Chapter 112 Court Betrayal
The cushion was stiff, smelling of dry rot and old dust. It offered no comfort against the biting cold of the air. I pulled my knees tightly to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins. The dark grey wool of my ruined mourning dress was stained with Klaus’s silver blood, stiff and flaking against my skin. My bare feet were bruised, coated in the white quartz sand from the arena.
I raised my head and looked at the heavy gold bars surrounding me. They were thick, spaced just tight enough that I couldn’t push my shoulder through. The metal was freezing. I reached out, wrapping my trembling fingers around the cold gold.
The physical cage was nothing compared to the prison inside my chest.
The blood-bond, the invisible tether I had forged with the blood of the First King, was pulling taut. It felt like a heavy iron hook buried deep behind my ribs, dragging downward into the dark. Klaus was gone, swallowed by the subterranean depths of the Abyssal Dungeon, but he was entirely present in my mind.
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the gold bars. I stopped fighting the pull and let my consciousness slide down the tether.
The transition was jarring, a violent plunge into absolute misery.
I gasped, my breath fogging in the cold air of the Throne Room, as a wave of freezing, crushing dampness hit my senses. It wasn’t my environment. It was his.
I felt the rough, jagged edge of unhewn wet stone biting into my bare back. I felt the agonizing, heavy drag of thick iron chains bolted to a wall, forcing my arms above my head. The suppressor collar locked around my throat burned with a constant, hissing heat, a sickening weight that smothered the magic in my veins. It made every breath a grueling, desperate labor.
But the worst part was the dark.
It wasn’t just an absence of light. It was a heavy, suffocating pressure that pressed against the eyeballs. I felt Klaus’s panic, buried deep beneath layers of military discipline. He was a creature of the open ocean, used to the vast, endless currents. Being chained to a wall in a lightless box was tearing at his sanity.
Klaus, I thought, pushing the word down the tether with all the warmth and fierce love I could gather.
A weak, trembling pulse echoed back. It was muffled by the suppressor iron, a faint spark fighting through a thick fog. He couldn’t send words, but I felt his desperate, clinging relief. He was anchoring himself to my presence.
I focused on my own breathing, trying to project the rhythm to him. I pictured the sunlight hitting the clear, turquoise water of the Sapphire Sea. I pictured the vibrant, glowing coral reefs and the warm, golden sand. I forced those images down the bond, trying to push back the crushing black walls of his dungeon.
I felt the rigid tension in his shoulders ease a fraction of an inch. The phantom pain of the wet stone biting into his back dulled, replaced by the ghost of the warmth I was sending him.
We stayed like that for hours. Two halves of a shattered whole, surviving on the thin, invisible wire connecting our hearts.
The sharp sound of high heels striking the marble floor ripped me out of the trance.
I opened my eyes, my vision blurring for a second in the jaundiced light of the Throne Room. I tightened my grip on the gold bars and turned my head.
Lady Vespera walked casually down the center aisle.
She had changed out of her court gown. She now wore a sleek, dark crimson riding habit, the high collar lined with black fox fur. She held a riding crop in one hand, tapping it lightly against her thigh with a slow, arrogant rhythm. Her red eyes gleamed with a toxic, triumphant delight as she approached the dais.
She stopped a few feet from my cage. She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at me, taking in my dirty, blood-stained dress, the messy tangle of my dark hair, and the dark, exhausted bruises under my eyes.
"You look exactly where you belong," Vespera said. Her voice was a smooth, musical purr that made my skin crawl. "A little songbird, locked away for the Emperor’s amusement. I must admit, gold suits your complexion much better than the ash."
I didn't move. I kept my face entirely blank, my jaw locked. I stared at her with a dead, hollow expression.
Vespera sighed, a theatrical sound of mock pity. She walked over to a small, polished obsidian side table near the throne, where a crystal decanter of dark red wine sat untouched. She poured herself a glass, the liquid splashing thickly.
"It is a pity you ruined the Admiral," she continued, taking a slow sip. She turned back to me, leaning her hip against the heavy table. "He was a magnificent creature. The entire court wanted him in their beds. He was power incarnate. And you turned him into a pathetic, bleeding martyr."