“Darling? I—”
The frigid look he gave her froze her vocal cords. “I am the Caronese governor, with one of the purest aristocratic bloodlines in the United Systems. You will refer to me as ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘my lord.’ Do you understand?” He literally spat every syllable at her.
She nodded.
His grip tightened on her elbow as he pulled her from the room.
She looked back to see Maris following after them. She considered fighting Darling, but her sanity kept her from it. In the mood he was in, he might kill her if she tried.
Without slowing his determined stride, Darling hauled her through the palace and into a huge, industrial kitchen. There he flung her toward an older, portly woman who appeared to be in charge of the area.
The woman and her all female staff bowed low to Darling.
When he spoke, that raspy growl chilled every part of her. “You have a new slave for your staff. Do with her what you will.” He turned and glared at Maris before he left her there like a discarded toy he’d grown bored with.
Her sight blurred as she saw the relief on Maris’s face that Darling hadn’t hurt her. At least not physically.
Emotionally, however, she felt kicked and bruised by his rejection.
What were you expecting?
In all honesty, she should be grateful he hadn’t beat or killed her. This was far kinder than all but one of the things she’d imagined for their reunion.
In that one, Darling had actually welcomed her.
You’re an idiot.
He would never welcome her again. Why should he?
And this finalized it. Darling hated her. He had every right to.
“Maris!”
Maris jumped at Darling’s gruff bellow. He gave her one last look of sympathy before he went to see what Darling needed.
Zarya swallowed. There had been a time when Darling had needed her.
But never again.
By her own actions, she had destroyed his love for her. The worst part was that she couldn’t even blame him for it. She’d done this to herself.
“Here.” The kitchen warden shoved a filthy trash bin into her hands. “Dump that in the receptacle out back… my lady,” she sneered, then broke off into mocking laughter. “And try not to muss your hair or get shit on your dress.”
The others laughed, too, as Zarya headed for the door. Yeah, she could just imagine how pathetic she looked dressed like this while she went about household chores. Every one of them knew exactly what had happened.
Their governor had rejected her.
Even so, she kept her chin up and her spine stiff. Let them mock her. She didn’t need their approval or their friendship.
All she needed was a man who hated her guts.
Darling glared at his oldest friend as he toyed with the idea of gutting Maris where he stood. “What the fuck was that?”
“I thought she’d cheer you up.”
He curled his lip. “Don’t lie to me. You thought you could weaken me with her. Admit it.”
A tic started in Maris’s jaw—something that didn’t happen often. It took a lot to make Maris lose his temper, especially with Darling. “I’m not trying to weaken you. I’m trying to help you.”
Yeah, right. “Help me what? Get killed?”
Maris sighed. “You know better than that. But what am I supposed to do?” His tone sharpened as the fire returned to his dark eyes. “Stand by and watch as you drink yourself into another coma? Really? And when was the last time you bathed or shaved? You look awful and you smell like the back end of a dead, rotting yaksen’s ass.”
Darling wanted to kill him as those words cut to the core of his battered soul. The impulse was so strong, he wasn’t sure how he kept from it.
How could Maris say that to him?
Maris had always been so intuitive, but in this…
The bastard was wrong.
Dead wrong.
“You want to know why I don’t bathe?” Darling snarled at him. “Because I have to look at this.” He jerked his mask off and threw it at Maris. It was the first time since he’d been rescued that he’d allowed anyone other than Syn to see what was left of him.
And it was truly repulsive.
His expression unreadable, Maris caught the mask to his chest. Tears welled up in his friend’s eyes as he finally saw the true horror of what had been done to Darling.
And that was just on the surface.
Darling turned away as agony washed through his entire being. It was the internal damage that tore him up the most. Every time he saw his face or his skin, it took him right back to that room where they’d hung him up, naked, like a piece of meat to be butchered. All of it hit him again as if it were still happening—as if he’d wake up and be right back there at their mercy. He felt every stinging emotion of being abandoned and alone and hopeless.
Helpless.
He, who had the power, speed, and skills to kill a man with the ease of a League assassin, had been completely unable to stop them from violating him.