“Why does the Grand Lord wish to see you?”

Roden’s curt question did nothing to ease Nalea’s pounding headache courtesy of the tranq shot he’d given her earlier. She pulled herself into a sitting position, rubbing her temples as she did so. At least he’d left the lights dimmed in her cell, especially since she suspected she wouldn’t be getting another pair of dark glasses any time soon.

She glowered. “How would I know what goes on inside a Draeken’s head? Do I look like a psycho to you?”

He smirked. “I think you meant ‘psychic’, and do you really want me to answer that?”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Another time, perhaps.”

She shook her head, instantly regretting the movement. “Is this your idea of torture? Talking your prisoners to death?”

He stepped closer, his lips curling into a sneer. “Ah, my dear, when I torture you, believe me, you’ll know.”

When, not if. Shivers flitted across her skin as she stared into those silver eyes, currently filled with taunting humor. Every living Sephian had heard stories of Roden’s cruelty. Thousands had been killed in battles he’d orchestrated. How many Sephians had had their soullare—the brand that covered each Sephian body since birth—flayed from their bodies at his command? How many Sephians had been forced to watch their mates get slaughtered?

Nalea rubbed her eyes then glanced back up to find that intense gaze still scrutinizing her.

“Sugar helps with the after-effects,” he said and threw her a red apple, which she let sail by her head as she watched him. The fruit bounced off the wall behind her and landed with a rolling thud.

“Why would you care?” she asked.

He watched her for a second then pulled out two more apples. He bit into one with a loud crunch. Her mouth watered in response.

He held out the other apple through the bars. She watched him for several seconds before coming to her feet. Still eying him warily, she took a step and snatched the fruit off the floor before retreating to the deeper safety of her cell.

They stood facing one another for a moment before he sat down with his usual nonchalance and took another bite out of his apple.

She chewed the fruit, mirroring his demeanor. Two can play that game. This continued until he threw the apple core into a waste receptacle in the wall.

After wiping his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward, eyed her for a moment, and then sighed. “What’s the Grand Lord’s interest in you?”

“My answer hasn’t changed. I have no idea,” she said, holding his gaze without blinking.

He cocked his head. “While I am a patient lord, our time is growing short.”

Nalea’s heart hammered in her chest. Roden could scar her body, destroy her mind, and crush her soul. He would never know why she hated Hillas more than any other Draeken; even more than the one standing before her. She shook her head. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

He said nothing, those silver eyes piercing her as though he could dig through her mind himself to find the answers he needed. Finally, he spoke. “I am going to miss our chats. I find them quite entertaining. But, I warn you, Lea, I dislike secrets very much.”

Her brows rose. “Isn’t that the pot calling the pestle black?”

His lips curved upward. He opened his mouth then closed it, grinning as though he knew some inside joke. “I should say: I dislike other people having secrets. I rather enjoy mine. And, believe me when I say this, I will find immense pleasure in plucking those secrets from you.”

She held up her middle finger. “Fuck you.”

“Tsk, tsk. You’ve picked up bad habits from the humans. And to think that we were getting along so well.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’ve never even seen the Grand Lord in person, so how would I have any idea what he’s thinking? Maybe he’s run out of Sephians to maim… like you’re any different. How many of my people have you beaten, cut, and murdered?”

Roden eyed her for a moment then turned away. As he stepped into the hallway, he glanced back. “Careful, Nalea, or I’ll show you exactly what I am capable of.”