Page 25 of A Story of Sinners

He snorted in dismissal and moved to leave, but I gripped his wrist, holding tightly. “You’re mistaken on what has happened here. In Cambriel.”

He moved again, but I held firm. When his eyes shifted to my grip, his breathing halted, and body stilled. The sleeve of my arm had torn in the commotion, saying everything I didn’t get the chance to.

“What. Is. That?” he barked, gripping my arm. When he tilted my wrist to the light of the sconce besides us, his eyes shuddered, and his face dropped.

I tried to tear my wrist away, but Ryken held it in place, tearing my sleeve all the way open, revealing the iron rune cuff burning against my skin. He inhaled a shaky breath as his eyes locked with mine.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“I tried to tell you, but you didn’t want to listen.”

Ryken dropped my arm and backed away, the air knocking from his lungs as if he’d been hit. “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, nearly knocking the crown from his head. “I’m so, so incredibly sorry, Dahlia.”

I couldn’t bring myself to care about his regret. “Maybe next time, listen to what I have to say.”

Ryken exhaled and planted his hands against the wall behind him, as if unable to hold himself up without assistance. “You said you were imprisoned.” He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “Where?”

“The dungeon. Where else?” I rolled my eyes.

He swallowed, and his repentance made me angrier than the former harshness he exuded. I could deal with anger, I could deal with resentment, but pity? That crossed a line.

“I don’t need your pity,” I spat out.

“It’s not pity. It’s sorrow, regret, commiseration. I felt your pain through the bond. I felt your suffering. It felt as if you’d given up, but I couldn’t do anything about it.” Ryken lifted his eyes to the ceiling and clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “No, I could have done something about it, but I didn’t.”

“Cry me a river, Ryken. Save your sob story for someone else.” I waved my hand and made to move away, but he reached out and touched my wrist, hissing slightly at the sting of iron against his skin.

I narrowed my eyes—the way he studied the rune cuffs seemed calculating. “Can you get them off?”

“I don’t know. They’re iron,” Ryken answered, gritting his teeth and gripping the cuffs tightly. His skin sizzled at the touch, but he gripped tighter. Little sparks of silver floated off his hands, fizzling away into nothing. He ground his jaw and tried again and again.

Nothing.

He sucked in a breath. “I can’t. The iron and runes dampen my powers. We can try to cut them off. Eulalia might be able to help...”

I scoffed. Eulalia didn’t care what happened to me. She’d made it crystal clear how little she cared of my fate by completely avoiding my desperate attempts at eye contact. “I tried everything I could. I tried magicking them off, tried cutting them off, tried sliding them off, but they’re too strong.”

“What part of the dungeon were you in?”

“You know which part.”

Ryken dropped my wrist, teeth gleaming in the candlelight as the tendons in his neck bulged. “I’ll fucking kill him.” He clenched his fists and moved away, body pulled taught and primed to kill.

“No!” I shouted as I lunged at him, pushing him against the wall. “He’s mine.”

He didn’t have to ask what I meant; the brief nod of his head and the determined look in his eyes told me he already knew. A silent conversation passed between us, our gazes studying one another.

I raised my chin, and he lowered his eyes. Ryken would respect my wish, because Aidenwasmine. Mine to ruin. Mine to take vengeance on. Mine to kill.

Chapter11

Dahlia

The ninth of March wasn’t only the day the summit began—it was also my twenty-fourth name day. Not that you would know by the way I’d been treated and manhandled by the ladies in waiting and corralled by guards into the sanctum auditorium like cattle for auction. I wasn’t supposed to be here, not originally, but seeing as I was now a major bargaining chip in this week’s discussions, Aiden had been sure to include me.

Fortunately for me, Aiden had given me permission to sit at the higher level of seating next to Redmond.How gracious of him.

Despite his so-called generosity, I was still dressed in my new, barely there uniform of see through fabric, this outfit worse than the one yesterday, which made my seated position next to my father figure a tad uncomfortable. Not that Redmond cared—he didn’t see bodies as bodies, only bags of flesh and blood meant to be studied or ignored. I’d not once, in my eleven years with him, seen him show anyone a morsel of romantic interest.

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