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

“IT’S TIME,” A VOICE GROWLS from behind my prison door. It slides open, and two sets of hands grab me roughly. They drag me from my cell as a yelp leaps from my throat. I don’t even have time to get my feet under me before they’re hauling me across the stone floor, down the passageway.

“Good luck,” Luce says quietly.

“I hope you survive,” Obasi says.

Through hall after hall, stairways, across ballrooms and chambers, we circle and climb throughout the castle. I get to my feet and willingly follow behind them, but they drag me roughly and unnecessarily.

Finally, we stop in a hallway. It’s grand and wide. Stone stretches all around us, rising up and up, wooden rafters spanning the air. And before us waits an enormous set of doors.

And X.

Her nose wrinkles and a disgust fills her face. “She reeks. You can’t send her in like that.”

A sharp breath intakes into my chest as a bucket of water is splashed over my head. I’m soaked in most places, my hair plastered to my forehead. I stand in a puddle on the cold floor.

X shakes her head, a cold look creeping into her eyes. “No,” she says. “Not good enough. It’s saturated into her clothes.”

A large, rough hand suddenly grabs me from behind and instantly, my sweater is torn from my body. I don’t even have time to react before another greedy hand shreds my pants.

And not a moment later, a second bucket of water is dumped over my head, drenching my body that is now only covered by my bra and panties.

“That’s an improvement,” X says, a cold smile on her lips as she looks at me. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, Lady Conrath?”

“Why so hostile, nameless chancellor?” I ask as I crook an eyebrow at her. I sound far more confident than I feel. I push my hair out of my eyes, running my fingers through it. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You tried to kill my King, of course,” she says. Her smoky eyes look up at me from beneath long lashes. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Or perhaps because I didn’t commit the crime,” I say as I wrap my arms around my middle.

I’m playing a tough game; I still have to be a leader. But I’m nearly naked and have no idea what to expect on the other side of that door.

“That remains to be determined,” she says with another smile. She tosses me a thin, white sheath, which I pull over my wet body. She turns to the doors and pushes them open.

They reveal a great ballroom, one of dozens in the castle. The space opens wide, the ceiling high. Five black chandeliers hang above us, crystal dripping from them like dew drops. Great tapestries decorate the walls. A massive red rug dominates much of the floor.

And seated before me, in five great chairs, are a handful of familiar faces. Terror and shock saturate my bones.

Cyrus, seated in the middle, of course. He stares at me with dark, empty eyes.

To his left and right are two men I do not recognize. There’s wisdom in their eyes, age.

But it is the last two faces that make the breath catch in my throat.

To the King’s right is Lillian Summers.

To his left sits Elle Ward.

“What-” I begin to question.

But the King cuts me off.

“Alivia Ryan Conrath,” he says in that booming, commanding voice. “You have been brought to
Roter Himmel
, accused of treason, the murder of a Royal, and over a dozen Born. And the attempted murder of your King. How do you plead?”

It takes me a moment to process everything. The jurors. The accusations. “Not…not guilty.”

A displeased but amused smile tugs at Cyrus’ lips as his eyes darken further. “Lady Conrath, your trial will begin come daybreak when your House representatives arrive. Until that point, you will be kept in solitary with a constant guard.”

He gives a dismissive wave of the hand, and the guard has just grabbed me when a heavy set of boots sound down the hallway. I turn just in time to see Ian round the hallway and approach.

His eyes widen when he takes me in, drenched and starved, his lips pressing into a thin line.

And I take him in, laying eyes on him for the first time in two months.

He’s changed. His face is covered with a thick beard, his hair grown long enough for him to pull it back into a short tail at the nape of his neck. The youthful, handsome face I was once so familiar with is nearly unrecognizable with the hard lines that take over everything.

In his left hand, he holds a dismembered head by the hair.

The moment Ian’s eyes slide from mine to take in the rest of the people behind him, I watch as if in slow motion, the change in his expression. The way his mouth opens in anger, his eyes as they widen in horror. The muscles of his body as they tense and flex as he darts forward.

“Elle!” he bellows as he races toward her.

Two guards rush Ian from either side, colliding with a great smack that nearly sends the three of them to the floor. “What is she doing here?” Ian bellows like a madman. “If you touched her-”

“Your dear sister has not been harmed,” Cyrus cuts him off with an amused smile and commanding in his voice. “She has merely been brought here to serve as one of Alivia’s judges. I would be very careful if I were you, Mr. Ward.”

“Ian, don’t,” Elle says as she shakes her head. “I’m okay. Please. Just cooperate.”

His eyes glow, so bright and red as he frantically searches his sister for signs of harm. But there aren’t any. Just as the King said.

Slowly, I hear his heart calm, the breaths come a little slower. He swallows, blinking three times as he continues to search her. Her eyes plead for him to calm down, to not get himself into trouble.

So he does. Ian straightens, lifting his chin high. And slowly, the guards let him go. Ian doesn’t bolt. Doesn’t lunge.

He tosses the head he’s holding so it lands just at the King’s feet. “She was headed toward the mountains,” he says, his eyes flicking between Cyrus and me. “Didn’t take long to catch her.”

Cyrus sneers down at the dismembered head. “Well done. We had a deal. You’re free to go back to the swamp you call home. Unless you’re interested in staying at Court? I could use a man with your…skills.”

The disgust on Ian’s face is obvious, the hatred in his eyes darkening by the moment. “Pass,” he says through clenched teeth. “What are you going to do with Alivia?”

“Oh, your former plaything that you abandoned?” Cyrus says with a smirk. He leans forward, resting a forearm on his knee. Ian’s jaw tightens in anger.

“Don’t,” I whisper to him, even though everyone in the room can hear it. “Just let it go, Ian.”

“Yes, just let it go, Ian,” Cyrus says, enjoying the torture he’s putting the man through. “As you already did. Just let her go. Because her trial will begin come daybreak, and it doesn’t look good.”

Ian lets out a harsh breath through his nose, staring down the King, before turning to me. He takes five steps. “You okay?” he asks, the concern growing in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say.

He stares at me hard, not believing what I’m saying. But finally, he turns back to the judges. “I’ll leave,” Ian says. “But not until after the trial is over. I need to make sure Alivia and my sister make it safely back to Silent Bend.”

Cyrus chuckles and stands. He kicks the head out of his path, sending it rolling across the ballroom, flicking blood everywhere. He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms. “Ah, so I guess now we know what type you are. The brash hero who must protect everyone. What a cliché.”

I hear it, the intake of breath Ian takes, about to say something he shouldn’t to the King. My hand darts out, clamping down hard on Ian’s forearm over his jacket. He gets the warning message, because he doesn’t say a word.

Cyrus lets out a laugh, four short bursts of gleeful spite. He turns away from us, and the two guards grab me. I don’t fight them, and Ian watches me, ready to spring, so I try to convey the message of
it’s okay
through my eyes.

The guards don’t have to force me as we turn and head out of the enormous room. Ian’s footsteps follow just behind.

And just as we’re ten feet through the doorway, Raheem rounds the corner.

His eyes grow wide and his expression pales. Not once do his eyes leave my face as he rushes forward. These guards must not know of Raheem’s betrayal because they do not stop him when he reaches forward and takes my chained hands in his.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes searching me over. “Are they beginning?”

And I feel heat clawing up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. My eyes dart to Ian, and sure enough, he’s staring, a hard expression in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, unable to look him in the eye. “And they’re beginning at daybreak when Christian and Markov arrive.”

Finally, Raheem seems to catch on that we have an audience. His eyes dart to Ian. But he doesn’t back down, doesn’t seem embarrassed. But his eyes do harden. “Mr. Ward,” he says. “I see you’ve been released from prison.”

“Yep,” Ian responds. His voice is tight. He crosses his arms over his chest, revealing the stake in his hand, exposing the long blade dangling from his hip.

“I assume you will be staying for the trial?” Raheem asks as he finally lets my hands go.

I groan. Romantic drama is the last thing I want right now. I step forward, dragging the guards behind me.

I don’t wait for them to react. Don’t turn around to see their heated stares.

Suddenly, isolation sounds like heaven.

THE ROOM THEY MOVE ME to is a massive improvement over the cell.

A simple double-sized bed sits in the middle of the small room. A dresser is on one wall. A mirror on another. A small bathroom. And then there’s a closet with a few simple items of black clothing.

But it’s heaven compared to the steel and stone walls I’ve been staring at for the last month.

The very first thing I do is shower. X was cruel, but right. I do smell awful. The last shower I got was the one I took in Raheem’s quarters weeks ago. The hot water cascades down over me, rinsing off the filth and time.

When I’m done, I braid my hair, which has gotten so long, over my shoulder and pull on the clothes.

A knock sounds on the door and a moment later, a woman opens the door. My throat instantly burns.

She’s human.

She’s barely closed the door behind her, saying something with a heavy Austrian accent, before I’m across the room and my fangs sink into her neck.

The human woman goes instantly still, her head lolling to the side, exposing easier access. My fingers dig hard into her flesh, holding her upright, as my fangs sink in deeper. I take long pulls, drawing from her body what I’ve been craving for over a month now. Fresh blood.

But my age is showing. Just last month, I would have easily kept sucking until I drained her dry, but as the burn in my throat and belly begins to be extinguished, my thoughts clear. I release her after just a few deep pulls.

“Thank you,” I say, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. And it’s the first time it’s come away clean.

“
Bitte
,” she says in German, offering me a pleasant smile. She turns to the door and knocks three times. A guard opens the door and lets the woman out.

I collapse into the bed, feeling both satisfied and disgusted with myself. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed something fresh to drink. So much better than the bagged stuff.

And maybe it’s finally getting to drink. Maybe it’s finally knowing that something is going to happen. I claw my way up to the pillow and tuck myself into the blankets. Maybe it’s having a real bed once again, but finally, I sleep for the first time in a month.

I’M WOKEN BY THE SOUND of talking outside the door to my room. I sit up in the dark and push a few loose strands of hair out of my face, just as the door is pushed open.

“Markov,” I call in delight. I’m out of the bed in a blink and my arms wrap around his neck. “Christian.” He gains a hug, as well.

“Told you they wouldn’t just a let a Royal rot in a prison cell,” Christian says with a smirk in Markov’s direction.

“Actually,” I correct him as we walk into the room and I settle back onto the bed. “I’ve only just been moved from the prison a few hours ago. I’ve been down there all this time.”

Markov fixes Christian with a cold glare. “She may be a Royal, but she was removed as a prisoner. Are you well, my queen?”

The softness in his voice makes my heart swell. A kind word. A hint of loyalty. “I’m okay,” I say, offering him an appreciative smile. “Even better now that you two are here. I guess three. Lillian is here, too.”

Markov’s eyes flash red for a moment, a look of disgust and frustration upon his face. Their expressions tell me they knew she was here. “She was your first ally, yet first to doubt you,” Markov says, anger in his voice. “Did you ever see this coming?”

“No,” I respond honestly. “I thought she was my friend. I thought—”

“She is your friend,” Christian says. “That’s why she’s so hurt. The evidence does look pretty damn bad.”

“Did you two find anything to prove that I’m being set up?” Suddenly, my voice is desperate.

Markov takes my hand in his, patting it between his two wrinkled and aged ones. “King Cyrus has mandated that we are not allowed to tell you anything before the trial. But I do believe we have a good chance of exonerating you.”

There’s enough doubt in his voice to make my heart race.

“Our case kind of all hinges on one important key, and it hasn’t exactly been secured yet.”

“That’s enough,” Markov hushes Christian. “You’re a fool if you think Cyrus isn’t listening to every word.”

Christian takes two fingers and zips them over his lips, giving Markov an annoyed glare.

“How long until daybreak?” I ask as they stand to leave.

“About an hour,” Markov responds. He smooth’s his hands over my shoulders, clearing away the wrinkles in my clothes. “I’m sure they will come for you soon. Do not be intimidated by their numbers. You have loyalty at your side, people who know you did not commit this heinous crime.”

“Chin up, princess,” Christian says as he opens the door. “See you on the stand.”