by Angel Lawson
“Any idea what we’re stepping into?” Armin asks, eyes on alert.
“No, but we should probably stick close.”
My father has quite the menagerie of beasts that could be combing the woods, ready to snatch someone when they are least expecting it.
The wind pushes at our back, blustering and cold, this time bringing dirt and debris swirling in the air. I squint, trying to keep an eye on my allies, but it’s hard in the faint, muddied light. Another gust knocks me backwards, then from the side. Soon I’m spun around, protecting my eyes and face, but completely disoriented.
“Armin! Hildi!” I shout, but my voice flies back in my face.
I’m pretty sure I’m lost—maybe for good. A body bangs into me, followed by a yelp. Whoever it was is gone.
“Hildi?” I ask, voice swallowed by the wind. I drive forward, inch by inch, foot by foot, as I make my way toward the direction of the village. Or at least where I think it is.
Another hand reaches for me, this time strong and forceful. I’m thrown forward, landing on the ground, face hitting the dirt.
“Son of a—,” a voice curses next to me. I rub my eyes, sore from dirt, and see Armin next to me. We’ve made it inside the village.
“Where are the girls?” I ask him, then look around to search. The ground is muddy and smells of horse and hay. Hildi and Elizabeth are nowhere to be found, but two men in armor stand over us, swords pointed. I hold up my hands in surrender.
“Where are we?” Armin asks and I eye an imposing castle looming in the distance.
“You’re in the Devil’s kingdom,” the guard says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply getting to my feet while still keeping my hands visible. “Lucifer’s King, we got it.”
The guards glance at one another. “There’s no Lucifer here,” one says, “just the Prince. The Dark Prince.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Another prince? Did my father have another son?”
The point of the sword levels at my throat. “You think you’re funny? Maybe we should take you to the prince and let you entertain him.”
“Uh, no, that’s okay.” I look at Armin, trying to get some clarity. God knows what kind of insanity my father conjured up in this circle. What we do know is that Hildi and Elizabeth are missing. What we don’t know is which Immortal is trapped here.
With their swords still drawn, the Guards point us in the direction of the castle.
I suspect we’re about to find out.
12
Hildi
“Hildi.” A hand shakes my arm. “Hildi, wake up.”
I shift, realizing I’m lying on my back, and jolt upright. Elizabeth is on her knees by my side. Her pink hair is wild. From the windstorm? “Where the hell are we?”
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is walking with the guys on the path and then getting into that storm. I woke up over there.”
She points to a cot on the other side of our very small room. Otherwise there’s nothing, and no one else in here. A sinking feeling fills my gut. However we got here, Armin and Luke didn’t make it with us.
I close my eyes and try to feel for warmth in my ring—for the bond with Armin. It’s there—faint but there.
“Can you feel him?” Elizabeth asks.
“How do you know what I’m doing?”
“The mating bond is very real where I come from. It usually comes from here,” she says, touching her chest, “and not from magic, but I imagine it’s not much different.”
“It feels real,” I tell her, and it’s hard not to think about Agis and how he told me that he’d felt the mating bond way before we got to the Academy. It’d been an intense moment—one, I realize in hindsight, where I hadn’t acted rationally.
That’s twice I’ve run off one of the Immortals. Gods, and I thought they were the ones with baggage.
The sound of scraping metal coming from the other side of the door puts us both on alert. I search for my blade but the sheath hanging from my thigh is gone. “No,” I say, mostly to myself. Then I search my pockets for the pouch and book. They’re both gone, too. “No, fuck, no.”
There’s no time for panic as the door unlatches and swings open. A woman stands just outside the entrance. She’s older, with gray-streaked hair, in a long dress made of heavy-looking fabric. It seems horribly uncomfortable. Her face is expressionless as she says, “Come. It’s time for your bath.”
I glance at Elizabeth and mouth the word, “Bath?”
She shrugs and again tries to tame her hair, kind of clarifying that yeah, we both could use baths, except for the fact that we’re in the apocalypse. Baths seem like a luxury we can’t afford while we’re fighting between good and evil. I’m starting to get the feeling these little pitstops between circles are just distractions to keep us from the bigger fight.
Guards follow us down a long, narrow hall to a dark, paneled door. There, the guards stay outside, and we have little choice but to enter behind the woman. If I had my weapons and if the guards weren’t holding pointed swords, I’d consider fighting back. But I don’t and they do, so I don’t resist as we walk through the doorway into a humid room that smells of rose and oils. In the center, build right into the stone, is a large bath—more like the size of a swimming pool. Female attendants stand on the edge, watching us closely.
“Prepare them,” the older woman says. “Scrub them clean and make them presentable for the Dark Prince.”
“The who?” I ask, but the woman has already walked away, the door slamming behind her, followed by the loud click of a lock sliding in place.
Elizabeth and I glance uneasily at one another. These women, I could fight—and probably win. Or I can take a bath and see what, or who, is on the other side. Dylan said we have to find the Immortals and Lilith said we needed to complete each ring to get to the City of Dis.
Something about the excess of this bathing chamber tells me we may already be in the second ring.
I exhale and reach for the strings on my vest, loosening them. I shrug the leather off and let it fall to the floor.
I nod to the nearest handmaiden and proclaim, “Have at it.”
“Odin above,” I yelp, balling my fists so I don’t slug one of the poor women charged with making me “presentable.” I’m a warrior by nature, and although Odin and Freya graced me with extreme beauty and superior physique, I’ve crumbled under the scrutiny and beauty regimen of these women. “Do you have to remove all the hair?”
The handmaiden leaning over my crotch with a pair of sharp tweezers responds with a sharp tug. I yelp in response.
“All done.”
“Seriously?” I think I’m sweating enough to take another bath. “How long did that take?”
“Maybe twenty minutes,” Elizabeth says from a chair nearby where a girl combs through her hair. Apparently, fae are naturally light on bodily hair so she wasn’t subjected to the same punishment.
“Are you certain?” I fan myself. I sweated through the entire process. “I’m pretty sure that’s my circle of hell, right there. Can I skip ahead?”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes like I’m being childish. I waddle over to another chair and sit. A sharp comb tugs through my hair, pulling at the tangles. Fed up, I jerk away. “Is this really necessary?”
“The Dark Prince has very specific desires for his concubines,” the girl behind me says, getting the comb through. She starts again at the top.
“Okay, exactly who is this Dark Prince?"
“That’s what bothers you?” Elizabeth asks, looking slightly panicky. “Did you miss the concubine part?”
The comb battles another tangle and I fight a grimace. “No. Honestly, I was ignoring it.” Although it makes sense. Luke says Lust is the theme of this circle. I turn to look at the girl behind me. “Tell me about this Dark Prince.”
“He’s the ruler of this kingdom. Handsome. Very successful in his army. Notoriously mischievous and his nickname is The Devil.”
“Why is that his ni
ckname?” Elizabeth asks.
The girl’s glance at one another. “Because he’s vile and cruel and spending time with him is like visiting Hell itself.”
“And you’re preparing us for his…harem?”
“Yes. The guards keep an eye out for any new females that pass through the kingdom. They’re directed to bring them here and we get you prepared for court.”
“So the Prince relies on kidnapping, then?” I ask, but no one acknowledges me.
“Court?” Elizabeth asks. “You mean like dinner and entertainment with the royals?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been before—back home. It’s fun.”
“Something tells me it won’t be fun for us.” The girl starts sectioning my hair, twisting the locks into tiny braids. “What happens to the girls that go to court?”
“Like your friend says, if you’re lucky, you get a good meal and some entertainment.”
“And if you’re not?”
“Then you’re the entertainment.”
Elizabeth and I quiet as they finish their task, fixing our hair and applying a thick coat of makeup. They both wear a look of pride and satisfaction on their faces when they finish, holding a mirror for us to see.
“It looks nice,” Elizabeth says. “Thank you.”
“You can change into your outfits in there. Then someone will come to let you know if you’ve been chosen."
“Chosen?” I repeat.
We’re like parrots trying to process everything.
“To be one of the Dark Lord’s companions for the night.”
Elizabeth gulps, and I try not to allow the anger to flow through my veins. It’s not this woman’s fault. I save the rage for later, for the one that deserves it, because there’s one thing that this Dark Prince hasn’t considered.
That one of the women in his harem is a Valkyrie, and I’ve handled wicked and cruel before.
“Do you think it’s Marshal?” Elizabeth asks suddenly. I have to admit the thought crossed my mind.
“If it is, he’ll love these outfits.”
They’re absurd. I tug at the top, which is nothing more than a red, beaded bikini revealing ample cleavage. The bottoms are covered by loose, sheer pants that cinch at the waist and ankles. Elizabeth’s are the same but cobalt blue.
“But I don’t know,” I continue. “I guess it’s possible that he didn’t leave on his own. Maybe he got placed here like the others?”
Is that my fault for not giving him a ring?
We’ve been waiting in a large chamber with a dozen other girls dressed similarly. Occasionally the older woman comes in and picks a girl. They’re all beautiful and young. A little bored. A girl with bright red hair sprawls on a couch nearby studying her shellacked nails.
“Any idea what we’re about to get into?” I ask her.
“With the Prince?” she asks, dragging her eyes over. “They take in about a half dozen girls a night. Court is fun—the food is amazing. All the royals are there and important guests. It’s better than sitting in here.”
“But what about…” Elizabeth asks nervously.
“The sex?” She swings her small, bare feet toward us and then leans forward. “I’ve never been with the Prince, thankfully. Seems like redheads aren’t his thing.” Her eyes flit over my blond hair and she gives me a look of sympathy. “But he’s not the only one with needs. His guests are often given a companion for the evening. Usually, that’s who I end up entertaining.”
Elizabeth pales and I get the feeling she is even more distressed about this situation than I am. The girl reaches out and squeezes her hand, “Don’t worry, dear, the wine is plentiful. It makes the night pass faster.”
Before we can ask more, the door opens and the woman that seems to be in charge stands in the doorway. She cuts her eyes at me and Elizabeth and says, “Follow me.”
“How does this work?” I ask once we’re in the hallway. I prefer to know as much as I can about what I’m getting into, especially since I’m not armed.
“You’ll sit across the room during dinner. Don’t speak—ever. You may eat and drink, but do not make a fool of yourself by overindulging.” She frowns at me. “If you’re blessed, the Dark Prince will choose you.”
Blessed seems like the wrong word if the rumor about this guy is right.
We’re led down a long corridor, the walls made of stone. It kind of feels like the Academy. The woman takes an abrupt turn and goes down another, narrower hallway. She stops at a door and says, “Sit with the other girls.”
I go first and grab Elizabeth by the hand. We walk into a magnificent, long dining hall. Down the middle is an expansive dining table. Right in the center I can see the top of a high back chair and the glint of a gold crown.
I don’t get a better look before we’re directed over to plush, velvet sofas, a spread of food on silver trays, and a few other women dressed similarly to me and Elizabeth. The heavy scent of incense clings to the air, and the fairy gasps at the same time I scan the faces of the girls—recognizing two of them.
The twins. Cora and Clara.
The raven-haired witches are in matching white beaded tops that pop against their dark skin. They face one another, seductively feeding each other ripe fruit. I wait for them to recognize us, but when they finally do look in our direction their expressions are blank.
“Come,” they both say in unison, patting the space between them, “sit with us.”
Elizabeth and I share a look before doing as we’re told, sitting between the twins on the sofa. I haven’t even fully sat down before the twin next to me starts combing her fingers through my hair and touching me gently. It takes me a minute to realize what’s going on, but I think she’s grooming me?
What the hell?
A strange energy rolls off the twins and I have to assume that it’s magic. Their magic? The magic of this place? Only the Gods or Lucifer himself would know.
Matching shiny gold charms hang from necklaces just above the twin’s breasts. Their names in script. I guess I’m not the only one unable to keep them straight. Cora is the one next to me, her hand running down my thigh. A quick glance reveals Clara planting small kisses down Elizabeth’s throat.
Every nerve in my body is on heightened alert.
“Cora,” I say quietly. “How long have you been here?”
She doesn’t reply, just continues her descent down my leg. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me dressed up like this.
“Cora, it’s Hildi—from the Academy!”
“Shhh,” she says, mouth hot next to my ear. “The Dark Prince doesn’t like us to talk.”
“But this is okay?” Her sharp nails press into my inner thigh while her tongue licks my earlobe. “Aren’t we here for the Prince?”
“Oh, he’s watching,” Cora says, her voice a purr. “I doubt he’s interested in you.”
“What? Why?” I’m offended for some reason.
“Because there’s nothing he loves more than fear, and you’re not scared at all, are you?”
“No.” I’ve been through worse than this.
“Your friend, on the other hand,” she nods at Elizabeth, “has fear rolling off her in waves. That’s the kind of female he likes to play with.”
“That’s Elizabeth, you dimwit. You know her. We know you.”
But something tells me the twins are lost in a world of their own. Maybe they’re stuck here, too.
“Although,” Clara adds, as though I haven’t spoken, her voice eerily matching her sister’s, “the Prince always has a way of knowing exactly who he wants. Some call it instinct. Others a premonition. Whatever it is, he probably knew who he was going to choose long before any of us entered the room.”
A chill runs down my spine. What if he picks Elizabeth? No, he can’t. Whichever of my Immortals is sitting at that table, they’re mine.
Even in the apocalypse, I’m not about to share.
I dare a peek over at the table. The guests have parted, giving me a direct view of the Prince. Long, red
dish hair hangs over his shoulders and his startling eyes are directed at me. My stomach clenches, twisting with sudden awareness.
It’s not Marshal. No, of course not. Marshal is a knight. There’s only one prince among the immortals and there’s only one man with repressive, centuries-old sex hang-ups that we’d barely begun to challenge back at the Academy.
This is the second circle of Hell. A lustful imprisonment. It all makes sense as I stare into Rupert’s eyes. He’s the Dark Prince, and as he stares at me from across the room, it’s not the look of love. It’s the look of bitter desire, one that’s uncontrollable. One that aims to hurt.
There’s no doubt in my mind he felt me the instant we walked in the room—or even as Clara said, long before that. Rupert and I had an otherworldly connection—not the mating bond—but something else. Something more magical and predictive.
If he’s looking for fear, he won’t get that from me.
I’m not scared of the Dark Prince, but I am afraid that I have no idea how to break him free from this place.
13
Rupert
“Ten thousand men waited at the top of the mountain. Each willing to sacrifice themselves for their kingdom,” the Duke says next to me, his wine glass sloshing as he clumsily sets it on the table. Dark red juice seeps into the tablecloth. “It was certain death, except the Prince knew they were there.”
“How?” Lord Someone asks, gnawing on a slab of meat. He directs his attention to me. “How could you know?”
“Just a gut feeling,” I reply, taking my own sip of wine. “I always follow my gut.”
“Some say he’s got the gift.” The Duke is my cousin and loves to pretend we are closer than we actually are. “That he has some kind of insight into his foe.”
“Is that true?” The Lord asks.
“Heavens no,” another voice chimes in. My eyes flick over. The priest. My priest. He’s never far away, making sure I stay on the path. The path my father commands. War. Strategy. Winning. “It was God’s will that Prince Rupert knew to send the troops around the backside of the mountain. He prayed, sacrificed, and atoned for his sins. The result was a blessing.”