Blood Ties

Chapter 26: Declan

After dinner, his father had apparently decided he wasn't finished with torturing them yet, so he told them that he had scheduled a tour of the royal dungeons. An odd and surely appetite-reducing visit as it would be, Declan refused to miss it. He saw the way his father was looking at Nadia, and it infuriated him.

Maybe because he'd looked at her the same way before. Like she was a curse or a blessing or a prophecy fulfilled. Not a person.

His hands clenched at his sides. The supper had been barely edible, filled with his father's exotic concoctions meant to improve one's health. Still, his stomach barely growled. He was used to eating very little and wanted to be alert anyway, not sleepy.

As they descended the surprisingly well-lit staircase, each step echoing against stone, Declan heard fires crackling in braziers and he thought he even heard a scream or two. The sound reminded him of how he'd held a knife to Nadia's throat, and he forced that memory down.

His father had wanted a show. And Declan hadn't liked the way he was examining her, as though questioning whether he had chosen to keep her around for the sake of some sexual convenience, and so he'd proven him wrong. Apparently, at the cost of her displeasure with him, as she was currently walking ahead, next to his father, and five feet in front of him. The diamonds on her dress glittered brightly, each stone calling to him like a beacon. Green silk that had been so soft against his fingers, the slight curves of her body warm against his torso.

He wanted her, he wouldn't deny that. But there were far better ways to satisfy himself than to get involved with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and clearly didn't admire or even respect him. No, he'd ruined any trust between them when he'd pressed the knife to her throat. Perhaps even on purpose.

The way her breathing had quickened, the way she hadn't even struggled to get free -- no, he wouldn't dwell on those things.

"And here is where we keep our prisoners," his father said, gesturing to a series of windowless rooms.

Not even bars, but only cinder blocks, kept the prisoners inside. It was a function of design to make them feel claustrophobic, perhaps, but what it also did was make it impossible to see inside except for a small slat in which they slid food and water. Each cell was connected to the palace's sewer system, which led to the river. Not a few prisoners had drowned trying to escape that way, and eventually, grates had been installed over the chutes.

"Are they ever let out?" Nadia wondered, looking at the cells. Only she would ask such a question. He fought back the urge to smile.

"Once a month," his father replied. "For bathing and the like. Otherwise, the place would become quite rank. We used to allow them to wash with rainwater, but a few attempted to escape from the skylight that the rain trickled through."

"Crafty," she muttered. The hem of her gown trailed along the pristine stone floor, which was mopped twice a day. He knew because he had been here before.

Not as a guard, and not as a visitor. But as a prisoner.

"Quite," he said.

She stiffened but didn't respond otherwise to his comment. Neither did his father.

"And here is where we keep the worst prisoners," his father said, holding his torch aloft. Declan didn't miss the way his hand shook slightly when he held it, and by the way that Nadia shivered despite the humid room, he knew she had seen it, too.

His father was ill. Wasting away, possibly.

They were led into a circular chamber. Men were chained to tables, clad in little more than loincloths, and had he not known better, Declan would have thought it was a brothel. But he did know better, and he had known much worse.