His anger flared, tempting him to mark her again right then and there. Somewhere it could be clearly seen so if anyone so much as thought about taking her, he’d be well within his right to rip out their fucking spines.

He positioned his mouth over the curve of her neck, his jaw aching with the need to clamp it around the tender spot. But something over her shoulder caught his eye, and he lifted his face, enhancing his sight to see out across the water.

Sighing, he released his hold on her throat and gripped her hips, twisting her body so her back was flush against him.

“Consider yourself lucky, little star,” he murmured, pointing toward the emerging coastline. “We’re home.”

Chapter 2

TREY

Blood fell to the floor in a steady beat.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He watched each drop fall, rippling the growing puddle. If he tried hard enough, he could probably force his toes to wade through it, pushing it around the rough, dirty stones like paint.

In his delirious state, he was tempted to write out, I missed you in it. With his impaired vision and pounding head, it’d be impossible to write the message legibly, but damn, it’d almost be worth it just to see the bastard’s reaction.

His croaked laugh echoed out in the silence, bouncing off the walls and reverberating back at him. She would’ve found it funny too.

He didn’t know what time it was. Shit, between how infrequently he was fed and how often he passed out, he didn’t even know how many days he’d been down there.

The last thing he remembered was being strapped to a table with a pair of blue eyes staring down at him, oozing justification every time he screamed. As if he deserved each lick of the inflicted pain.

He’d tried, gods had he tried, to hold it in. But the second that venomous intent focused on his eye, he’d lost all sense of control. Passing out had been a fucking blessing.

His head was killing him, but it was the agonizing pain in his shoulders and wrists that woke him. His arms were secured to the wall above him, high enough that his feet barely reached the floor, and by the level of pain he was in, he’d been like that for at least an hour.

Was his Royal Highness playing with the Weapon’s Master too? Trey spat. His Royal fucking Highness. He’d never bestow the demon with the title again. The man was the definition of insane, and the worst part was that nobody knew.

Eithan’s outer shell was crafted to perfection. There wasn’t a single flaw in the disguise he’d created. For years, Trey had looked up to him, believing he could be the future emperor Aleron deserved.

He would’ve gladly given his life for him had it not all been a cruel lie.

He knew he’d ruined Eithan’s trust, knew he’d failed in his duty when he’d supported Vera running off, but this? Eithan wasn’t torturing him because he thought he deserved it. He had no qualms admitting he’d rather kill him.