The King’s Tournament...I’d forgotten all about the ancient event. Tuatha Dé Danann was a place that lived. It breathed magic and power, and the only way a new king or queen took the crown was if Tuatha deemed him or her worthy. Although Killian was crown prince, the throne hadn’t automatically passed to him at his father’s death. Tradition dictated that all the strongest fae beings were eligible to fight for it.
When is the tournament?
“In less than a month.”
Hearing his voice out loud, I immediately went on high alert. My anxious gaze moved to the window on my cell door before returning to the men. Unless you’re here to kill me, you need to get on with your business. If you’re caught in here, I’ll pay the price.
Ronan’s hand tightened on his hilt for a few seconds before he finally released it. We’re not here to kill you. At least, not yet.
Gee, that’s reassuring.
And no one will know we’re here, as long as you don’t give us away, Killian added. Personally, I suggest you sit down and act normal.
Like I gave a flying fig about his suggestions.
Still, I sat back down on the bed and attempted to school my expression into a bored one. I could give them up, but what would that accomplish? They would be escorted away, and I would still have no idea why they were here.
It was one thing for them to come for an official visit. It was another thing for them to sneak in. And I needed to know why they would risk it. They may be royalty, but they could get themselves in some serious hot water for messing with the Nightmare Penitentiary rule of law.
My attention still fully on Killian, I didn’t even realize Ronan had drawn his sword until the tip of it caressed my jaw. Unsure if I was more fearful of the blade or the collar, it took everything in me not to cry out. One wrong move or one errant thought, and I was toast.
Why did you murder the king?
Keeping my gaze affixed to his, I thought, I had nothing to do with it.
“You’re lying,” Ronan rasped.
I’m not. I swear.
He dug the blade into my skin just enough to cause a pinprick of pain. “This is your final chance. Tell us the truth. All of it.”
The tears that had been gathering dried up in an instant, my frustration replaced by fury. How dare he demand anything of me? The need to speak aloud welled up in me, and only my stubborn determination to not let him win kept my voice at bay.
Straightening my spine and narrowing my eyes, I mentally replied, Make me.
Killian
Before Imogen’s words had fully formed in my mind, I’d already snatched the sword from Ronan’s grasp and thrown it across the room. It slammed against the concrete wall with a loud clang, and I swore under my breath. Unless the guard down the hall was fast asleep, there was no way he’d missed that.
Act natural, I directed at Imogen while I dragged Ronan away from her. He wasn’t the type to lose his cool, but the feisty redhead had directly challenged him. And he would never back down from a challenge.
I couldn’t help but watch my former friend while she adjusted her position on the bed with a silent huff. She was different. Not on the outside—she was still as beautiful as ever, with her bright green eyes, wild red hair, and enticing curves. The changes were all on the inside.
This place had altered her. Imogen had been the sweetest girl I’d ever known. She’d been quick to smile and had a friendly word for everyone she met. Sometimes, I’d worried she was too nice. Tuatha Dé Danann wasn’t always kind to the innocent, and there had been no one in the kingdom more innocent than Imogen Eveningsong.
Until she wasn’t.
The betrayal I’d felt when I’d seen Imogen’s dagger in my dead father’s open palm—or when Flynn had dragged her into the castle, her guilt evident in the deep red surrounding her irises—still stung every time I thought about it. Besides my brothers, there had been no one I trusted more than her.
Now, I couldn’t help but wonder if that overwhelming sense of betrayal had clouded my judgment. It had been easy for all of the king’s advisors to blame the banshee—the mysterious creatures had always been feared, whether it was deserved or not. Though it hadn’t been so easy for me to agree with them, I had.
And I was beginning to regret that.
Yesterday, after leaving the prison, Flynn had been the one to voice the question—What if we were wrong about her? But I’d already been thinking it. In fact, that possibility had been causing me to lose sleep even before I’d begun showing signs of my illness.
Illness.
I wanted to laugh at that description. Clearly, it had nothing to do with a physical ailment. But what did one call something he couldn’t explain or even understand?
Sensing movement outside of the cell, I glanced up to find the guard looking into the room through the plexiglass at the top of the door. His gaze slid over me and Ronan, confirming that our glamours were doing their job. Normal magic had no effect inside Nightmare Penitentiary, but there was nothing normal about our magic.
It was good to be royalty.
Well, it had been until someone decided to slowly drive me to insanity. Right now, I’d much rather be a mortal, living out a normal existence with a pretty wife and a couple of sons.
Guess I had my impending death to thank for my change in perspective.
Once it was clear the guard had moved on, I retrieved Ronan’s sword and offered it to him. It was a show of respect and confidence, both of which he valued greatly. I was proving that I trusted him not to harm Imogen, and when he accepted the weapon, he was silently agreeing.
We didn’t need telepathy for that conversation. Our brotherly bond was ingrained in a way that most people couldn’t comprehend. Ronan, Flynn, and I understood each other, even when we didn’t agree. Which was more often than not.
Turning my attention back to Imogen, I struggled to find the words I most wanted to convey. If my suspicions were confirmed—if she was innocent—there was nothing I could say that would ever make up for what I had put her through.
Eventually, I decided to keep it simple. We need your help.
Imogen
It was very hard to concentrate on helping someone whose brother struggled not to cut my throat.
Ronan narrowed his eyes at me. I bet it killed him to ask me for help.
Blinking slowly, I forced myself to shift my attention to Killian. I didn’t miss the way the tip of Ronan’s sword lifted from the ground toward me every so often.
Perhaps I should have screamed for the guards when I had the chance. Just the thought made me wince. I’d only screamed once while wearing this collar, and it had delivered such unbearable pain, I’d been knocked out for hours.
The old me would have answered, “Yes,” immediately to the princes’ request for help. But the me who’d learned how easy it was for people in power to hurt those with none hesitated.
I was selfish now, and helping them wouldn’t help me. They didn’t even want my help; of that, I was certain. From the hard lines bracketing Ronan’s mouth, I could surmise I was their very last resort. He would have been happier never seeing me again.
And why wouldn’t he? His loyalty was to his brother. Not me. No matter what I’d thought back when I’d been stupid and naive.