House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) (2 page)

And maybe I’ve hit the right nerve, because finally, for the first time in maybe ever, Ian doesn’t have anything to say in response.

ONE DAY OF BURNING. ONE night of utter silence.

Five screaming prisoners.

The sun rises and sets four times. Five. Six. And Ian and I do not say another word.

The air grows thicker and thicker by the minute, just a little more pressure. Just a little more pain added to the mix. But all the more pride set upon our chests, making it harder to breathe and harder to offer the first word.

But I refuse to back down. Ian needs to recognize he’s being far too self-righteous. That this life of ours has never been black and white. He needs to accept reality.

Ian’s silence tells me he’s not forgiving anything, either.

So we go another one—two days in utter silence. Except for the screams of pain during the day.

And with each passing day, I fear I’m losing another piece of my mind. All I can think about is the burn in the back of my throat. The dehydration taking over my body. The growl in my belly, begging for food. I haven’t been offered an ounce since stepping foot in the prison.

I’m slowly starving. Dehydrating. I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse, though, that it won’t kill me.

On the ninth day of imprisonment, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Heavy boots, worn by a heavy body. The sound of chains rattle through the air. Past the first cell. Past the next. Down the aisle before they stop at my own cell.

The sound of a key grates against steel and the lock pops open at the same time my heart leaps into my throat. The door slides open and I’m greeted by a hard-faced man with a beard that touches his chest. A thick scar runs down one side of his face. And there’s a smear of blood on his lower lip.

“Hands,” he says in a thick German accent. He holds up a set of handcuffs with a link of chain between them.

I swallow once before holding my hands up, bringing my wrists together. The guard secures the inch-thick bands around my wrists before snapping a similar pair around my ankles.

“Liv?” Ian suddenly calls out, a hint of worry showing in his voice.

“It’s okay,” I assure him, my heart suddenly racing. “It’ll be okay.”

The guard yanks on one end of the chain, dragging me forward. My weakened body isn’t prepared for the force of it. A little yelp instinctually leaps from my throat as I stumble forward.

“Liv!” Ian yells again. I hear his hands smack against the steel door as we walk past it.

“I’m okay!” I yell to him. “I—”

But I’m cut off when we reach the stairs and I’m being dragged up them.

“Try anything funny and you’ll regret it,” the guard says. I look to the side, where he stands, and see he holds a stake securely in one hand.

“Nothing funny,” I promise him. I study the huge arm muscles. The thick ropes of strength that wrap around his chest, even climb up his neck. This man could crush me with one hand. He could drive that stake clean through my chest and pop it out the other side.

My body has physically weakened in the time I’ve been here. I couldn’t fight him, and I’m sure that was designed on purpose.

I have little doubt that he has been given orders to kill me if necessary. Since Cyrus has confirmed I am not the queen, he has no need to keep me around.

I wonder briefly what will happen to my House should I die here in
Roter Himmel
. Silent Bend will once again be without a Royal leader. It will once again fall into poverty and discord.

No
, I tell myself. That won’t happen. I will get out of this framed mess. I will return to the people who need me.

Up and up a thousand stairs. Down hallways. Down another set of stairs. Across a huge ballroom. Winding up a spire. It feels as if we’ve been walking for an hour. When, finally, we stop at a massive, ancient wooden door.

The guard knocks on the door five times, one long and four quick raps on the wood. “You don’t have long; use the time wisely.”

I’m about to ask him what he means, but the door suddenly opens, and my eyes meet Raheem’s beautiful ones.

“Thank you, Mads,” Raheem says as he takes the chains from the guard, who also offers a key. “We’ll be quick.”

My mouth hangs open, speechless as I shuffle inside. Raheem closes the door behind us and makes quick work of removing my chains.

“I am sorry for these,” he says as the shackles on my wrists fall to the floor and he sets to work removing the ones on my ankles. “We had to be careful in case you were seen. You are a prisoner, and I didn’t want this looking suspicious.”

The bands fall from my ankles, and Raheem rises to his full height, his dark eyes studying me.

And the openness there, the worry and the underlying anger, they cause the very fragile wall I’ve built around myself in protection to crumble and fall.

My arms fly to Raheem’s neck, wrapping myself against him. My body molds to his as his arms come around me, clinging hard and tight.

“I’m here, my
nofret
,” he breathes into my neck.

“What happened?” I ask as tears pool in my eyes. “After they took me away. Did they hurt you?”

I back away just slightly so I can study him. He seems to be in one piece, no bruises, no missing limbs. He wears his usual tunic and matching pants, a black keffiyeh on his head.

“They didn’t appreciate my final break of secrecy,” he says as a smile cracks in one corner of his mouth. He brings his hands up to either side of my face, cradling me so gently. “I’ve been banned from the presence of the King until further notice, but no, they did not do anything to me.”

A relieved sigh escapes me, and I collapse forward into his chest, my cheek resting against him as my arms wrap around him once more. “I’ve been so terrified.”

“You needn’t worry about me,” he whispers into the top of my head, his lips brushing there. “Have they been treating you fairly?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “They’re just leaving me down in the prison to rot,” I mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt. “There’s been no word. Nothing for over a week.”

He lets out a noise of displeasure. “I’m afraid they will take their time,” he says. “In the King’s long lifeline, he’s never in a hurry for anything, unless it is Sevan.” He lets me go and crosses the room to the kitchen area. He opens a fridge and takes something out. “Here,” he says, extending it toward me. “You need this.”

The moment I realize it’s a blood bag, I’m across the room in a single heartbeat, my fangs dripping. I tear into it, the cold liquid cascading down my parched throat. When I finish it in less than ten seconds, Raheem hands me another.

“It’s one of their favorite tactics,” he says as he hands me a third. “Dehydration. You get thirsty enough and you’ll confess to anything for five drops of blood.”

“So they will try to convict me, even if I am innocent?” I ask as I drag the back of my hand over my mouth, wiping away the remaining drops.

“You mustn’t underestimate the King’s brutality,” Raheem says, his brows furrowing. “He’s an addict. Even if it isn’t logical, even if the truth is staring him in the face, if he needs a fix, he will get it.”

The weight of that sends me back a step. My foot catches something, and I sink down into a chair. I know this. I’ve been witness to it. Antonia. Micah. Jasmine. Over a dozen Bitten.

I’ve toyed with the King. I made him believe I was his queen, finally returned to him after 271 years. His thirst for my blood will be strong.

“I’m not ready to die,” I breathe to myself.

Raheem comes to crouch in front of me. He brings a hand to my cheek, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You are innocent. Of this, I know. And of this, your House knows.”

“No,” I counter, shaking my head. “They don’t. They think I did this.”

“Not all of them,” he says. “I’ve been in contact this entire time with Dr. Jarvis. They are working tirelessly to gather evidence in your favor.”

My lower lip quivers as the tears that have been pooling in my eyes break free. “They are?”

He nods. “You haven’t lost them all, Alivia.”

I sniff, looking away from him as I wipe the tears from my face. I don’t want to be this crying, terrified girl. But everything has been taken away. I am stripped to the bare bones. And I am left with very, very little.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Raheem says as he stands. “Eat something. We don’t have long before someone might come looking for you, but we do have a few minutes.”

I nod, letting the numb fog take me over once again at the thought of returning to the prison. I climb to my feet and head for the door Raheem points to across the room. Behind it, I find a massive bathroom.

Black walls stretch high and grand. Two chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Red accents are splashed here and there, highlighted by gold. Absentmindedly, I peel my disgusting clothes off, taking in the grandness of it all.

Movement to my left catches my eye, and I turn to find a mirror. Huge in size, floor to ceiling, rimmed in intricate gold patterns. But it’s myself I can’t look away from.

Already, my body looks thinner. My arms spindlier. The gap between my thighs growing wider. My cheekbones more prominent. The change would probably be unnoticeable to human eyes, but to my enhanced vampire ones, it’s certainly there.

But it’s the veins that draw my attention first. Black, inflamed veins spread around my eyes, tracing down my cheeks, stretching toward my neck. Before just a few minutes ago, it had been over a week since I’d last had blood. I’m still practically a newborn vampire. I have to feed. Or I begin to waste away.

As I study myself, though, I see the blackness begin to dissipate, easing back. My body has been fed, sated for the moment.

I take one last look at my disgusting, dirty, naked body before I turn for the shower.

Hot water cascades down my frame, washing away dirt and grime and blood. I haven’t had the luxury of a shower since I was back at the House of Conrath. And, oh, how I have missed being clean.

When I exit the shower, I find clean clothes folded on the counter. Black slacks and a dark blue sweater. I smile in appreciation at Raheem’s thoughtfulness and pull everything on.

Using just my fingers, I comb through my hair and let it hang loose.

“Are you hungry?” A crack in the bathroom door opens and Raheem’s face appears.

A little smile pulls on my lips, and I nod.

A simple spread waits for us on the kitchen table when I walk out. Exotic cheeses and flat bread. Dehydrated fruits and nuts. Two plates and two glasses of water.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely as I sit on one side when Raheem pulls my chair out for me. “For everything.”

“You are a Royal,” he says as he pushes the serving plate in my direction. “Some of us at the castle haven’t forgotten that.”

I shake my head as I gather food onto my plate. “It isn’t just that. You always offer exactly everything that I need. I don’t know how you always manage it, but you do.”

And I look up just as I finish speaking, just in time to catch the flicker of pain that darts across his face.

Need.

Not long ago Raheem and I kissed, very passionately, and then had a discussion about what we were. He had pinned us exactly. Just need. Not love.

Need.

A fissure opens up in my chest, running right down the center of me.

I have to tell him.

I have to be honest.

But I want to throw up just thinking about it.

“I have to tell you something,” I say. And it comes out as barely more than a whisper. My eyes have difficulty rising to meet his. And when they do, he’s hardly paying attention, taking a bite out of his dinner. He has no idea what is coming.

“Cyrus lied to me,” I say, suddenly not hungry in the least. And this does bring Raheem’s eyes to mine. “He told me that the night I died, that Ian had left me. For good.”

And a thought comes to me then. Raheem was in the room that night, as well. He saw everything that happened.

“Did you know?” I ask in a quiet voice.

A mix of emotions rolls over his face and his eyes drop away from mine.