Page 18 of His Realm

Apparently, they hadn’t thought to ask his name.

As the guards escorted us, I said to Zev, “When did he tell you his name?”

“When he first regained consciousness.”

“He simply trusted you right away?”

Zev squinted at me. “I didn’t give him the choice not to answer.”

Each prisoner was housed in their own area that had a heavy steel outer door that opened into a vestibule in front of a locked cell. When I stepped into the space, the prisoner came immediately to his feet.

He’d been dressed like the others at the party, in heavy silk robes, but now he was in a gray jumpsuit zipped up the front. When I’d been chasing him, I noted blond hair I thought was short but now knew must have been tucked into the back of the jacket he’d been wearing. His golden hair fell a bit past his shoulders. He appeared young, but I knew looks could be deceiving with vampyrs.

I heard him catch his breath.

“Hello,” I greeted him, moving toward the bars, keeping out of arm’s reach in case he wanted to break my neck. “I know your name is Sorin. Mine is Jason.”

His face was all screwed up, defiant and scared. Words came out of him then in a language I didn’t understand. I did get that he was both furious and sad. I could tell from the way the words were choked out, the tears welling in his eyes, and the whole-body shudder that followed.

“He asks if he will be taken now,” Zev told me, sounding sad.

“What language is that?”

“Old Norse.”

“And taken where?”

I guess it made some sense that we were there to move him, even though it was late now, after midnight. But really, there was no way for him to be aware of the time without a watch, which would have been removed. Plus, there were no windows in his cell. “Tell him no, we’re not going to take him anywhere. But I have some questions, if that would be all right.”

Halfway through Zev’s translation, Sorin jolted, and his eyes went wide, like I’d surprised the hell out of him.

I lifted my hands. “Sorry, listen, I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“I thought,” Sorin began slowly, the words halting, “that since this man”—he pointed at Zev—“knew I was put to the knife and fear no spill of blood, that I would be taken instead.”

“Taken?” I asked him.

“Violated.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Yes, you do,” Zev assured me.

It took a second because my brain wouldn’t go there. “Wait, he thought—” I looked at Sorin. “You thought we were here to rape you?” I yelled. “We don’t rape people!”

“Not anymore,” Zev chimed in.

I glared at him.

“What? You cannot believe, even for a moment, that atrocious acts like rape were not committed within these walls.”

It was true; of course they were. It was built during medieval times. There used to be a place for thralls in the palace. Horrific acts were a no-brainer.

I refocused on Sorin. “Well, that’s not what we do here anymore, ever,” I assured him, and Zev translated, though I didn’t think it necessary. Sorin had spoken to me in English a moment ago, after all. “Not on my watch, and I’m cadeyrn to the king as well as the prince’s consort.”

“I can speak his tongue,” he told Zev. “At least some. I left Ophir a year ago with the others to seek the draugr.”

“And you learned English so you could speak to him?” I asked.