Page 60 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“We could rule it all, Daisy. Together.” His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer. The heat of him is jarring in this frozen place. He presses his body against mine, his breathing getting heavier, uneven, anticipation threading through every exhale. I can feel the tension coiled through him, feel his clear arousal pressing against my stomach.

Together. The word echoes inside my skull. Together means no more being alone. Together means never being powerless again.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. His plush lips brush against mine in a silent question. An invitation. My heart hammers so hard it hurts. I lean forwards, our breaths mingling as I consider his words. I let myself imagine what it would be like to stop fighting alone. To let someone else carry the burden.

His lips meet mine, tentative at first, as if afraid to break the illusion. I catch his lower lip between my teeth, tasting frost as I nip at his flesh, tasting frost and the faint copper of blood as he groans softly, tension melting into triumph. His body relaxes, hands tightening on my waist, certain now that I’ve given in. That I’m his.

I bite down. Hard. He pulls back with a hiss. “What the fuck?”

Warm liquid spills down my chin, thick and metallic on my tongue. I spit his violet blood at him, the droplets splattering across his dark, ash-grey skin. “I would rather burn in the pits of Gehenna for all eternity than marry you,” I snarl, every word dripping with venom. “You’re a filthy, traitorous bastard, Duskwalker.” I bare my teeth, blood still staining them, meeting his hate-filled gaze without flinching. “And I may die here, but I promise you this. You’ll die too.”

He barks a harsh laugh, swiping the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth as he steps away from me.

“Oh yeah?” He scoffs. “And how exactly are you planning to kill me, Daisy?” He gestures broadly where I hang suspended from the chains, arms stretched above my head like some grotesque display. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he adds, voice dripping with condescension, “you’re chained up in my dungeon, sweetheart.”

I raise my chin despite the pain it sends through my shoulders, forcing myself to meet his gaze without flinching. “I don’t have to kill you, Kaelith. The Six will. You’re nothing but a pawn in their game. And when they’re done using you, they’ll discard you like everything else.”

For a fraction of a second, something cracks in his composure. His eyes widen. Not in outrage, but something far more fragile. Fear. It vanishes almost instantly, buried beneath a cold smile.

“Big mistake, Daisy. I offered you everything. Power. Safety. A godsdamned throne!”

He steps closer again, looming over me with satisfaction creeping back into his depthless eyes. “Now you’ll die with nothing. I’ll let the Six know I have you. And trust me, they’ll reward me handsomely for that alone.”

He grabs the torch and turns on his heel, making his way back to the door. He throws a glance over his shoulder, his smirk igniting fury within me. “Don’t worry about your shadow bitch by the way, the Six are going to have a lot of fun with him, too.”

“Where is he?” I shout, thrashing against the chains. “What have you done with him?”

“He’s currently being tortured in my fighting pits. He makes a good target for practice.” His chuckle echoes around the room, making me feel violently sick. He slams the door behind him, leaving me in the cold dark once more.

For a long moment, I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. My pulse is hammering so hard it feels like the only sound in existence. But then it all bubbles to the surface, the sound tearing out of me. A hoarse, broken scream that ricochets as I throw my head back, striking the stone wall behind me with a dull, hollow crack. Pain explodes across my skull, but I welcome it. It’s something solid and real. It’s something that proves I’m still here and not trapped in another one of those nightmares I can never wake from. Although, I’m not sure if I’d rather have the nightmare right now.

The ache blooms downward, anchoring me to the brutal reality of cold stone, iron, and fear. I drag in a shaky breath and reach inward, searching for the familiar heat beneath my skin. That steady, living thrum of flame that has never failed me before.

I try to summon my flame, but nothing answers. The power that usually hums beneath my skin feels distant. Silent and smothered. He’s clearly used more drugs on me since I’ve been out. But nothing answers. Where there should be warmth, there is only emptiness. A vast, muffled silence, as though my power has been buried beneath layers and layers of ice. I push harder, straining until spots dance across my vision, but the result is the same.

He must have drugged me again while I was unconscious—something stronger this time. Something designed not just to weaken me, but to sever me from what makes me dangerous. From what makes me me.

It’s fine. This is fine. Aran and Velentha will know something’s wrong. They’ll find me. I won’t die here. I can’t die here. But Maelkar. The thought of him in those pits, bleeding, being torn apart for Kaelith’s amusement. He came here to help me, and now he’s another person dragged into this. They’re using him as target practice. Hurting him. Over and over.

Another tear rolls down my cheek. This is all my fault. I should’ve come alone. They tried to warn me that this didn’t seem right. I should’ve known Kaelith was a snake. I should’ve seen this coming. But once again, I let my heart speak for me instead of my head. And now someone else I care for is in danger because of me.

Maelkar’s words suddenly spring to mind. “Your fire? That’s not even half of what you can do. Not if you’ve still got Dasmyrin’s gifts in you.” Dasmyrin’s gift. Creation itself. The shaping of matter, the weaving of worlds. If she could do it, maybe I can too.

I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus, to imagine the metal above me softening, melting, bending away. I picture it like liquid silver, running off my skin. But when I open my eyes again, looking up at my bound arms, the metal remains the same. “Shit,” I mutter to myself. “Of course it’s not going to work, dumbass. Your power isn’t working.”

I sag against the wall, the fight draining out of me in a slow, miserable collapse. There has to be a way. There has to be. I can’t stay here, trapped and useless, waiting for whatever Kaelith decides to do next. Waiting to die.

I’m not useless. I’m the Queen of Hell.

The thought sparks weakly, a flicker of defiance. But it gutters almost immediately. Because I am. I am useless. Strung up like an animal, stripped of my power, reduced to nothing but skin and bone and fear. I’m not some ancient warrior queen forged in battle. I’m not a goddess. I’m not even particularly brave. I’m just a girl. A mortal girl who’s playing dress up in a crown that never truly belonged to her. I haven’t fought in wars. I haven’t commanded armies. I haven’t earned this power through blood and strategy and sacrifice the way real rulers do. The only victories I’ve ever won were on polished gym floors, under bright lights with a plastic smile and a routine memorised down to the second. Cheerleading competitions. That’s the only thing I have ever freaking won.

Gods. The absurdity of it makes my chest ache.

What kind of queen gets captured this easily? What kind of saviour can’t even save herself? Korithax chose me—everyone chose me—and this is what they got. A fraud. A liability. Someone who breaks instead of bends.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my throat tight with the shame that burns hotter than fear. I’m a failure. A pretender. And for the first time since this began, I genuinely don’t know how I’m supposed to get out of this alive. The only thing I do know, is that I never deserved the title of queen. Korithax was right from the start. I’m just a weak, pathetic mortal.

Chapter 25