Page 18 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

“Oh.” Another shiver wracked my body. That was not what we called them in Odessa, but I kept my mouth shut about that. “And they don’t know what’s wrong?”

A heap of lengthy white hair fell into his face as he shook his head. He sighed, digging out a leather tie from his pocket and working it all back as he said, “Best guess is whatever happened at that camp is still working its way out of you. The witch and Jasper got your leg all fixed up, at least, so there’s no worrying about that mess eatin’ you from the inside out.”

“My…my leg?” I almost choked on the bread I was fighting to swallow.

Beneath the covers, my toes wiggled freely, but my jailer had an apprehensive look on his face when I glanced back over. I immediately started fighting my way out of the blanket.

“The other one, I think,” he said as I moved to hike up my right pant leg and revealed only inches of flesh that was just as I remembered it.

I switched quickly to my left, and my urgency slowed dramatically. A sprawling network of rosy pink, freshly healed skin started at the top of my foot, spreading up my shin and around the back of my calf, only a few tendrils trailing any higher than my knee. Some spots were deep, pitted marks, some were smooth, and others were raised. One thing was for certain—they spoke of a nasty injury. They held the pattern of scars I was familiar with growing up so close to the mines in Odessa.

The flush I’d woken to started creeping back through my body. “Are they…?”

“Burns,” he supplied. “Do you not remember?”

I blew out a breath and shook my head.

On the inhale, my mind treated me to a fleeting memory of acrid ash and putrid, burning flesh. It was gone as quickly as it came, but that didn’t stop me from gulping down mouthfuls of water to stave off some of the nausea it churned.

My jailer watched me cautiously the entire time, and there was no misjudging the distance he had put back between us.

“What happened?” I asked, more pleading than I was proud of. “There was a fire? Where? With…with my camp? Or…?”

The man just shook his head with a wince and exited my cell, easing the door back into place. “I’ve probably said too much. The king was adamant he needed to be the first to know when you were awake. He might be a while, though, so try to get some more rest. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to talk to you about.”

I swallowed. “The king was adamant?”

“He was,” the man chuckled. “You’re in Grimm’s Keep, remember? He runs the place from top to bottom, Miss Wynn.”

Miss Wynn.

“Wait a second! Tell me your name, at least. Or… Wait! What day is it⁠—”

The lock on my cell door clicked over, and with it went the fleeting hope of my identity being unknown, and the even smaller hope of finding my way out of this engagement and the hell I’d landed myself in.

5

SO, A KING AND A MAGE WALK INTO A CELL

ENORA

Even though I didn’t remember falling asleep, the echoing thunk of my cell being unlocked jolted me awake. It must have been during my thorough examination of my scarred flesh after my jailer left, based on how I was upright and cross-legged, my pant leg bunched up around my thigh.

Another dark fae man was entering my cell, a little taller than my first jailer. A little opposite in all other ways too. His skin was a much paler shade of gray that reminded me of pewter, with his hair long, half-pulled back, and dark as night. Two ridged horns curled back from behind his hairline, both black and glossy and glinting with metal rings.

And his eyes? Fuck me. They were a vibrant shade of amber, set against black pools and framed by dark lashes. I’d barely registered every hair on my body standing on end when he said, “Enora Wynn.” Not a question, but an annoyed statement.

I swallowed. “The one and only.”

His sigh was palpable, but he said nothing, gesturing behind him instead, where my other jailer reemerged with a couple of objects, including a small stool. Tall, Dark, and Terrifying set it near the foot of my cot, and I pressed myself into the corner as he lowered himself onto it, elbows braced on his knees and a cloth bundle in his hands. He gave me a stare I was sure could have melted stone before he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Leave us,” he said to my hovering jailer. “And keep an eye out for Jasper. He wasn’t in his crypt, so Eilir’s gone to Embervale for him.”

“Of course, my liege.”

Footsteps crunched on gritty floors before the screech and thunk of a heavy metal door echoed, and my new captor turned his startling amber gaze back to me. I fought against a lump in my throat and didn’t dare reach for the mostly empty mug beside my cot. Instead, I wrapped the awful, scratchy blanket as tightly as I could around me while he watched in predatory silence.

This was a routine I knew well from our various prisons in Odessa.