Page 125 of Cherish

I tell myself that when they let us go, I’m not going to do what I promised myself just a few short minutes ago. I’m not going to take a swing at my guard. At least not if Hudson looks okay. If, however, that bastard caused as much damage to my mate as it sounded like with all those thumps of a cane or whatever the hell it was, then all bets are off.

“What is going on out here?” asks a firm, authoritative voice as the door opens again. “Get the prisoners lined up and as presentable-looking as their type can be.”

The distaste in his voice when he uses the wordstheir typegets my back up all over again. But there’s nothing I can do about it at this point, so I don’t even bother reacting. I just stay where I am and wait to be freed.

One of the guards, obviously intimidated by the other’s attitude, snaps, “You heard him. Line up, prisoners!”

I don’t move—and, judging by the lack of noise coming from my friends, none of them do, either. To be fair, we can’t see anything. We have no idea where we’re supposed to move or even where our spots in line will fall.

“You heard me!” The guard is all but yelling now. “Get in line!”

Again, none of us move.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you think we won’t beat you before your audience with Her Majesty?”

“And here I thought their problem was that they can’t see,” comes a droll female voice from several feet away. “Are you planning on rectifying that before you bring them into my hall? Or am I supposed to have an audience with them when they look like rogues?”

I freeze as it registers that it isn’t some assistant or lady-in-waiting who is speaking right now. It’s the Shadow Queen herself. My fingers itch to rip my blindfold and gag off—there’s so much I need to say to this woman—but the shadow bonds around my wrists make that impossible.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” replies one guard.

“Right away, Your Majesty,” says another one at the exact same time.

The others are all too busy tearing off our blindfolds and gags to answer her. The shadow blindfolds disintegrate as soon as they’re removed.

The second mine come off—along with the shadow cords wrapped around my wrists—I bend in half and take giant gulps of air through my mouth, eyes shut. I was getting enough air to survive through the gag, but I definitely didn’t feel like it was enough to function well.

As I draw several long, deep breaths in through my mouth, I finally begin to feel normal again. I take one more deep breath and force my eyelids open. Stabbing pain hits me immediately, but I blink past it. The longer I go without being able to see, the more vulnerable I am. And after the way I spent the last several hours, I am damn sick of being vulnerable.

As soon as I can see more than basic shapes, I whirl around and look for Hudson. He’s already moving toward me, concern etched into his newly bruised face.

I narrow in on the forming bruises on his cheekbone and the slight scrape on the left side of his chin. “Are you all right?” I demand before he can ask me the same thing.

He laughs. “It’ll take more than a guard or three to bring me down.”

“Don’t sound so proud of that fact,” I answer.

I start to say more, but before I can, the guards usher us through the grand double doors and into the Shadow Queen’s hall.

And what a hall it is.

The walls are made of midnight-purple glass broken into fascinating pieces and then reassembled into stunning geometric designs of all shapes and sizes.

The floors are the darkest purple jade, and from the ceiling hang giant iron sculptures in varying tones of violet that are both beautiful and intimidating as fuck at the same time.

Even the light fixtures are one of a kind, huge purple crystal chandeliers in abstract shapes that look like a shadow hellscape à la Salvador Dalí.

And scary as hell.

Scattered around the room are several groupings of chairs and couches, all upholstered in purple floral fabrics of what looks like suede and velvet. But perhaps the most disconcerting part of the entire room is the purple shadows climbing the walls and dancing across the ceiling.

Long shadows, short shadows, big shadows, small shadows, they cover almost every available space. They aren’t umbras like Smokey and the other small shadows at the farm. No, these are something different. Something malevolent that reminds me of Hudson’s and my last night in Adarie.

My skin crawls at the memory, but I have no time to dwell on it. Not when the Shadow Queen herself—dressed in purple robes and a purple diamond crown—is sitting on a violet velvet throne in the middle of the room, presiding over everything.

As we get closer to her, I can’t help but wonder if the throne is supersized or if she’s smaller than I remember. She’s not ridiculously short, but judging by the way her feet barely touch the ground in front of the throne, she can’t stand much taller than me.

It’s a refreshing change, considering every other monarch I’ve met in the last year has stood head and shoulders over me. The thought of being able to easily look her in the eye when she stands up feels like a win to me. Not that I think we’ll be having much to do with each other outside of what we need today. But still.

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