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  Back in my tower prison, I curl on my side, breathing in shallow pants. The guards kicked me so hard, I think one of my ribs is broken. They shackled my right wrist to my left ankle around the beam with only a very short chain, so I can do nothing but lie on the floor or sit hunched over.

  The Prince forced more nectar down my throat not long ago, but though I feigned appreciation—and submission—I felt neither. Whatever new power now lives within me is awake and very angry. The Prince’s thoughts are as clear as glass, and I can even hear others in the stone tower, though they are so far away—and so numerous—I cannot discern individual words.

  I must find a way to escape and get to Roarke. The first two fingers on my left hand are useless, and moving the others causes me intense pain. The shackles require a key that I do not have, and from this position, I can only reach the chamber pot they left for me, the shredded remnants of my corset, and a ew broken pieces of straw.

  Closing my eyes, I strain to focus on everything I hear, but even though the nectar can no longer convince me the Prince is anything but pure evil, it can still tempt my broken body with sleep and muddle my thoughts.

  But then, I hear one tremulous female voice. “Let me in. Can you not see I have medical supplies and food? I am the King’s consort, you stupid brutes.”

  When the door creaks open, I try to wriggle around to see who is coming, but the pain in my ribs threatens to steal my consciousness.

  The hands that flit over my shoulders shake, and a soft, sorrowful sound comes from the woman’s throat. She helps me to sit up, and then unbuttons her cloak and wraps it around me. It is cold in this room, even with the sun up, and I only wear the bloodstained sleeveless silk gown. No undergarments, no shoes. My boots are halfway across the room.

  “Th-thank you,” I say. She’s human, that much I know. Her flaming red hair, green eyes, and the various bruises covering the left side of her face leave no doubt in my mind. Next to her, there’s a tray with a glass of what looks like water—actual water—that she presses into my free hand.

  More proof she is not Fae.

  “Who are you?” I ask when I have drained half the glass and feel almost alert for the first time since the Prince first forced that damn nectar down my throat.

  The woman shakes her head and parts her lips.

  I gasp, then regret the motion as my ribs send pain wrapping around my torso. Her tongue is mostly gone.

  “He did that to you. The King?” I whisper, and she nods.

  “I hate him. I wish I could kill him.”

  Reaching for the woman’s hand, I forget my broken fingers for a moment. “I can kill him.”

  She jerks back, wide eyed.

  “I can hear your thoughts. I don’t know how. But if you can get me out of these shackles, I might have a chance. He has a dragon chained below ground. My dragon. I need to free him. Then…maybe…” Speaking exhausts me, every breath sending pain wrapping around my torso.

  “You are Fae.”

  “No. No, no, no,” I wheeze. I cannot be Fae. I will not entertain the notion that I can be anything like these vile creatures. But the woman nods.

  “You are the spinner’s daughter. She fell in love with one of the King’s own guards. I remember her being in the castle, though the guard tried to keep her hidden. My name is Noelle. I may be able to help you.”

  The woman—Noelle—pulls up her skirt to reveal a dagger strapped to her thigh. Nausea claws its way up my throat.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I am the King’s consort. The Prince...he is my son. One of them. The other...” She shakes her head, tears shining in her eyes. Quickly, she unbuckles the holster and pushes up my dress. I nod, and she fastens the straps around my right leg. As soon as the blade touches my skin, it burns, and I cry out.

  Iron is deadly to the Fae, and though I want to deny what I am, this is proof. Can I even wield the weapon?

  Noelle holds a finger to her lips, then picks up a piece of my leather corset, wrapping it around my leg to keep the poisonous metal from directly touching my skin.

  “Th-thank you,” I whisper. “But I cannot do anything bound as I am. When the Prince comes, he is never alone, and he will charm me before I have a chance to use the dagger.”

  She smiles and plucks a hairpin from the knot of red curls atop her head. The locks fall away in under a minute. Clearly, she has had to do this before.

  Even with the leather protecting my skin, the dagger still burns, but it has shifted to a dull ache, and I can bear it if there is a chance I can earn my freedom.

  “Can you teach me how to do that?” I ask. “I have to free Roarke. The collar they put on him…it lets them siphon his pain...forever. His dragon cannot escape it, and they are torturing him.”

  Noelle tenses and glances back at the door. “We do not have much time. The chains will be charmed. The only way to break them is with iron.”

  Freed, I crawl over to the narrow cot and shove my hand under the mattress. The bag of shavings is still there, and I thrust it at Noelle. “Will these help?”

  She nods. “Yes. With these, and this,” she tells me, holding up her hairpin, “I should be able to help him get free. But there are still the two guards outside.”

  I swallow hard. “Leave them to me. But there is one other matter. I cannot leave this place—this castle—until I can say the Prince’s name and tell him I do not love him. But I do not know what his name is.”

  Pain pinches her tired features, and she shakes her head. “Before the King took my tongue, he and his mage wove a charm that wiped my own son’s name from my head. If I even try to remember...” She wavers on her knees, and her skin pales. “I would give anything to be able to help you. But that...you must do alone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aurora

  I curl on the cold stone, the shackles draped over my wrist and ankle, but no longer locked, and the dagger clutched in my uninjured hand.

  Noelle screams and flings open the door, grabbing for the arm of one of the Fae guards and trying to pull him into the room. She points to me frantically, then clutches her throat.

  “What is it, consort?” the guard asks as he approaches me. She jabs me in the chest, and I do not move, and now, I can sense his apprehension. When he leans down to touch my neck, I strike, driving the blade into his belly and twisting sharply.

  He tries to call out, and his partner races into the room just as Noelle slams the door to keep their screams from reaching any other ears. Leaping to my feet, I charge the second guard.

  “Do not fight me.” I send every ounce of my mental energy towards him, hoping perhaps these new powers of mine are strong enough to work on a pure-bred Fae.

  He lifts his hand and his mouth opens, but he hesitates for a single moment. Long enough for me to slash at his throat.

  Crimson sprays across my chest, and he gurgles as he sinks to his knees. Both guards struggle to get up, but the second is losing blood at an alarming rate, and the first... His innards spill into one of his hands as he rises.

  “You will pay for that,” he says hoarsely.

  “I think not.” I plunge the dagger into his chest, then take a single step back as his eyes roll back in his head and he takes his final breath, falling onto his partner.

  I have just killed two of the Fae. If I do not escape now, I have sentenced myself to a death more horrible than I can possibly imagine. But more importantly, I know I can affect their minds. While I doubt my ability to compel anyone, especially the Prince, even if I can merely distract them for a moment or two, that power—and the dagger in my hand—could be enough to win my freedom.

  Now to see just how strong my powers are. I have to find the Prince and see if I can invade his mind. If so, perhaps I can trick him into telling me his name.

  Roarke

  Time means nothing to me now. The King and the Prince have toyed with me for so long, I can no longer stand. The manacles bite into my wrists, and my dragon…h
e prays for death. But he did not see Aurelia’s eyes.

  For one brief moment, the power of the Fae flowed through her veins, and if I had been able to call upon my dragon, we might have been able to leave this place. Together.

  I will languish here forever. But my mate…she has a chance to be free. Will I know? Of course I will. If she is wed to the Prince, they will parade her in front of me, use her to amplify my pain, and use me to torment her.

  The guards sit in the corner of the room, occasionally pointing and laughing at me, but the King and the Prince left some time ago. An hour. Maybe two? I can only tell by how the last few wounds have nearly stopped bleeding.

  My skin burns, my shoulders ache, and a flea has more strength than I do. But I will never give these bastards the satisfaction of seeing me break. I could no longer wall off my mind when they began to flay the skin from my body, but the rest...I can endure.

  I force my head up as one of the guards curses viciously, then falls to the floor with his hands around his throat, choking. A woman with hair the color of a dying fire holds out her hand and the other guard backs away. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  The woman doesn’t speak, but flings something towards the second guard. A fine powder hits his face, and his skin starts to burn. As he claws at his cheeks, she shoves something into his mouth, then takes a piece of wood and swings it at his head. When it connects with a solid thunk, he crumples into a writhing, wailing ball before his voice fades away completely. Foam forms at the corners of their mouths, and the stench... If I had anything in my stomach, I would vomit.

  Straightening, the woman brushes off her hands with a triumphant expression, then rushes over to me.

  I don’t have the strength to speak. Hell, I can barely hold my head up. She reaches into her pocket, and when she pulls her hand out and unfurls her fingers, I blink hard to focus.

  Iron shavings.

  “Is...Aurelia...?”

  The woman places other hand over my heart for a moment and nods, then sprinkles some of the shavings over the collar around my neck.

  Pure agony sears my skin, and my vision goes white, but the next thing I know, my dragon whimpers, and I sense him deep inside me. He is weak. In pain. As close to death as he can be—while still being immortal—but present.

  The woman is behind me. I can feel her dress brush my naked ass and her hands on the collar.

  The charmed metal falls to the floor, and the beast inside me roars to life. My bones break, stretch, and reform, scales cover my skin, and a burst of fire leaves my lips and incinerates the bodies of the two guards.

  The woman gasps from behind me as I break the shackles around my wrists and ankles, then send my dragon to rest as my human side takes control. My body is still weak, and I stumble off the bloody dais. My rescuer catches me before I hit the ground, and her cheeks flame as I am still completely naked. I have no idea what those fools did with my clothing.

  “I will not harm you,” I say, my voice hoarse and broken, foreign to my own ears.

  She steadies me, then backs away, glancing at the door as if she fears more guards will soon come. But then, she reaches into a small bag at her hip and pulls out a flask. Pantomiming that I am to drink, she thrusts it into my hands.

  “You are not Fae.” I grasp her wrist and stare into her eyes. One of them bears a fading bruise at least week old, and her entire lower jaw is swollen. Under my fingers, her skin bears old scars—and fresh abrasions—and I shift my grip slightly so I do not hurt her. “Who are you?”

  She touches her fingers to her lips, then opens her mouth, and I understand.

  “The Prince?” A shake of her head. “The King, then.” A nod, and she gestures for me to drink again. “Is this charmed?” I ask, still holding on to her.

  Another shake of her head and the look on her face tells me whatever this is will not harm me, so I let her go, pull the stopper, and down the entire contents in two swallows.

  Almost immediately, my body feels stronger. “Thank you. I need clothing and Aurelia. Do you know where she is?”

  This beaten, mute, human woman may be my only hope of finding my mate, and my dragon is still too weak to help me. Holding out her hand, she waits for me to link our fingers, and then leads me from the room.

  By the top of the first set of stairs, my legs shake with each step, and the woman slips my arm over her shoulders. Faint footsteps head towards us, and I tense. “Someone comes,” I whisper. My senses are always heightened, even when my dragon is dormant, which has saved my life more than once.

  She pulls me around a corner and shoves me into an alcove where I crouch behind her. She is almost skeletal, and her gown will not hide me, but if she can distract the Fae approaching for even a moment, I might be able to subdue him.

  My beast resists my call. He fears the pain of being collared once more.

  “If you do not lend me your strength, we will surely die.”

  He whines, but pushes himself close to the surface. Five talons lengthen from my fingers, and I pray I will be able to fight.

  “What are you doing here?” an angry male voice demands, and the woman makes a loud, unintelligible vocalization and points down the hall away from the stairs. “Wait!” She’s flung aside by the guard, and I spring for the bastard who sent her crashing into the opposite wall. My talons rake across his throat, tearing out his windpipe with a single swipe, and though this is not enough to kill him, it does silence him.

  The woman crawls over with something clutched in her hand. Wrenching the Fae’s mouth open, she shoves the small, dark object inside, and he writhes, a terrible hissing and bubbling sound coming from his mouth.

  When he breathes no more, I stare up at her, and she shows me two of the iron studs from my belt. “You found my bag.”

  She smiles, then jerks her head in the direction the Fae came from. Her eyes are bright, and hope burns within their green depths. “I trust you, human. If we survive the day, perhaps we will all manage to be free of this place forever.”

  I lean heavily on her, trying to conserve my strength, and after another two long flights of stairs, she pulls me into a lavish suite of rooms. They smell like her, and she brings me to a four-poster bed and lets me sit while she goes to the closet along one wall.

  Shackles hang from each of the posters, and there is a smear of blood on the polished wood floor next to the bed. She has been tortured in this room. I see it in her eyes when she turns back to me and holds a cloak in one hand and a sheet in the other.

  “Good enough,” I say as I fasten the cloak around my neck. I do not bother with the sheet. It would only hinder my movements. “Can you write? Communicate in any way beyond yes and no? I believe you may have the one answer I need to get us all out of here.”

  Trepidation churns in her green gaze.

  “Please. Aurelia is trapped her by her bargain with the King, and if she cannot utter the Prince’s name—his true name—the King’s charm will kill her if she tries to leave. She is my mate. If you can tell me his name, I can get her out of this place. And we will free you as well.”

  After a hard swallow, the woman drops to her knees and reaches under the bedside table. She withdraws several scraps of paper, a fountain pen, and a jar of ink—nearly empty.

  Her hand shakes as she writes, and she has to stop three times to take deep, shuddering breaths before she passes me a scrap of paper.

  I can never leave. Too many bargains laid on top of one another. Nor can I give you what you need. The King forced me to agree if I even thought my son’s name again, the pain...

  She winces and collapses in a heap. Carefully, I gather her into my arms and lay her on the bed before brushing her hair away from her face. “You have freed me. That is more than I could ever have asked—ever have expected. Do you have any more of those iron studs?”

  Though her movements are slow and clumsy, and she wavers when she sits up, she nods.

  Six left. I tuck them into the pockets of the cloak a
nd take her hand. “If we kill the King, all of your bargains...they disappear. Come with me. Perhaps we will find a way.”

  With a decisive nod, she lets me help her to her feet, and together, we steal back into the halls.

  “Find our mate,” I tell the beast inside me. “Do it now.”

  He roars in my head, a battle cry I know well. He will not fail.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aurelia

  Despite the remnants of my corset and skirt lying atop the hay, my boots are nowhere to be found. So, barefoot, I creep down the stairs one floor at a time, letting my instincts guide me. My new-found powers are growing, and my skin tingles. The voices in my head—the Fae voices—ebb and flow, and I have to focus to make one at a time stand out amid the din.

  Thoughts about the impending Market day. About the King’s treatment of his consort. About the Prince’s change in temperament after my arrival.

  Nothing about my escape or Roarke. Not until I reach a hallway with thick rugs and paintings in gilded frames. The air here is colder, more sinister, and the King’s thoughts float into my head.

  “The dragon’s power is better than the finest wine. I want to see how close to death we can take him. It is possible he will give us so much power, we will be unable to absorb it all.”

  I cover my mouth to stop my gasp.

  “Father,” the Prince says, “I do not think I should wait to wed Lia. She is stronger than either of us thought. She has not agreed, but with the dragon in our control, we can trick her into another bargain. She has already agreed to bind herself to me if we let him go.”

  “I am never releasing the dragon,” the King replies mildly, as if he is discussing whether or not to toss a feather upon the wind, not a majestic creature he has chained and close to death. “I have grown fond of his delicious energy.”