at her salon in Old Town. Afterward, you’ll have your makeup done, also at the salon, and then we’ll need to do a rehearsal run of the ceremony.” He hums a little tune as he wiggles in his chair and stabs another bite of French toast. “So much to do, so little time. But that only makes it more romantic and exciting. Truly, this is a day we’ll never forget.”

“What happens to Bethany now?” I ask, my voice sounding thin and distant to my own ears.

I briefly consider that I might be going into shock—my hands are so cold, and I can’t seem to quit trembling—and hate myself even more. I can’t afford to be weak. If I’m going to get Bethany and myself out of this nightmare, I have to pull myself together.

He shrugs. “Oh, the usual. She’ll be stripped and given a blanket too thick to be used for a noose. The cells in the sub-basement are cold and the rats are more stubborn than our exterminators give them credit for. But that can be a good thing. Sometimes, my warden gets busy and forgets to feed the prisoners for a day or two. If they get hungry enough, they can always snack on a rat.” He winks. “One of the benefits of being a wolf shifter. Rats don’t taste half bad when you’re furry. How about you? What do you eat in your phoenix form?”

I swallow, wincing at the raw feeling at the back of my throat. I reach for my coffee and take a small sip, willing it to stay down as my mind races.

How am I going to get Bethany out of that dungeon? Could I do something bad enough to get myself locked up, as well? Then at least I’d have a chance of taking her with me if I were able to escape.

Jean-Paul snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me flinch. “I asked you a question, love. Oh, and don’t think of trying to run away from me now. If you do, I’ll kill Bethany. And that would be such a shame. If my nose wasn’t betraying me, I’m fairly certain she’s pregnant. You know that home-baked bread scent female wolves get when they’re expecting.” He hums around another bite, this time of strawberry crepe that leaves a small spot of red at the corner of his puffy lips. “Such a sweet, maternal smell, and Bethany was ripe with it. It would so sad if she never had the chance to welcome her little one into the world because her selfish cousin was desperate to escape a perfectly lovely offer of marriage.”

He points the tip of his knife my way. “Your father warned me that you’re stubborn and defiant, Juliet. That’s why I had your cousins brought here as leverage. If you weren’t such a recalcitrant girl, both Lucas and Bethany would still be living their happy little lives, oblivious that you even still walk the earth. Think on that as you sit there, refusing to eat, proving you can’t even be trusted to take care of yourself, let alone your family or friends.”

I meet his gaze, fighting to keep down the coffee I just drank.

This is all a sick game, psychological manipulation intended to crush my will to escape. I know that.

But still…it’s working.

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