Dark, damp walls surrounded him on three sides. White shards of frost crept along the stone floor. Where a fourth wall should have stood was an iron gate. There were no windows, and the only light came from down the hallway. A small, covered clay pot sat in the corner, and a ratty blanket had been tossed haphazardly near his feet.
A cell.
He was in a gods-damned cell.
“Vivienne?” he called out, his voice raspy from disuse. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
He yelled her name again.
Silence.
A pit yawned in his stomach, and bile rose in his throat.
So much for proving that he could take care of himself. He was imprisoned, and his bodyguard was missing.
Here he was, thinking that nothing could ever compete with thehorrific circumstances he’d experienced before his sister and her husband took the Eleytan throne, but apparently, he was wrong.
How in the gods’ name was he ever going to explain this to Luna?
Thiswould’ve been helpful to See. Not blackness. Not nothing.
Marius’s head fell back, and he cursed. Not for the first time in his life, he wished his magic was stronger. Maybe if he’d been a better, more powerful Fortune Elf, he could have prevented this from happening.
But he wasn’t powerful enough to stop it. He wasn’t strong enough.
Hewasn’t enough.
Marius’s vision swam, and his soul ached. He’d never felt more useless than he did at that very moment. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t Look ahead right now. His magic was depleted, and he was practically mortal.
In the darkness, he broke.
His chest ached.
His soul twisted.
His weak, mortal body groaned with fatigue.
In the darkness, a tear slipped down his cheek. It fell for him, for this situation, and for the fact that try as he might, he would never be as strong as even the weakest vampire.
Time slipped on.
Marius wasn’t sure whether minutes or hours passed before a low, humorless laugh came from the hallway beyond the bars.
“Ah, he’s awake.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and every part of him was on high alert. The speaker was hidden, but the remaining dredges of his halfling magic swirled in warning in his veins.
Marius curled his fists and rose unsteadily to his feet. His limbs ached, his joints were stiff, and cold permeated his entire being. Even so, something told him he needed to be standing for this. Whatever it was.
“Who are you?” He infused as much princely authority into his voice as he could manage, considering the circumstances. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. “Show yourself.”
A gruff chuckle.
Another voice, deeper than the first, added, “Did you hear that, Lucien? He’s givingusorders as if he isn’t the one behind bars.”
“I heard, Artie.” Lucien guffawed, the sound devoid of warmth.