A Kingdom of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales Book 3)(10)

I didn’t, of course. Not down here. Old stone and caked dirt covered the surfaces, and the bars were attached to the walls with metal contraptions that looked centuries old. Rustic old keys were clearly used in the large keyholes at the side of each cell.

The first officer turned to me with a smile that didn’t need an explanation, and the minion at my side shoved me, forcing me to stumble down two steps and brace myself against the rough wall. The minion was on me in a moment, grabbing me and flinging me farther into the room. Lights and stone swirled in my vision as I stubbed my toe and went down, skidding my palms against the floor.

I knew from being in Nyfain’s castle that demons fed off their victims—off their fear or desire or sadness. The first officer had mentioned power. He was probably trying to get a rise out of me. Maybe he even wanted me to fight back. Hell, maybe he was just being a bully. Whatever the reason, the end result was the same.

I had to take it.

There was no point in fighting back. Not here. Not on my first day when I had zero knowledge of this place. They had weapons they were capable of using, larger numbers, and they were blocking the exits. They’d stacked the odds, and only a fool wouldn’t realize it.

Thuds and a grunt caught my attention, and I looked back over my shoulder to see Jedrek had been dropped off the last step. He lay crumpled on the ground, groaning and slowly flailing like a turtle on its back. I doubted it was a very pleasant way to wake up.

“Hmm,” the first officer said, stepping in front of Jedrek and watching me. “Most unusual for a dragon.”

He’d amplified his voice, and it boomed unpleasantly across the space.

Movement in front of me caught my eye. Thick forearms reached through the bars about halfway down the cell row. The hands came together and the fingers entwined, as though the owner was waiting patiently.

More limbs or hands or fingers threaded through the bars of the cells lining each side. Still, I didn’t see any faces pressed against the metal. No noses peeked out, trying to see what was happening. The lack of curiosity suggested this wasn’t an abnormal occurrence. That or maybe they had learned the art of patience in this miserable place. Maybe both.

A crack sounded right before a blinding white light of pain exploded in one single point against my back.

“Holy— What the fuck!” I skittered forward as the pain seemed to drip down into my body and set my blood to vibrating uncomfortably. Standing, I turned on my good leg and watched the world crystallize around me as my survival reflex kicked in.

One of the minions stood in the center of the space, whip handle in hand. My other escort stood behind the first with a polished red club.

The others stood back, watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if need be. Jedrek lay forgotten at their feet.

I wondered if there were more at the top of the stairs, waiting out of sight—and if they had other magic that would help them if I got through their little friends.

I wondered if I could get through them all.

Rush them, my dragon urged. Fire bled through me. Take that fucking whip and strangle him with it.

Fuck, I wanted to. I wanted to so badly.

Then what? I asked myself as well as my dragon. Hell, I’d ask the invisible audience if they’d actually answer. They know what they’re doing, these demons. It’s obvious. They didn’t mess with me upstairs, they did it down here, where I don’t have as much space. Where the exit’s not accessible. I’ll get through a couple, but they’ll inevitably take me down, and then they’ll be on their guard around me.

Are you blind or something? Look at them. They are already on their guard around you. Give them something to fear.

I stood in indecision. Power pumped through me.

Jedrek lay at their feet, curled up, looking my way.

I need to be Jedrek, I thought, licking my lips. The minions watched, waiting for me to make the first move. I need to be out of sight when I’m in plain view. To do that, I need to appear weak.

Even if you appear weak, you don’t smell weak. You don’t feel weak. We are the mate of the golden dragon prince. Do him proud.

Fire ripped through me as the gangly minion’s arm rose. The tip of the whip slid across the ground and then went airborne.

The pain of the last strike was a fresh memory. My rage was a palpable thing.

My brain said, Take it.

My logic said, Play dead, be weak.

My body said, Fuck this shit.

I threw up my forearm without meaning to. The slap of the whip flayed my skin as it struck and then wrapped around, stinging my arm. It should’ve hurt more. This situation should’ve hurt a lot more.

On instinct or maybe impulse, I twisted my arm and grabbed the whip, yanking it away.

So much for seeming weak.

The first officer’s eyes gleamed, like maybe he’d expected me to do that. Like he’d desired it.

“Fuck,” I said to no one in particular.

“You’re in the stink now, lady,” one of the prisoners on my left said, humor in his voice.

“What happened?” a woman called.

“She took the whip,” another said.

“Who hasn’t?” a man at the end mumbled.

“Fuck,” I said again.

“Don’t bother trying to kill them all and run,” the first guy said. “Those fuckers pop out of thin air and make sure you don’t get far. It’s a real ball shriveler when they haul you back.”