But Darling had to give his ex-ally credit. Clarion had told him when his uncle refused to pay the ransom that they were going to take all of their ills out on his hide and make him wish he’d never been born a prince.
They’d certainly delivered well on that vow.
Funny how that was the only promise someone had ever made to him that they’d kept. Not the one to love or protect him.
Just the one to make him regret every breath he took.
Clarion turned the lights on. “You asleep, Your Royal Faggotry?” He slapped Darling’s face, causing the muzzle to bite into his tongue and throat.
Darling wanted to lunge at him, but all he could do was turn his head so that Clarion could slap something other than the bone deep gash on his cheek that had festered over the last few days from an infection he hoped killed him.
“Sorry about our poor hospitality. I was told that no one’s fed you in the last three days. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?”
Cold, fierce panic went through Darling. Not only could he not stand them feeding him, it was what they usually fed him that was the worst. He did his best to resist, but it was as futile as trying to stand.
Against all his efforts, Clarion grabbed him by the throat and tilted his head back so that he could pour a cold, salted broth into his mouth.
Thank the gods, it was broth this time. Still, the spices and salt made every injury in his mouth and throat burn and ache as he choked on the blood and broth mixture. Worse came when he coughed and the barbs bit in even deeper. It was more than his weakened body could take.
Unable to tolerate the agony, he finally passed out.
A week later, Zarya called the Sentella. Again. “Can I please speak to Kere?”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here.”
If she heard that one more time, she was going to scream. “Why can’t someone help me? Isn’t there anyone I can talk to about his current location?”
Or lack thereof?
“We don’t give out that kind of information. Sorry.” The woman hung up on her.
Zarya wanted to kill someone. As of today, it’d been nineteen weeks since she’d last spoken to her fiancé.
Nineteen. Weeks. Tomorrow would be five months.
His voicemail had filled up over three months ago, and hadn’t been cleared.
I know he’s dead. He had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else had he not called her?
Kere would never leave her hanging like this. Without word. Without notice. Not by choice. He knew her better than that. Thought more of her than to hurt her this way.
He was gone.
Just like my father. She winced at the comparison. But how could she deny it another minute?
Why wouldn’t someone, anyone tell her the truth about his whereabouts? She had used what little money she had to bribe every informant she could find for some clue.
No one took mercy on her. For weeks, she’d searched even though she didn’t know where he’d gone or where he lived.
Why aren’t you here?
The Sentella had to know he was dead. Why wouldn’t they just say it already so that she could stop hoping that the next time she called his number, he’d pick up and chastise her for not eating and for being worried about him when there was no need?
Just call me, baby. Please, don’t be dead… please.
The very thought of it tore through her and left her light-headed. It hurt to a level she’d never imagined was possible, and it made a mockery of the grief she’d had when her family had died.
How could anything hurt so much and not kill her?
She stared down at her beautiful engagement ring as her heart shattered all over again. Holding her link in her hand, she laid her head down on her desk and wept in utter misery.
Why couldn’t I have one thing for myself? Just once?
Was that really so much to ask?
Other people were allowed to have families and spouses. People they loved and cherished without their dying on them. Why couldn’t she?
But it wasn’t meant to be. For whatever reason, the gods wanted to punish her. Unlike other people, she wasn’t allowed to love someone.
The moment she did…
They died.
Only her younger sister, Sorche, seemed immune to that curse.
Gods, the pain of his loss was so unbearable. It was like her heart was being clawed out of her chest and swallowed whole by some unrelenting beast. Why couldn’t the world explode and end her suffering?
I just want him back. She’d sell her soul for it.
Tightening her grip on the link, she stared at his name in the short list of people she trusted. Damn you, call me!
Someone knocked on her door.
Wiping her tears away, she drew a ragged breath and tried to get a hold of herself. Because of the way she’d been raised, she didn’t share personal pain with others.