A Kingdom of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 3)

I turned my head to lay my other cheek on the hard stone so I could see who was taken. I didn’t dare move any part of my body for a better view. It was too soon after my last dance with the whip. I did heal very quickly, but not quickly enough to ease the suffering. In all honesty, I probably didn’t heal quickly enough to avoid some scarring. They were too aggressive in their ministrations. Too zealous to feel my agony. All my quick healing meant was that they beat me almost every day instead of every handful of days like they did with the others.

Govam and Denski descended with no other guards in tow. Huh. So they weren’t coming for the dragons.

I wondered why the guards were sent at all. The sex demons were so much better at keeping everyone in check. Then again, the officers used dead bodies for their creations, and Dolion had made it clear he didn’t give two shits about his people. Maybe the guards were just as useful dead as alive.

“Well, look at that, Jedrek, your ticket out of here.” I turned my head and looked the other way again. I had no desire to see them approach. “Remember what I said.”

They stopped just on the other side of the cell bars, their boots scuffing the stone, announcing their presence. Jedrek leaned forward but didn’t get up.

“I hear they’ve been taking you daily lately,” Govam said.

“You must be talking to me, or else my beloved Jedrek is keeping things from me.”

“They’re gonna kill her,” Vemar told no one in particular. “I know we’re heading into the blackout, but if they keep this pace up, they are going to kill that purty little dragon. What fun would their parties be then?”

The blackout, I gathered, was what Nyfain called the lull. It happened after the officers created all their twisted creatures to unleash in the Forbidden Wood in Wyvern and places unknown. We weren’t the only unlucky ones, apparently, although I didn’t have any details about that. I’d just overheard a brief snippet of conversation when I was being dragged away from the whipping post. The act of creation took a lot of power out of them, so after they finished their work, they drank that drink in the large copper canister and then passed out from exhaustion. That was what the dragons reckoned, at least. I’d gotten just as good at eavesdropping as Vemar. Not like there was much else to do.

“Nah, they won’t kill me.” I thought about itching my nose again. “They might think they can break me, and I must say they’ve put in a damn fine effort. Won’t happen, though. Fuck ’em.”

Silence rang out for a moment. Then Vemar said, “I think I like you, Strange Lady. I think I like you an awful lot.”

In addition to being gullible, Vemar was notoriously easy to please.

“We’re here for the male,” Govam said, not having moved since he took up residence on the other side of the bars from my head.

“Yes, I figured that when you showed up without an entourage. I’m surprised they didn’t send someone just to detain me while you grabbed him, though.”

“You’re in no position to fight.”

“It is not polite to point out a lady’s flaws.”

The lock slid over, and metal groaned as Denski pulled open the door.

“You there. C’mon,” Denski said, his voice hard.

Jedrek gave me a look that said, See? I get treated well because I cooperate.

“He’s on the wrong floor,” someone called out. “It enrages me to see him going with them this easily.”

“They don’t have a floor for possums,” someone else said, the comment met with a smattering of laughter.

“He should be with the filthy wolves,” a third shifter sneered.

“Why the hell hasn’t she killed him by now?” the first voice asked. It was a commonly repeated question. “She took out a host of guards and one officer. She has the ability.”

“I would’ve killed him by now,” Vemar said.

“And now you will not be allowed near him, Vemar,” Denski said patiently.

“I wasn’t going to be allowed near him anyway. He’s a prize, that one is. Real slick. I’ll be in a cage, watching him on the arm of his new master.”

“You’re all going to rot down here,” Jedrek said in a low tone as the cuffs snapped around his wrists.

Leather creaked, and I turned my head the other way to see Govam’s boots creasing. His knees and hands came into view as he crouched down to be closer to me.

“I’ve heard that you barely speak or cry out when they whip you,” he said. “You also don’t swear at them when they come to get you. You don’t berate them when they transport you… You take the pain stoically and let them put you back in your cell.”