My skin was scorched from acid burns, my nails had been ripped out, and the bones had been slowly, individually broken and crushed in my left hand, arm, and shoulder. Yet none of that hurt like the intense pain I felt when I saw Denise dragged in, tripping and cutting her feet and legs on the stone floor, blood visible on her thin dress, knowing that not only she was hurt, but that she was hurt because of me.

The guard dragging her was unfamiliar, and something about him was unnatural. The sadistic look upon his face as he purposely yanked too hard, sending her sprawling to the ground, her hands unable to break her fall, gave him away immediately—another Infernian infiltrator.

Despite my drained and weakened state, I felt pure, unadulterated rage coursing through my veins, and I strained against the heavy chains that were wound securely around my body.

We were in the throne room, a place normally reserved for diplomatic visits and ceremonial rituals. Despite Dragselia’s heavy traditionalism, we were still a modern society, and such pomp was generally reserved only for markedly special occasions.

I had been dragged in directly from a fresh session of torture. Throughout the night they had tested me, but they knew me little if they thought I would break under pain.

I felt everything, surely, every strip of flayed skin, every cracked rib, every electrical burn. But I was a warrior of Dragselia. I knew how to cope with pain. They could beat me, they could hurt me, they could take my body and break every part of it because I would give them nothing.

My torturer, surely another Infernian, though I could not tell as they kept my head covered throughout their torment, tried to coax out of me the details of our plan. It was clear the Infernians were unsure who was helping us and who else might yet be out there. As far as they knew, we had not come alone, and I was not inclined to disabuse them of that knowledge.

Finally, the assaults ceased and they wordlessly dragged my broken body to the throne room, finally removing my hood, gagging me instead as they chained me to the wall opposite Mulkaro’s settee. Shortly, my brothers were brought in as well, none of them looking fully intact, all of them gagged and chained beside me. Clearly, the Infernians had underestimated us, and I felt the swell of pride—that is, until they brought Denise in.

Her captor finally dropped her chains and pushed her out into the middle of the room. She glanced back, seeing me in my injured state, and for a brief moment, her face lit with devastation, but when the deep voice of my eldest brother sounded from behind the billowing curtains beyond the royal settee, her expression became carefully blank.

“I can handle my brothers,” he said, emerging and dismissing all the servants and guards present. “Be gone with you.”

As they filtered out, I saw the covert glances, the looks of horror and worry as they left our little family reunion.

He came into view then, looking exactly like my brother, the same tall, broad form, the long flowing chestnut hair, and his skin a dark, glowing gold. He had the same intense, piercing green eyes and the arrogant tilt of his chin.

Settling upon the settee, he inclined his head to Denise.

“Welcome to Dragselia, Ms. Mercury, is it?” he said, his tone sounding just as patrician and clipped as Mulkaro’s.

“Yes, Your Highness, if it pleases you. I am humbled to be in your presence,” she said, curtseying deeply, and I was impressed by her diplomatic skills.

“Indeed, you should be. Look, behold what happens to those who challenge my authority,” he said, gesturing to myself and my brothers. “This is what will befall any in my kingdom who fail to adhere to my rule.”

When she didn’t look back, her captor turned her around, forcing her to look at us.

I met her eyes and I saw the fire burning there, but she remained calm.

“What do you think?” Mulkaro’s imposter asked her, coming down to examine us closely.

“I think it is most merciful of you to let them live, a true show of your greatness,” Denise replied, keeping her eyes downcast.

He laughed. “No, I don’t think you believe that, though you lie well. Of course, that is because you have been fed drivel from these spoiled brats.”

He began to tremble, and one of his men ran up to him with a vial I knew immediately contained the serum he used to continue parading in this form. Instead, he pushed it away.

“No, let the human see. Let her understand. If she is who she says she is, when she understands the truth, she can share it with the universe and the Dragselians can be known as the true monsters they are.”

Before our eyes, he shifted and transformed, convulsing and falling to the floor, much like every Infernian I had seen before him as they shifted back to their true form. Rising, however, he was not like every Infernian I had seen before. He was more.

Ten feet tall, at least, with massive, powerful black leathery wings that spread out, covering half the room as he postured himself before us.

“I am Midris, the new king of Dragselia and all within its realms.”

His voice was deep, unnaturally deep, like the sound of death. With tightly curling black horns that stood out against his brilliant alabaster skin, he stood menacingly before us.

Denise’s expression remained stoic, if politely impressed.

He paced the room then, circling Denise, testing her resolve. “I am told you know what I am, correct?”

She nodded. “I am aware of your people, your abilities, and your history.”

He laughed again, reclining against the settee once more. “You know nothing of our abilities. These Drageselians have underestimated us at every turn. We now control their throne, and still, look how they fight our rule,” he said, gesturing toward us once more.

“It is important to you, then, that the people of Dragselia know what Infernians are really like?” Denise asked.

“I don’t care what they think,” he said, snapping then regaining his composure. “I am their king now, and soon, there will be no one to challenge that when their royals are obliterated and my heir is born of their queen.”

My stomach sank for poor Brinae. She had been right, and I felt my innards roil in disgust at the thought of what she might have been subjected to.

“So you intend to correct history? To succeed at what your ancestors failed to accomplish?” Denise asked, prodding him skillfully.

This time, he didn’t take the bait, though. He just looked at her. “What do you know of our history or my ancestors? These Dragselians have told you lies. Let me tell you the truth, and you will see that our cause is righteous.”

Midris proceeded to avail her of his version of history, happily glossing over the violence his ancestors had wrought and the fact that they had nearly burned the planet to ruin.

“Necak and his kin were noble sons of Dragselia. They refused to blindly follow an incompetent and selfish, cruel king. They were freedom fighters, political dissidents who sought liberation from the restricting, archaic laws of old. They fought valiantly, resisting the tyranny of the royal house for nearly twenty years, but they were ultimately defeated by the underhanded political maneuverings of these royals who would trade ideals for power, peace for control.

“When at last my forbearers were captured, do you think these Dragselians showed them at least the mercy of a quick death? No. Instead, they sent them, men, women, and children, to a burning inferno of a planet, sentencing them to a barely habitable prison world that held little more than misery and pain. Still, my ancestors fought for their survival. We adapted, or tried to do so, with what little resources we had. We found a way to survive. Not only that, we found a way to flourish.”

“So, then, why do you want Dragselia?” Denise asked.

“Don’t you see? These monsters deserve to be punished, to suffer for the pain they have caused my people, the thousands of years of degradation we have endured. Do you have any idea the pain we must endure, simply to assume what should be our true forms? We cannot assume our humanoid form without enduring painful serum therapy that forces us into a parasitic position.

“Do you know what it feels like to have every piece of DNA in your body reconfigure and seize? I do, and so does any Infernian who doesn’t wish to live their life on the fiery ball we were sentenced to. In our genetically modified state, we are seen as pariahs anywhere we go, and our only recourse is to seek a steady supply of this liquid torture,” he said, gesturing to the vial he now wore on his neck.

“Dragselians are soulless. Look at these princes, cast off like trash, just as so many others are, when it suits the whims of the king or his council. They are tyrants and they will die!” he boomed, his voice riddled with anger.

I had to admit, to some extent, I understood his anger. Part of me recognized that what had befallen the Infernians was wrong. I resented the tradition of exile and had blamed the original Infernians for its existence, but in reality, it was continued still by the choice of present-day Dragselians. It could have been ended at any time since then, but it wasn’t, and that was not the fault of the Infernians.

Still, that didn’t change the atrocities I knew they had wrought in their quest for power. I struggled, getting a grip at my gag, and ripped at it.

“No,” I croaked.

Midris leapt up and toward me. “Oh, so the trash dares to speak in my presence now?”

“We are not all tyrants and we don’t deserve to die. You are right. There were awful hardships that befell your people, punishments that were cruel and unreasonable. But your claim to innocence is ridiculous. Infernians have chosen to become ten times worse. You inflict horrors upon anyone who comes in the way of your prey. I have seen the obscenities your people commit with little to no provocation. You are not righteous. You are vengeful.”

As I spoke, I could see the fury rising in his eyes, but I felt fury of my own bringing me power as I thought of my injured brothers and Mulkaro, possibly dead, Brinae, deceived, violated, and persuaded to believe she was insane, and Denise, taken hostage and tortured simply for her association with me.

Feeling the anger rise like a wave within me, I roared and reared up, breaking my chains and charging at Midris.

Seeing my efforts, my brothers joined me, trying to break free but hindered by their significant wounds and the few guards Midris had in his confidence.

Still, I took the opportunity and leapt at Midris, going for his throat. He tried to block me, but I tumbled and rolled before lunging up, knocking him off balance. Just as my one good hand found purchase at the thick, weathered skin of his neck, I felt the jolt of electricity from the guards’ weapons rip through me as everything went black.