The transition from the damp, suffocating darkness of the cellar to the bright, sun-drenched living room was blinding. I blinked rapidly, the light piercing straight through my throbbing head as the guard walked across the floorboards. Without a single word of warning, he shifted his massive shoulder and dumped me unceremoniously onto a plush, high-backed armchair.
I tumbled into the cushions, my chained wrists colliding with my ribs as I scrambled to sit upright.
Malakai was sitting across from me, a delicate porcelain teacup resting in his hand. He looked completely at peace, dressed in pristine, dark robes that gave him an air of regal authority. He looked up as I settled, his eyes drifting down to my swollen cheek and the faint bruises already darkening around my throat.
There was
