Page 18 of A Story of Sinners

Good.

“Why keep me here, then? Why keep me as a mistress in title when you can simply allow me to return to the sanctum and resume my studies?”

Aiden’s expression dropped, shifting into something more serious. His eyes locked onto mine, and his voice lowered, as if making a commandment. “Because you need to be saved. You need to be watched over, guided. You need a firm hand. It’s the only way to vanquish the darkness inside you.”

I scoffed, thinking his claims were simply a joke, but Aiden’s expression didn’t falter.

My eyes widened. He was…insane. “Aiden, I don’t need to be saved. I made mistakes. You made mistakes. We’re human, that’s what we do.”

“No. I’m human. You’re not. There’s something dark and profane living within you, and I will save you. I will drive the darkness out.”

My heart dropped. When Aiden wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it, and this—what he wanted—was an impossible feat to accomplish. There was no changing what I was.

Speechless, my eyes traced Aiden as he pushed his chair back and rose, straightening the jacket he wore. “You will thank me for this one day.”

As he walked to the door, the room spun around me. Like a slap to the face, reality crashed down around me.

I would never make it out of here, out of this palace, out of Cambriel. I would be his prisoner until the day one of us died.

“Tomorrow is the welcome ball for the Continental Summit. If you care about the safety of this world, you will behave and greet the members of the visiting countries by my side.”

He awaited my assent, and I acknowledged him with a clipped nod.

If it were to be between this and my death, he might as well call it a day and release me from my misery. If I had to push him to do it, I would.

I was already dead inside.

Chapter8

Dahlia

The entrance hall was lavishly decorated, filled with opulent fabrics draped from the small vaults in the ceiling. The wall sconces were alit with flames, and candles filled the low hanging chandeliers. Aiden and Gabriella sat on the dais on their respective thrones, George standing behind them, whispering the personal information of each leader who entered.

I stood off to the side and stared blankly at the crowd. Brandon stood behind me—the captain of the guard, relegated to chaperone duty.

There was no reason for me to be in attendance, but despite my wishes to lay in bed for the remainder of the day, Brandon dragged me here. I didn’t need to be here, didn’t want to be here. I felt numb to my surroundings, apathetic of the transpiring events. Exhaustion still hung over my head like a heavy fog, and I closed my eyes.

Brandon nudged me. “At least pretend to be interested.”

My eyes reopened, and I watched the proceedings with a detached glaze, unmoved by the frantic energy in the crowd.

The lords and ladies of the Mortal Lands entered, their arrival announced by a herald.

The Mortal Lands had no official king and queen, as they were broken into five small states overseen by lords. Their government was one of democracy, as opposed to birthright, requiring that each lord be voted in by the people. Though the Mortal Lands lay along the border of Cambriel, they might as well have been a world away, considering their differences. Aiden rose from his throne and briefly greeted them, the more intense discussions reserved for the summit.

“Stop fidgeting. Everyone will think you’re uncomfortable,” Brandon ordered.

Tonight, I was dressed in one of those sheer gowns Aiden had made me wear while he plotted his father’s downfall. The silk dress consisted of two high leg slits that cut just above my hips and a low-cut neckline that reached far below my breasts.

A gown that allowed me to live up to my title, willing or not.

Aiden had made it his life’s purpose to ensure I looked healthier for the summit. He couldn’t have the other leaders questioning his treatment of his mistress. After a week of rest and an endless supply of food and water, my body was slowly but surely crawling back to its former health. The bags beneath my eyes had disappeared, and my face no longer appeared sunken in.

I felt stronger, but not strong enough to fight. If Aiden wished to create a display of strength, so be it. I would play along, if only because the idea of returning to the dungeon was too dark a horror to face.

The bare strength was shallow and fleeting, only enough to create the illusion of a healthy and glowing appearance. Just beneath that layer of vitality lay exhaustion, fatigue. The rune cuffs burned against my wrists day and night, depleting my energy, my magic, my soul.

Nobody would know that, though, and that was all that mattered to my captor. Those in attendance were kept ignorant of my status as a prisoner. The rune cuffs at my wrists were concealed by the thick red sleeves of my dress, hiding the secret of my magic and betrayal.

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