by this, it was because of how very new he was to Nightmare Penitentiary.
After one final look of understanding to the red cap, I turned toward the warden. He opened the door to his office and pulled me inside, where I stumbled to a stop.
Automatically, I opened my mouth to speak. Killian. But the collar did its work. As soon as it sensed I took a breath to give voice, pain shot through my body.
It was sharper than electricity and hotter than a flame, and it raced from my throat to every part of my body.
Distantly, I registered my knees hitting the cement floor, but that discomfort was nothing compared to what the collar dispensed.
And that wasn’t even the worst part. No. That was knowing the men who’d put me here—Killian, Ronan, and Flynn—were witness to my shame.
With every bit of pride I could muster, and I had very little left, I forced my gaze from the floor to the princes. I couldn’t say why. Part of me hoped they’d help me. Or maybe that they’d come to set me free, having realized I’d done nothing to deserve this place.
As our eyes met, I dropped mine at what I saw.
How ironic that the red cap had more pity for me than these three who I’d once counted as friends.
“As you can see, the collar works quite well. We’re all immensely proud of it.” The warden’s voice filtered to me as I got my breathing under control. My body ached, pain still radiating along my nerves, making my arms and legs shake as I tried to push myself to stand.
“And she can’t speak at all?” Killian asked.
It took all of my control not to answer, Obviously, jerk. The collar gave a little warning buzz, as if it sensed my desire, and I swallowed hard.
Laughing, the warden gripped me under the arms and hauled me to my feet to deposit me in a chair. “Did you hear that high-pitched whistle?” he asked. “The banshee considered answering your question, and it warned her. Brina, our prison doctor, designed that detail. Not only does the collar punish the banshee, it shapes her behavior. Amazing, isn’t it?”
All throughout his bloated, self-congratulatory speech, I kept my head down. My face was wet with tears I hadn’t recalled crying, and that, if anyone asked, I would ascribe to an uncontrolled pain response. The very last thing I wanted was for these dillholes to believe they caused my tears.
The collar would punish me for any sound I made—any squeak or sigh—so I focused on breathing deeply and soundlessly. It wasn’t until I could take a breath that didn’t shake that I lifted my gaze again to my ex-best friends.
Killian. Crown prince of Tuatha Dé Danann and jerkwad extraordinaire. He looked as he always did—flawless.
And frowny.
Next to him stood Ronan, his brother and bodyguard. The huge man stared at my neck. My eyes are up here. As if he cared. He was probably fascinated by how I was kept in line without anyone lifting a finger. Kind of made that sword he carried around irrelevant. Too bad I couldn’t point that out.
And Flynn. As much as I wanted to soften at the sight of the youngest of the trio, I didn’t. Flynn was the one who’d found me, red-eyed and hoarse, beneath a hawthorn tree and had dragged me to his brothers as so-called proof of my crimes.
They stared at me as intensely as I studied them, but inspection was all I saw in their eyes. There wasn’t even a flash of emotion. I was a stranger to them.
How long had I been in this prison, living this nightmare?
The last time I’d seen them, they’d been wild with fury. They’d screamed accusations in my face. If anyone had told me my friends could blame and wound me the way they did, I’d have laughed.
Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch.
I could almost feel Flynn’s hands on my arms as he shook me, begging me to tell him why, why had I hurt him? Why had I driven his father mad?
How could I have been so cruel?
And I couldn’t even tell him. I didn’t know. When the song came over me, the impulse to lament couldn’t be denied. I lost all sense of who I was or where I was. There was no time and no friendship. No love or hate. There was only the keening wild wail of a banshee, announcing an inescapable ending.