The palace cells were rammed wall-to-wall with thieves and whores and the mad who prattled to themselves, earning the restless ire of the bigger prisoners.
Numerous fights broke out. Kael had already broken up a scuffle between one of the men and a young fool, but gained no thanks from the lad he'd saved. The brute delivering the punches had likely served on the front line.
Kael knew the sort. He'd commanded many of them. They dealt with fear differently, turning it inward into anger. As soon as Kael had ordered the man to stand down, he'd backed off. No others had bullied the lad since, but they would, eventually, when Kael was removed from the cell for sentencing.
Although it seemed the prince had forgotten him.
His stomach gnawed on itself, indicating several days had passed, but with no windows in the cell, there was no way of knowing how many. Water pouches were thrown between the bars every morning, and food was slopped from buckets into a trough by snickering guards, like the prisoners were no better than pigs.
Pigs would have been better treated.
The troughs looked much like contents removed from their shit-bucket each morning.
"You," a guard grunted. "Hey!" He slammed a hand against the bars, making Kael look up. "Yeah, you. Over here. Stand at the gate, face away. Try anything and I'll break your knees. Got it?"
Kael crossed the cell, then turned his back on the guard. He dragged himself from the cell, his eyes briefly falling to the lad chittering to himself in the corner. The brute might kill him while Kael was gone.
He caught the brute's eye, and the man leered, confirming Kael's fears.
All Kael had done was mark the poor boy as prey.
Manacles locked around his wrists, linking him to the guard by a length of rattling chain. The elves had broken similar chains, ripping them apart like each link was made of paper. They'd massacred his regiment right after, leaving him alive to pass on news of their victory.
The tricks had been the worst part of battling elves. They did not fight like soldiers. They fought like shadows, like nightmares. But they could be beaten. They had been gaining ground until—
"Get moving!"
He was marched up spiraling stairs and down a cold, dark corridor into an antechamber filled with bustling palace staff.
The rich smell of cooked meats and vegetables had his mouth watering. His stomach knotted. Gods, he was starving.
A set of tall, narrow doors opened ahead, and the guard shoved Kael through into a rich, overly decorated columned hall. Silk draped from the ceiling. Candles flickered in their branch-like candelabra. The table, longer than the height of most houses, sat mounds of food, more food than Kael saw in a year. A veritable feast for the lords and ladies present.
He bared his teeth to see such bounty, ignoring his grumbling belly.
"Is this the one?" a booming voice asked.
The man to whom that voice belonged had been leaning over the end of the table, basking in the guests' attention. He straightened to his impressive height and sauntered toward Kael. White-blond hair was cropped to his jaw in the typical short Eldros fashion. Half the gazes in the room followed.
"From your description, brother dear, I was expecting a giant!"
The crowd tittered.
Kael couldn't see who this man's brother might be, but given his swagger, the fine, gold-embroidered clothes, and the griffin ring he wore, he was clearly a royal. Likely one of the princes, though not the same prince whose wrist Kael had broken.
"Hm." The prince stopped a few feet in front of Kael. He had a narrow face, thin lips, and was quick to sneer. "A soldier. We owe you a debt. It's a shame you didn't beat them."
If he expected Kael to acknowledge him or his words, he'd be waiting a long while.
The prince sipped his wine, eyeing Kael over the rim of the goblet. It was said the royal brothers were a trio of vipers even before the war. Now they'd matured, their venom had become more potent.
"Why am I here?" Kael asked, tired of standing on display.
"You're here…" a voice said, the same smooth voice Kael recalled from the Antlers Throne. He came into view from behind his brother. "… to serve."
Kael was reminded of the three princely boys he'd seen so long ago and recognized this one's sharp face: Prince Vex, the eldest of the three. Dressed in an ocean-blue silk jacket and trousers embroidered with gold, he'd had his servants pin his long, silver-blond hair back at the sides, leaving a lock free to rest over his right eye.
When he leaned over a chair— and its occupant—to retrieve a bowl of grapes, the length of his hair trailed down his back to his waist. The current fashion was short hair. Elves wore their hair long, and few wanted to emulate elves. Vex clearly didn't care what others thought of him.
Kael recalled exactly how the man's figure had felt when he pressed onto it. He got a better look at Prince Darian's design now that he was adorned in a slim-fitting suit, and he'd been right: The prince was lean, his strength not in muscle, but in movement. He'd be lethal with a blade. Quick and light.
Kael now wondered if he had ever learned to wield a sword or if he had always relied on the palace guards to protect him.
This prince was no longer a boy atop a white steed. He'd changed a great deal since Kael had seen him, not least because of the scar slicing through his right eye, rendering it blind. He'd hidden it with the hood when they'd met in the pleasure house, and he styled his hair to cover it now, but there was no way to completely hide such an injury.
He approached, carrying the bowl of grapes in his left hand. His broken right wrist he held behind his back.
With a nod from the prince, the guard unlocked Kael's restraints. Kael rubbed at his wrists. He hadn't been in the restraints long, but it was long enough to chafe.
Darian lifted the bowl. "Now serve Sebastian and I."
Was this a joke? Kael glanced at the crowd. They watched on, curious. Lords and ladies and dukes and viscounts—some intrigued, some already bored of Kael's arrival, turning away to continue their conversations. Was Kael expected to perform in some way?
"Don't you have servants for that?"
Vex's thin mouth twitched. "You are my servant now. So, serve."
Prince Sebastian, who had approached first, snorted and moved on, more interested in the guests than his brother's game. But Darian's attention wasn't waning. He stared at Kael, his one eye a frosty blue. He looked like a shard of glass, all angles and fine lines that would cut anyone who dared get close. "Well?" he snapped.
These people, this feast—did they even know how many lives had been sacrificed to keep the elves from their doors? Did they even care? Families had lost generations. Fathers and mothers gone, orphanages overflowing. And the royals feasted and laughed, growing fat in their glistening palace.
"Serve yourself."
Several guests gasped. Some murmured excitedly. Darian huffed a soft laugh and gently set the bowl back down on the table. When he straightened, his eye shone with cold, hungry menace. What had this prince seen to make him so callous?
A sudden blow poured pain across Kael's cheekbone, whipping his head to the side. He staggered, startled by the prince's backhand. The aftermath throbbed through his face.
Darian turned away. "Return him to the dungeon."
He dabbed at a tickle on his chin moments before the guards caught his arms again and yanked them behind his back, hastily reapplying the restraints.
Blood dripped onto the polished marble floor. The prince's rings had sliced open his cheek.
Rage boiled in his veins. He considered unleashing all his disgust at these people, but a loose tongue would likely see itself cut off.
The princes were cruel. He'd heard it, but hadn't believed the extent of their brutality until now. All the Vexes were cruel. All but the queen, who'd died, leaving behind an ailing king and three vipers in his nest. They were supposed to be guardians of this land and its people, but these royals were parasites, feeding off it instead.
The guard dragged Kael back through the bowels of the palace, unlatched the restraints, tossed him into the cell, then heaved the body of the lad out.
Kael had known it would happen, but it all seemed such a waste.
A familiar and potent fury silenced all the reasonable voices in his head. He lunged for the brute and slammed his head against the stone wall until bone shattered and he stopped moving.
The next morning, the guards dragged that body out too.