They also let me sleep on a cot with a blanket in an underground holding cell.
The corridor leading down to it was long and narrow, lit by intermittent Stormglass lanterns. The air smelled of damp rock and faintly of chemicals, like whatever cleaning solution they used to keep the place scrubbed.
It was an upgrade from a dungeon. I was the only one on this entire floor.
That first session with all four heirs had ended when I’d passed out. When I woke, it was a different game. For three days, they kept me there, except when they hauled me out for interrogation.
Thanks to Aelindor, Caspian, and Nikolai that I wasn’t rotting in a dungeon, as Drakken had insisted.The dragon prince had wanted me thrown in the worst hole they had. He’d argued for it with the kind of passion most people reserved for matters of life and death, which he probably considered this to be.
Aelindor drew the line on resorting to torture, even though I hadn’t given up much. I still refused to hand over anything valuable before I could trust them, and so far, they hadn’t proved trustworthy. Especially Drakken.
While I’d been living in the mines, the propaganda from the White Witch had painted the heirs of the Zodiac Covenant as villains who’d brought the Rupture down on the world. She’d claimed that we miners were protected from war and monsters, and our work was important and honorable, necessary to ensure victory in the holy war against the heirs.
I trusted no sides except my family and friends. In the age of the Rupture, there were no good guys left.
For three days, they asked the same damn questions. Aelindor had left after the first day. I found myself wondering where he’d gone, which made no sense. I’d just met the Fae prince, and already I wanted to know his business. Something about him made me feel like there was solid ground beneath my feet, even when everything else was quicksand.
With the lion gone, the monkey king took charge. Interrogating me was his life’s passion, and he practiced it with relentless repetition. I understood what Drakken was doing—wearing me down, grinding away at my resolve until he found a crack in my armor. This was a mental war.
I’d been fighting those since I was old enough to hold a spoon.
Even Caspian and Nikolai looked bored to tears by the end of each session. I almost felt sorry for them having to sit through Drakken’s relentless questioning. Yet one of them always showed up, dutiful as a clock, as if making sure the dragon didn’t go too far without a witness.
Today, Caspian sat with Drakken behind the long table.
Drakken wore black fatigues today, gold clasps at the collar, fitted to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders and chest. The cut made him look even bigger than usual, which was saying something. The man was built like the fortress walls surrounding us—massive, unyielding, designed to withstand siege. His jaw was set, the muscles in his neck corded tight.
His cold gray eyes swept over me in constant assessment and utter disdain.
He was, objectively, a beautiful man. The demon sighed, saying that kind of male beauty belonged on posters. But beauty meant shit to me when it came wrapped in hostility and arrogance.
Both men were drinking coffee. I could smell it from across the room, dark and bitter and impossibly rich, the scent alone enough to make my mouth water.
Caspian tried to offer me a cup, and I’d already started to rise from my chair when Drakken’s palm slammed flat against the table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
“Drop it, Caspian. We agreed on this.”
The asshole knew I’d kill for coffee. He’d seen the glint of joy in my eyes after that first taste a couple of days ago—watched me close my eyes and hold the warmth against my palms like it was sacred. I should’ve concealed it, but no amount of practice could hide a physical response to food when your body had been starved for years.
Caspian shot Drakken a look that said he thought the dragon was being fucking petty.
“What’s your career?” Drakken demanded, his voice hard.
He’d worded it differently this time. How refreshing.
“Career?” I snorted. “I hate to disappoint you, dragon.”
I watched his eyes shift, the cold gray bleeding to molten gold in a dangerous tide. Just as I’d expected. His beast peeked out whenever I addressed it directly. The dragon lived close to the surface with this one, barely leashed, always prowling. Know your enemy. He tested me, and I tested back, even as a prisoner. Mental war didn’t discriminate.
“I was a slave. Fourteen hours a day in the mine.”
“That’s brutal, Max.” Caspian’s voice softened with sympathy. “Even I don’t work that much, and I’m a workaholic.”
Drakken gave him a hard look, his nostrils flaring. I caught the faintest curl of smoke drifting from them. The dragon was irritated.
The shifter prince spread his arms wide, unbothered. “It’s intense in here.”
“We’re interrogating a prisoner. It’s supposed to be intense!” Drakken’s voice bounced off the walls.