“You don’t want to do this, Reed,” Dell called behind him.

Ian laughed. “Of course he does. He’s a true Tenyson. Unlike you.”

Two of the men wrapped meaty hands around Dell’s arms and lifted him off the ground like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

They marched into the swirling storm, the rain pounding in time with Dell’s rapid heartbeats.

“You won’t get away with this,” he growled as Ian trailed them, wiping water from his face.

“Of course I will. I will soon be one step away from the throne.”

One of the men ran forward and unlocked the thin wooden door that led to the cellar. He pulled it open, revealing a staircase down into the earth.

A hand landed on Dell’s back, pushing him forward into the door. His feet missed the stairs altogether. He hit the ground with a bone-jarring force, his shoulder slamming into the packed dirt floor.

Ian’s face was the last thing he saw before the door slid down, throwing him into complete and utter blackness.

Chapter Sixteen

None of them knew. It was one of the first things Helena realized about the servants and advisors who walked the palace grounds. No one told them she was missing or that her own father allowed the priests to imprison her.

If they saw the scene days ago outside the front steps, they wouldn’t have recognized her. Except for a few loyal servants allowed into the royal family’s wing, they had never seen her face.

So, when she walked by and they bowed with a formal “princess” all she could do was act as if none of it had happened; as if she hadn’t lost faith in everything Madra stood for. Laws that resulted in the kind of pain she’d seen in the priests’ hole were laws that didn’t need to be cemented into the kingdom’s sacred traditions. They need to be ripped apart at the seams to find where Madra had gone so very wrong.

When Stev brought her back to the palace the night before, he’d hidden her in Quinn’s now empty room. Cole had hugged her so tight, like he worried she’d disappear again.

And Kassander… her sweet brother refused to leave her side, even sleeping in Quinn’s bed with her.

Camille walked at her side as they made their way to the family wing, the soft thumping of her cane now a comforting melody. Because Helena needed a friend. Someone who wasn’t simply one of her brothers.

“I’m still surprised my father didn’t force you to attend the Madran games.” Helena glanced sideways at the foreign princess.

Camille frowned. “I am not of Madra. He cannot command me.”

A hesitant smile spread across Helena’s face. She’d grown accustomed to and rather fond of Camille’s abruptness.