SOOTHING SOULC
an a person live and breathe pain?
That was what Lucien asked himself as he lay in the cold, hard cage, his body aching. His ribs felt like they’d been roasted in a blazing fire.
He could always deal with his pain on his own in private, in silence. But now Declan needed him. Declan needed him now.
He bit back a growl as he rose from the ground and walked to the bars that adjoined his cage with Declan’s cage.
“Hey,” he growled out.
Declan opened his eyes and stirred. Lucien could see that he wasn’t really sleeping. He was just forcing himself. At twenty-one, Declan had developed a terrible case of insomnia.
Just like every other slave. Some worse than others.
“Prince Lucien,” he groaned, crawling closer. He placed his bruised hand into the outstretched hand of his cousin.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Deck. I couldn’t protect you.” Lucien’s heart was heavy in his chest.
Declan shook his head vigorously. Eyes red from crying beseeched his own. “Don’t, please. It’s not your fault. They only whipped me. That’s child’s play compared to what you have been through.”
“I was supposed to protect you.” Lucien squeezed the icy hands of his little brother, tears of rage burning furiously at the back of his eyes.
“You have been protecting me for the past eight years. I’ve only gotten a minor part of the things you’ve been through, and I will forever be grateful to you.”
Lucien pressed his head against the cold bars, his eyes closed. Rage and pain had become a living, breathing thing inside him.
He didn’t want this for Declan. He should never know a life like this.
“I’ll get us out of here, Deck. I’ll get every one of us out of here. You… My people… None of you deserve this. I’ll get you out of here. One day, you’ll wake up and be happy because you’re free again. I’ll make sure that happens,” he vowed.
The silence of the night was interrupted by Declan’s hitched breathing. “You don’t deserve this either, my brother. And I know you’ll get us out of this. I believe it.”
And it was there in his eyes, that powerful belief. In Declan’s face was that great trust he had.
Lucien made the vow every day, and his people never stopped believing in him. Not after eight years. Not after nine years, either.
He kept holding Declan’s hand until Deck fell asleep, his bruised hand clinging onto him as if he was afraid to let go.
As if he was afraid that if released him, the guards would come for him again. That Coza would brutalize him if he let go.
King Lucien sprang from the bed, his chest heaving.
He closed his eyes tight; the burning in his stony heart was so much he feared it’d burn him alive.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
Declan.
He was suffocating. The worst kind of nightmare. The most painful memories are always those of Declan.
They always left him in a rage. In pain. Disorganized. And dangerously close to tears.
He lived with the guilt that he had failed his people for those ten years. He failed them by not freeing them of that hellhole earlier than he did.
But that guilt was nothing compared to what he felt about his cousin. He’d failed him in every way. He hadn’t been able to keep the promise he had made to Declan. Instead of getting him free, he’d gotten Declan killed. Instead of allowing Declan to see the sun again as a free person, he sent him to his grave.
The pain was excruciating, and that was how the memories of it lived in his head and replayed themselves every night for the past few weeks. So much so that he hadn’t been able to sleep.
He needed some fresh air—time outside to breathe. His own private haven was suffocating him.
He put on his long robe and walked out of his bedroom in the middle of the night. He hadn’t been able to see his future bride today because of how busy and tight his schedule had been.
He’d spent all day in court and returned with a severe headache and so tired in his wary bones he’d thought that maybe—for the first time—he’d be able to have a peaceful sleep.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. His demons haunted him. His shoulders tensed; restlessness was the very air he breathed.
Some nights were worse than others.
This was one of the worst nights.
Danika’s bladder woke her up in the middle of the night. Afterwards, she couldn’t get back to sleep, no matter how she tried. She shifted restlessly on the bed, turning from one side to the other and facing away from the sleeping Remeta. Then she closed her eyes tight and tried to go back to sleep. There was no sound in the night, just the usual silence and blackness.
Danika waited and waited and waited. Sleep eluded her. It was strange, because for the past few weeks, she had become excellent friends with sleep.
And now, for the first time, it was deserting her.