Damian's POV

The lower holding hall sat three floors beneath the throne, colder than a grave.

Chase was chained to the wolfsbane post when I entered.

Silver shackled his wrists. More of it bit into his throat and ankles, pinning him against the stone pillar. Blood poured from the jagged wound below his elbow, pooling on the floor. I watched him bleed, feeling absolutely nothing.

He forfeited his right to mercy the second he aimed a blade at my mate’s womb.

The guards fell back.

I stopped where a solitary torch illuminated Chase’s face, leaving mine entirely in shadow. I let the silence stretch.

Chase lifted his head first. Matted...