CHAPTER ELEVEN
A STONE EMBRACE
woke to darkness so complete it felt like drowning.I My lungs seized, struggling against the press of infinite black, while my mind spun, unable to grasp where I was or how I’d come to be there. The stone beneath me leached warmth from my body with malicious efficiency, and the air, stale and thick with the perfume of rot, clung to the inside of my nose. For one merciful moment, I remembered nothing.
Then pain bloomed, a symphony of aches that awakened one by one. My raw, torn feet. The bruises flowering across my ribs and arms. The burning thirst that had transformed my tongue to sandpaper. I shifted, and the thin silk of my robe scraped against my skin like burlap. The movement sent waves of nausea rolling through me, and I curled onto my side, pressing my cheek against the damp stone as if its chill might anchor me to consciousness.
Like a tide rising, memories surged forward, each one more horrific than the last. My wedding vows, spoken with hollow conviction. Blood mingling with blood as Valen bound me to him. The sudden, terrible screams that had erupted through the castle. My desperate flight through the corridors, silk robe clutched around me, feet leaving bloody prints on marble floors as I searched for Lysa.
I remembered finding my little sister hiding, her small body trembling with fear. I remembered Isolde’s face, streaked with tears as she took Lysa from my arms. I remembered the brutal finality in Valen’s eyes as he executed my family one by one, their bodies crumpling to the throne room
floor like abandoned dolls.
A sound tore free from my throat, something between a scream and a sob, and I slammed my palm against the stone floor, welcoming the sharp pain that shot up my arm. Pain meant I was alive. Pain meant this was real.
“No,” I whispered, the word scraping against my parched throat. “No, no, no.”
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest of abused muscles. My hands stretched out, reaching blindly into the suffocating darkness. Stone wall to my right. Stone beneath me. I shuffled forward on my knees, hands sweeping the ground before me until they met cold metal. Bars. Iron bars, thick as my wrist, set deep into stone on either side.
A cell. I was in a cell in the dungeons beneath Vareth’s palace. The dungeons I’d only heard whispered about, where traitors and enemies of the crown were left to rot and be forgotten.
But I was the crown. Or I had been, for one blood-soaked day.
I wrapped my fingers around the bars and shook them with all the strength desperation afforded me. They didn’t so much as tremble. I pressed my face between them, peering into darkness that offered no relief.
“Guards!” My voice broke on the word, a pathetic croak that wouldn’t carry beyond the walls of my cell. I swallowed painfully and tried again.
“Valen! You coward! Let me out!”
Only silence answered me, broken by the distant drip of water and the scrabbling of unseen vermin in the walls. I slammed my fists against the bars until pain radiated up my arms, but the cold iron yielded nothing. My knees ached from the stone floor, but I couldn’t bring myself to retreat back to the corner where I’d awoken.
I edged to the left, following the bars, mapping the dimensions of my prison. The cell was small—merely six paces in any direction I would estimate. Three walls of solid stone, one wall of bars facing what I assumed was a corridor. No window. No torch bracket. Nothing but darkness and the promise of a slow, wasting death.
My breath came faster, shallower. The walls seemed to press inward. I imagined the weight of the palace above me, tons of stone separating me from the sky. Would I ever see sunlight again? Feel a breeze on my face? Or would I die here, alone in the dark, my body forgotten until it was nothing but bones?
No. I wouldn’t die. Not like this. Not when Lysa was out there
somewhere, needing me.
Lysa. The thought of her was a pinprick of light in the suffocating black.
I’d held her, felt her small, warm body against mine as I’d carried her through the chaos of that night. I’d placed her in Isolde’s capable hands. I’d watched them disappear into the night.
They had escaped. They had to have escaped. The alternative was unthinkable.
I sank back to the floor, my spine pressed against the cold stone wall, and drew my knees to my chest. The thin silk robe offered no warmth, but I wrapped my arms around myself anyway, trying to quiet the tremors that rattled through my body.
“They’re safe,” I murmured, as if speaking the words could make them true. “Lysa is safe. Isolde will protect her.”
But what of the others? My father, his head severed with a single stroke of Valen’s sword. Queen Ira, her elegant features contorted in terror in her final moments. Cordelia, my half-sister who had never loved me but didn’t deserve such an end. My half-brothers, too young to understand the forces that had brought death to their door. All gone, their blood soaking into the throne room floor while I watched, helpless.
And Valen. King Valen of Nocthar. My husband. A god wearing mortal flesh.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. A god. I’d married a god.
One who had slaughtered my family before the blood of our binding ritual had dried. One who had thrown me in my own dungeons. What kind of nightmare had I stumbled into? What kind of hellish fairy tale was this?
I knew of the God of Blood and Conquest only from an image I found in my father’s study. Vareth was a kingdom that worshiped the Twin Goddesses, and any studies surrounding additional gods was practically banned. I knew essentially nothing of what I had married, and I felt I was at a severe disadvantage.
I sighed, settling in to wait for my husband.
I didn’t know how much time passed as I sat there, lost in the dark. Hours, perhaps. Maybe days. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and thirst scratched at
my throat like claws. I drifted in and out of a light, restless sleep, jerking awake at the smallest sounds—the scurry of a rat, the distant echo of a door closing, the creak of the ancient palace settling.
At some point, I crawled back to the corner where I’d first awakened, curling up on the damp stone, conserving what little warmth my body could generate. I tried to think of escape, of revenge, of anything but the crushing weight of grief and fear, but my thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, refusing to be gathered.
I might have been sleeping when I heard it—the distant sound of a door opening, hinges protesting with a rusty shriek. Then footsteps. Slow, measured, confident. The click of boots on stone, coming closer. Drawing nearer to my cell.
I pushed myself upright, heart thundering against my ribs. Light spilled into the corridor beyond my cell—not daylight, but the warm orange glow of a torch. It hurt my eyes after so long in darkness, and I raised a hand to shield them, squinting against the sudden brightness.
A dark figure stepped into the light, and I knew him instantly. Even if I couldn’t see his face, I would have known the set of those shoulders, the precise way he moved. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with a power that made the hair on my arms rise.
Valen.
He carried a tray in one hand and a torch in the other. He set the torch in a bracket I hadn’t been able to see in the darkness, then approached my cell. I could see him clearly now—the sharp angles of his face, the midnight black of his hair, the inhuman stillness with which he observed me. He wore simple clothing, dark trousers and a loose shirt, but he carried himself with the arrogance of a king. Of a god.
“You look terrible,” he said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.
I didn’t respond. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my fear or my rage.
He sighed, a sound of exaggerated patience, and set the tray down. With a casual movement, he slid it through a small opening at the floor of the bars— food, water, and something folded atop it that looked like clothing. A mockery of civility after what he’d done.
I didn’t move to take it, though my parched throat screamed for the water and my empty stomach twisted at the smell of bread.
“You should eat,” he said, leaning against the wall opposite my cell.
“Starving yourself would be a pointless gesture.”
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze despite the tremble in my limbs. In the torchlight, his eyes gleamed with an inhuman sheen, like polished onyx. The weight of his gaze crawled over my skin like something alive, assessing, calculating.
“Say something,” he murmured, his tone almost gentle. “I’ve been looking forward to your sharp tongue, my queen.”
I managed to smile, a bitter, cold smile. “What do you want me to say?” I finally asked, my voice a rasp of its former self. “That I’m grateful for your hospitality? That I’m enjoying my stay in your dungeon?”
His laugh was soft and genuine, which somehow made it more terrifying than any display of anger could have been. “There she is. I was concerned that your spirit might have broken already. That would have been disappointing.”
He moved closer to the bars, his fingers trailing above the iron as if greeting an old friend. The torchlight cast half his face in shadow, transforming his features into something ancient and malevolent. His eyes— those inhumanly dark eyes—studied me as one might study an insect pinned to velvet, with detached curiosity and the calm certainty that I could not escape.
Finally, he sighed. “Eat, wife. Starving yourself won’t change anything, least of all my plans for you.”
“Wife,” I spat the word like poison. “Is that what I am? The blood on your hands hadn’t even dried before you threw me in here.”
“Blood is the foundation of all meaningful bonds,” he replied, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “Ours is perhaps the most meaningful of all.”
I stared at him, revulsion crawling through me like ice in my veins.
“What bond? You murdered my family. You slaughtered everyone I’ve ever known.”
“Not everyone,” Valen said, his voice soft but pointed. “I can be merciful, occasionally.”
My heart stuttered in my chest, but I kept my expression carefully blank.
Lysa. Islode. If he was telling me this, it meant he hadn’t captured them yet.
They were still free. But for how long?
“What do you want from me?” I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.
Valen crouched down, bringing his face level with mine through the bars.
“Many things, Mireille. But for now, I simply want you to understand your position.”
His proximity made my skin crawl, but I refused to retreat. To show weakness now would only feed whatever sick game he was playing.
“My position is clear enough,” I said. “Prisoner. Widow. Orphan. All thanks to you.”
“Widow?” His smile was slow and terrible. “I’m very much alive, my queen.”
“My husband died the moment he revealed himself as a monster.”
Something flickered across his face—not anger, exactly, but a ripple in the perfect mask he wore. “You know nothing of monsters. But you will.”
“I know everything I need to. I know you.”
He reached through the bars, his movement too quick for me to evade.
His fingers caught my chin, forcing my face upward. His touch was burning hot, like metal left too long in the sun, and I couldn’t suppress my wince. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with a possessive familiarity that made bile rise in my throat.
“You speak of monsters as if they’re simple creatures,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across my face. “But monsters are made, Mireille. They’re forged in the fires of betrayal and tempered in the ice of abandonment.” His grip tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to remind me of his strength.
“Ask your father about monsters. Oh, wait—you can’t.”
I jerked away from his touch, hatred burning through my veins like poison. “Don’t speak of my father.”
“Your father,” Valen cut in, his voice suddenly razor-sharp, “knew exactly what awaited him after holding me here for so long.”
I swallowed, tasting blood and fear. A hundred questions burned in my mind, a hundred curses waiting to be hurled at him. But when I finally spoke, my voice hoarse and breaking at the edges, I asked the only thing that
mattered.
“What did he do to you?”
He tilted his head, considering me. “Your father,” he said, drawing out the words like he was tasting them, “was quite the collector. Did you know that about him?”
I said nothing. I had known so little about my father. The man who had kept me at arm’s length my entire life, who had married me off to a monster for political gain, who had died looking at me with something like fear and
regret in his eyes.
He stood and began to pace outside my cell, his movements fluid and predatory. Each step deliberate, measured, like he had all the time in eternity —which, I supposed, he did.
“Your beloved King Aeldrin kept me chained in these very dungeons for decades.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight, ancient and terrible. “He bound me with iron and blood magic, all for mere scraps of power.”
I frowned, pulling my robe tighter around me despite knowing it was a futile gesture against both the cold and his penetrating gaze. “How is that possible?”
Valen’s attention returned to me, sharp as a blade. “Your father was not the only king obsessed with the divine, with gods. There are many documents outlining how to capture us, but most fail in the act.” He hummed, a low sound that seemed to vibrate in the stone beneath me. “Aeldrin was merely more... ambitious than most.”
I shifted, wincing as my raw feet scraped against the floor. “But you are a god, are you not?” I asked, the words still strange on my tongue. “Why would you let yourself be imprisoned? Why wouldn’t you just...” I gestured vaguely, unable to articulate what a god should be capable of.
“Imprisoned.” Valen savored the word like a fine wine. “Such a delicate term for what actually occurred. Your father tore me from my rest.
Summoned me like some lesser god, then bound me to his will using methods that...” He paused, his expression hardening. “Let’s just say he was thorough in his questioning.”
The implication hung in the air between us. Torture. My father had tortured Valen in these dungeons.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice strained with frustration. “If you’re so powerful, why didn’t you simply escape?”
Valen sighed, seemingly bored by my question. “Some cages are more complex than iron bars, Princess.”
This God-King was so infuriating. “Do you always speak in riddles, Butcher?”
He chuckled as he resumed his pacing. “To answer your question, sparrow, these dungeons were built long before your father’s time—before Vareth was even a kingdom. There are only two cells left in the mortal realms that can hold beings like me. My kin and I have destroyed all others, but this one still stands.” His gaze drifted toward the wall that separated my cell from
the adjacent one.
“But how?” I pressed, needing to understand. “How is it possible to cage a god?”
“The cell itself is just stone and iron,” Valen explained, his tone taking on a soft cadence. “What makes it special are the runes carved into its foundation, the sacrifices buried beneath its floor. Ancient power, Princess.
The kind your people have forgotten—or chosen to forget.”
I tried to process this information, to reconcile it with everything I thought I knew about my father, about Vareth, about the world. “Why didn’t your... kin come to rescue you?”
Valen’s smile turned vicious then, a baring of teeth that reminded me of his true nature. “That is not my story to tell,” he said, his voice suddenly cold.
A silence fell between us, filled only with that distant drip of water. I found myself staring at the untouched clothes he had brought—a simple dress of dark fabric, far removed from the finery I had known my entire life. Was this to be my existence now? A prisoner in the dungeon of my former home, dressed in rags, at the mercy of a vengeful god?
“So, then what? You waited all this time for revenge?” I asked, trying to make sense of this twisted history. “You married me just to… what? To make my father watch you take his kingdom before you killed him?”
Valen considered me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable.
“Revenge is a simple word for a complex desire, Princess.” He moved closer to the bars, his fingers wrapping around the iron. “I wanted your father to know what it was to lose everything. To feel powerless. To watch as all he built with my power crumbled before him.”
I stared at him, at this being who claimed divinity yet harbored such mortal hatred. In the flickering torchlight, shadows danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the cruel curve of his mouth.
He looked entirely human, beautiful even, in a cold, dangerous way.
“Are we truly married?” I asked finally, the question barely audible. “In the eyes of gods and men?”
Valen met my gaze with a slight, enigmatic smile. “We are married,” he confirmed, “and will remain so for eternity. The vows we exchanged were binding in ways you cannot begin to comprehend. Those weren’t just pretty words, Princess.”
A leaden weight settled in my chest. Eternal. The word echoed in my mind like a death knell.
“I’ll be leaving for a time,” Valen said abruptly, changing the subject.
“Affairs of state require my attention. Your former kingdom doesn’t run itself, after all.”
“How long?” I asked, hating the desperation that crept into my voice.
He shrugged, the gesture strangely human for a being of such ancient power. “A fortnight, perhaps longer. Conquering a kingdom requires attention to detail, and Vareth’s nobles need... convincing that their new king is here to stay.”
My heart clenched at the thought of what that might mean for my people, for the citizens of Vareth who had no part in my father’s sins or Valen’s revenge.
“Before I leave, you ought to know,” he added, “your sister and her companions reached Dothra safely.” His tone was casual, but his eyes watched me closely, gauging my reaction. “You are welcome.”
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My sister was alive. Safe.
Dothra was a city just outside Anorath. The relief that surged through me was so powerful it made me dizzy, and I had to press my palm against the cold iron bars to steady myself.
“Are you telling me this out of kindness?” I asked, suspicious of this unexpected mercy. “Or is it a threat?”
Valen’s laugh was soft and genuinely amused. “Always so distrusting, my queen. Consider it... information freely given.”
I studied his face, searching for deception. “Why would you tell me this?
Why let them escape at all?”
“Perhaps I’m not the monster you believe me to be,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t particularly care what I thought of him. “Or perhaps I simply enjoy giving you hope. The hunt is always more satisfying when the prey believes it has a chance.”
A chill ran down my spine. “If you harm them —“ “You’ll what?” Valen interrupted, his voice still pleasant but edged with warning. “Remember your position, wife. You have nothing with which to bargain, nothing with which to threaten.”
He was right, and we both knew it. I was powerless, caged, at his mercy.
He turned to leave, but paused near the adjacent cell. Leaning in close to the bars, he smiled—a faint, cruel curve of his lips that made my blood run cold. “Still refusing to eat, I see,” he murmured to whoever was inside. “Such pride never served one as well as you.”
Then he straightened, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “It might be in your best interest to stay far away from that wall, Princess. Some things are best left undisturbed.”
My pulse pounded against my ribs. Was I not alone in this darkness? Did someone else languish in the cell next to mine, someone else who had drawn Valen’s particular attention? Someone else who was captured by my father?
With those final words, he departed, the heavy outer door closing behind him with a finality that seemed to steal the breath from my lungs. The darkness closed in again, but now it felt different, charged with the awareness of another presence nearby.
The silence stretched, filled only with that maddening drip of water and the skitter of unseen rats. I wet my lips, gathering my courage before making my way to the wall separating our cells.
“Is someone there?” I called softly, pressing myself against the stone.
No response came, not even the whisper of movement. Was Valen merely playing a cruel game, trying to make me believe I had an ally, a friend in this isolation, only to reveal another deception?
A sound came then. Not a voice, but a slow, deliberate scraping. Metal against stone, rhythmic and purposeful. Then silence again.
I held my breath, waiting, every sense alert.
“A little fawn,” came a voice finally, so low I almost didn’t catch it. A man’s voice, rough with disuse but cultured beneath the roughness. “Lost in the forest, are we?”
The mocking endearment sent goosebumps across my skin. He unsettled me, my body immediately recognizing the predator in close proximity. Yet, I couldn’t see him, couldn’t gauge if he was friend or foe, if he was mortal or some other captive god wearing mortal flesh.
“Who are you?” I asked, pressing closer to the corner of the wall where stone met iron, straining to catch a glimpse of my neighbor.
A soft, humorless chuckle drifted through the darkness. “No one of consequence. Just another trophy in the collection. Another prisoner of your father’s ambition.”
My heart sank. Another accusation against my father, another layer to the mystery of King Aeldrin’s apparent sins.
“You knew my father?” I asked, desperate for any scrap of information that might make sense of this nightmare.
The scraping sound came again, followed by a clink of metal—chains, I
realized, moving against stone.
“Oh yes,” the voice replied, a smile evident in its cadence despite its roughness. “I knew your father quite intimately. As he knew me.” A pause, heavy with something I couldn’t name. “And now I shall know his daughter, it seems. How delightfully symmetrical.”
My spine tensed at his words. Whoever—whatever—waited in the darkness beyond my cell, I sensed that my encounter with him would be no less dangerous than my confrontation with Valen.
Perhaps even more so.
I drew back from the bars, retreating to the far corner of my cell where the shadows were thickest. There, huddled against the cold stone, I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to make sense of a world suddenly populated by gods and prisoners who spoke in riddles.
I pressed my palms against my eyes until lights danced behind my eyelids —the only stars I was likely to see for a very long time.
Tomorrow, I decided, I would try to eat and drink, keeping up my strength for what lay ahead. Tomorrow, I would begin planning my escape, my revenge, my survival.
But tonight, alone in the dark with the ghost of Valen’s smile still haunting me, I allowed myself one moment of pure, primal fear. One moment to acknowledge the enormity of what I faced… imprisoned by a god, bound to him by blood magic I didn’t understand, separated from everyone I had ever loved or trusted.
I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle a sob. I would not cry. I would not break. I was Mireille of Vareth, bastard daughter of a king, wife to a monster. And somehow, I would find a way to turn this nightmare to my
advantage.
Even if it took an eternity.
