Blood for her Crown

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ciden

It was time.

Dyon stood in front of him, with Vayne flanking his side.

When the assassin approached and started loosening the chains on Ciden's arms, he couldn't keep himself upright. Had Vayne not grabbed him by the shoulders, he would have fallen face-first onto the dirty floor.

With Vayne's support, he managed to stay on his feet. The man placed his arm over his shoulder and began following Dyon, who was leading the way. Ciden was being dragged along. Everything hurt. Especially his arms. His skin pricked as the blood returned after all these days. His legs could hardly keep up, and he was certain he looked more like a lifeless mannequin than a human being at that moment.

When his brother crossed the throne chamber, stalked through the open doors and the corridor beyond, and went for the massive marble stairwell leading upwards, he had an idea where they were going.

Vayne had to keep him upright the entire time. Ciden began to wonder how he was able to haul him up these steps so easily. He was aware that his entire weight rested on him, but he didn't appear strained in the least.

Dyon headed for a door at the far end of the hall once they left the stairs behind them. A door Ciden was all too familiar with. He had expected this, so the shock was left out. Nonetheless, the dread was there. No one who was forced to enter the torture chambers ever returned. Even if he could, he knew his soul would be left behind. This was going to get ugly; there was no way around it.

His brother unlocked the door and held it open for Vayne. As soon as they were both in the dimly lit room, he let it fall shut. The assassin was undoubtedly tired of having Ciden stuck to his side, so he moved his arm away from his shoulders and leaned him against the wall as if he were furniture. Robbed of Vayne's strength to hold him on his feet, Ciden slid down the wall until his legs were stretched out in front of him. From where he sat, he could see everything.

Despite what the name implies, the room was large. There was enough room for a corner with bloody chains hanging from the ceiling, just like the ones that had captured him minutes before. Below was still a puddle of blood. Ciden knew there was a drain underneath the red mess to prevent the entire room from flooding at some point. Against the light-colored walls, the red stains everywhere were a brutally obvious promise of death.

A shelf rising up to the ceiling held a variety of equipment, including knives, oddly bent daggers and other sharp blades, stakes, rusted pliers, and rows of differently shaped metal bars and sticks, all of which were likely to heat up in the massive fireplace.

Several additional devices were scattered across the remaining space, of which Ciden had no idea what they did. He was sure he'd figure it out soon enough.

The only thing he did know before turning its way was that the corner to his right held a bed, although an uncomfortable one, a small cupboard, and a table. That corner was separated from the rest of the room by a short wall.

When Vayne was taking care of certain people for an extended amount of time, some of them were allowed to eat, clean themselves, and sleep in there—only if the assassin felt like being kind for a day before returning to torment. Ciden didn't understand why he bothered with pleasantries when he was going to kill them anyway, but he hoped he could get this privilege at some point.

"You know what to do," Dyon told his ambassador. He then cast a short glance at Ciden, a cruel smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I will leave you two to it then." With that, he left and pulled the heavy door shut behind him.