Page 64

The silence stretched long enough that I wondered if he intended to answer at all. Then his gaze slid down to mine, slow and deliberate, that familiar mischief glinting in his eyes. But beneath it, something darker waited.

“Let’s just say,” he murmured, voice dropping into a velvet-dark rasp, “there is a reason I like pain.”

A shiver traced the length of my spine.

Before I could decide whether to ask what he meant, he pushed open two large doors and stepped aside, extending one arm for me to enter first.

My steps faltered as we walked into a dining room so beautiful that it took my breath away.

More white walls stared back at me, trimmed with delicate carvings and large framed paintings that seemed alive.

A shiver passed through me as I stared at them for a moment, realising we were being watched.

A crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering fractured light across the room as it caught the flicker of candlelight from golden candelabras mounted on the wall. Their flames danced lazily, wax spilling down in slow, uneven trails as though they had been lit for hours.

A long table stretched through the centre of the room, lined with tall candlesticks and an extravagant spread. Fruits spilled from silver platters, carved meats and bowls of grains and rich sauces arranged with deliberate precision. It was more lavish than any feast I had seen at Stonebriar.

Three sets of eyes burned into me as Helion led me to the table to take our seats. My skin crawled with dread as I sat down next to the priest. Gooseflesh rose on my skin despite the oppressing heat, as though there were a thousand eyes pressing down on me.

“Lyra.” He nodded at me in a polite greeting, bringing a glass of wine to his mouth and taking a long, deep drink. He shifted uncomfortably with the audacity to be as uncomfortable in my presence as I was in his.

Across from me, Kaezlyn sat with her red hair cascading in wild curls over her fitted white jacket, assessing me with those unsettling crimson eyes. To her right was the woman I had glimpsed in the first games. She wore a flowing white dress with puffed sleeves; her straight lilac hair and pale complexion reminded me of the pastel paintings in the hallways. But it was her wide almond eyes that made me pause.

They had the same eerie brightness as my own, though where mine were turquoise, hers held a pale purple sheen. She stared at me with her mouth slightly parted, not saying a word.

“So, who won the first game?” Helion said, heaping food onto a plate and placing it in front of me before going back for his own.

“Edgar did,” the lilac-haired woman said, her voice soft and lyrical as her fingers drifted to the delicate line of her throat. “Strangled me with my own hair.” Her eyes widened beneath pale lashes, almost fearful, as she caught my gaze. “I am Selkie,” she added, with a strange, innocent lilt. She had the kind of trembling beauty that invited protection, all wide eyes and fragile softness. It made me distrust her immediately.

Helion chuckled under his breath as he poured me a glass of wine into a golden chalice. “Very creative.”

I took the goblet from him and swallowed a large mouthful. The wine was dark, rich, and velvet-smooth against my tongue. Warmth bloomed through my chest and rushed straight to my head, loosening the tight coil of tension wound through my body.

“Better than fucking drowning,” Kaezlyn murmured between bites of food. “Though I suppose the two of you had fun after my death,” she added lightly, amusement threading through her voice.

“No, unfortunately.” Helion sighed before leveling a look at me. “Lyra has not yet consummated our union.”

My mouth parted in shock, colour staining my cheeks as anger burned through me.

He merely smirked over the rim of his chalice, far too pleased with himself, his corded forearms flexing as he brought it to his lips. He drank slowly, watching me the entire time, as if my outrage tasted sweeter than the wine.

Obviously whatever kindness he'd shown me in the bath had been another carefully crafted manipulation.

Yet the thought twisted uneasily inside me, refusing to settle.

Every version of him contradicted the last. He wore each of them so convincingly that I no longer knew which one was real.

I raised my chin, turning towards my meal and swallowing my rage.

Challenging him wouldn’t help me. Refusing to sleep with him wouldn’t either, but was his answer truly going to reveal how to save Rythos?

He had fractured my ability to trust him, and our bargain relying on nothing, but his word was proving problematic.

I loaded my fork with a little too much aggression, stabbing the delicate meat before bringing it to my mouth.

Flavours blossomed over my tongue, warm and seasoned with spices I’d never tasted.

I had not realised how ravenous I was until the food hit my stomach. It convulsed, almost begging for more.