Pierre came every day that followed. It was the only way I was able to keep track of time. Each time they visited I knew another day had passed.

The guards always held back just a little. They were careful to not push Sabine until she broke completely, leaving just enough of her so that she lived.

In the times between visits she mostly slept, and when she was awake her breaths were shallow and ragged. We whispered as I gripped her fingers through the bars of our cells.

Pierre did not enter my cell alone again, leading a guard inside to watch over me as Sabine was tortured over and over again.

Hatred welled up inside of me with each day, growing fierce and potent. I half expected it to spill from me, the whispers of the Angels growing so frenzied I forgot what it was like to not have them. It was as if they were cheering me on the more I focused my anger.

I cultivated and grew my hatred until it was a creature of its own. It was not angelic, it was not divine, but a monster left to haunt and devour. But no matter how much I embraced it, it stayed within. When I died, it would come with me all the same.

Pierre stared down at me after the guard left Sabine. Blood was smeared in dark patches across the floor that glistened wetly in the flickering torchlight.

"You know, love, they say the opposite of love is not hatred; but indifference. Glaring at me like that just means that even now, your passion has not diminished. You will see soon enough that this is all for your own good."

Anger welled up in my chest, but as they always did when he came, the Angel's murmurs were too distant for me to hear. With them had also gone that snarling creature inside me. I pressed my sore and cracked lips together, swallowing my retort.

He didn't deserve my voice. He had taken enough from me already.

#

The next time when Pierre came to see me, there was something different. His usually perfect hair was a little ruffled, his gaze shadowed and darting. Sabine hadn't even woken up the day before. Had it not been for the light rise and fall of her chest, I might have thought she was dead.

I sat in the same place as I had been before. My hair was a mess, soaked in grime and matted from laying on the cold ground.

Not that I had slept much.

I had spent most of my time with the Angels, falling into their voices, letting them lull and coax through me. Despite the pain fading away, my body felt heavy. Unmovable. Like a great weight now resided on my shoulders, weighing me down.

Pierre stalked into my cell, wincing as he crouched before me as if it pained him. He closed his eyes, and though he was a year younger than me, he appeared to have aged years since the last time I saw him.

He opened his eyes, red firelight coloring his black hair a vibrant red. His blue eyes shone purple, piercing into mine. He set his jaw, reaching out to grip my shoulders. I flinched as his long nails dug into the tender skin of my back. The usually perfect line of his red lipstick was jagged and uneven. A fine layer of stubble shadowed his jaw.

"Tell me," he growled. "You have no more time."

I lifted my lips into a smile, but it was more of a snarl. My only reply was a hollow laugh, which cut off into shuddering coughs, something metallic rising in my throat.

He slowly pressed his lips together, rubbing them smoothly over the glossy stain of red paint before he stood and staled to the other side of the cell, starting a steady pace back and forth. The door behind him clanked shut as a guard stepped in with us. I watched numbly as another guard walked into Sabine's cell. I had seen it so many times now I had become numb to the routine.

I pushed myself to my feet, using the wall as a support, my body barely able to support my weight.

Pierre glanced at me from the corner of his eye, arms clasped behind his back. Had it not been for the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped them together, I might have thought all the fury from a moment ago was gone.

"I hate it," he murmured, his voice transformed into something soft. "Even now, I want you. Do you not see how much control you have over me? How much I have given to you." He stopped to look at me.

"Do you not see the lengths I am willing to go to? I have changed everything, all just to see you rise, just to make sure we can be together, but still, you resist." His brows furrowed together. "Don't you understand it is futile to resist? This is our fate, our destiny. You only need to trust me. Just let me in Ophelia. This can all be over if you just  tell me what I need to know."

I watched him. How could he speak of fate and destiny when he had stolen mine? To speak of control when he had ripped what little I had away from me. My blood burned, a slow steady heartbeat in the cell beside me the one last piece of string tying me to this world.

Pierre sighed. "You're going to die tomorrow." He searched my face, letting his gaze trace down my neck to the swell of dirt-smeared skin at my chest. His eyes hooded. "Is that what you want? To die? To pass up everything you could be? You give it all up for a secret that is not even yours to keep?" He stepped closer, moving directly into the light. I gasped.

His hair didn't just appear red, it was red. Just like mine. Red as a rose. Red as blood.

"No," I said, my voice rough in its break from silence. "No."

A grin crossed over Pierre's face. "Yes. You can see it now. The secret you are working so hard to keep is as much mine to know as it is yours."

"Impossible." I shook my head. My confusion cutting through my hazy thoughts. "You...you're Garnetti. The leader of the Aurelians. And male at birth, it—"

"None of the details matter, love. I will explain soon enough. You just need to tell me where the stone is and how to release it. Then we can have everything. We can have the world." He moved closer still, only a breath separating us. His gaze was rapt on mine, almost pleading. "Then no one will ever trap you again."

His cool breath misted over my skin as he leaned over me. I refused to move. He was trying to get a reaction from me.

He was lying. He had to be. This couldn't be possible. A trick of light. Some particularly powerful dye. There were people who could mix roots and herbs to create temporary colors for hair. Pierre was just trying to trick me all over again.

I couldn't let myself fall for it again.

Before I could reply, he moved closer, breath misting over my skin. "Don't fight the truth, Ophelia. We are meant to be. This is who I am. I'm bared completely to you. You don't need to see me as your enemy, but as your comrade. We are one and the same."

He pressed against me, arms on either side as he pushed me into the stone wall. I turned my head away from him. The bruises from the last time we had been in a similar position still burned my skin, ghosts left over from his betrayal.

His mouth skimmed across my cheek as he nuzzled his forehead into my hair and inhaled. "You can be my Queen. The most powerful woman in all of Magierre. Just accept this. Accept us."

He pressed his lips to mine.

It was unlike before. Savage and raw and bruising. His hands tangled in the mess of my hair, nails digging into my scalp as he groaned against me. I don't know what happened, why it happened. But I was kissing him back. Lips sore and torn, teeth and tongue and nails digging into his hair.

Repulsion mixed with the faint, distant, memory of desire. I exhaled through my nose. It was intoxicating and overwhelming and soon his hands were running down my body, holding me to him as he pressed me harder against the wall.

"You are mine."

His words broke through, like a jagged spear of ice. His tongue darted out to meet mine.

And I bit down. Hard.

He cried out, tearing away from me, lips parted. Red smeared across his lips, his lipstick now shared between us. Blood welled up in his mouth.

I grinned.

"I'll never be yours," I rasped. "I would rather die."

He closed his mouth, wiping a hand across it, the lust in his gaze dying down. He brushed himself off.

"Fine. We will do this the hard way then." He closed his eyes and sighed, a perfect mockery of remorse. "Just remember, this is all your fault."

I was done talking to him. I tilted my head back against the wall, licking what remained of his blood off my lips. It was salty and tinged with metal.

He shook his head sadly, gesturing to the still solitary guard in Sabine's cell. They were always so silent. I sometimes wondered if a man truly hid under the mask or if it were simply the manifestation of shadows within the armor.

I stood straighter.

Sabine. There was no way she could handle another beating.

Pierre watched me. "I wonder if she will make it to tomorrow?"

My stomach roiled with dread. "I won't tell you. No matter what."

But there was an uncertainty that hadn't been there before. Could I really do it? Could I watch her die without breaking?

The dull thud of a fist hitting flesh echoed through the dungeons. I winced.

Another hit. I closed my eyes. Pierre's voice, soft and sweet. "Tell me, Ophelia. Where is the stone. How do you unlock the power of the Rose line. I need to know. If you tell me, she could be spared."

My eyes flew open. I gazed at Pierre. He smiled. "Ah, there we go. Yes, this... woman of yours. She doesn't have to die. I'm afraid I can't keep her here, but she could be secreted away before the execution, slipped from the palace when no one is looking. The king will be mad, yes, but what he really wants is you. One little Roserian fly is inconsequential when you have a Rose Princess instead."

He smirked like there was some private joke that I wasn't in on. "I care little about what the king wants. I would do it for you."

I licked my lips. I couldn't help but imagine it. There was no saving me...but Sabine.

She didn't deserve any of this. She didn't deserve to die. I could see it, her walking free, reuniting with Darren—if he was still even alive. Returning to Rosailles. There was no promise she would survive the war that was to come, but she had a better chance away from here.

But then I remembered her. Her loyalty, her faith. Her devotion to Rosailles. She would hate me if I gave up the secret.

I would be dooming them all if Pierre somehow got the stone and destroyed it. It was a secret my family had held on to for generations. I don't know what he planned to do with the information, but I couldn't risk it in his hands. Especially if what he was suggesting was true... that he, too, was somehow a Rose Heir. It was impossible, but I had to consider the possibility.

There was no way I could allow such power to fall into his hands.

I shook my head. Even as my stomach lurched. I knew Sabine well enough to know that she would not want to live if it meant betraying Rosailles.

Pierre hissed. Another punch. Air gasped from Sabine's lips, the only sound she made. The only proof she was still alive.

"Again," Pierre ordered.

I clenched my fists. Again, and again. She was beaten and bloodied.

I watched. Her face was bruised and battered, her body broken, but I still saw her. Strong, fighting—a warrior. A guardian Angel in the flesh. She was protecting me to the very end, taking the beating I deserved.

The guard punched her in the face, and I stiffened. That was different.

"Tell me or she dies." Pierre voice was no longer soft. "Just tell me Ophelia. Stop this. Don't push this so far that you regret it. I don't want to do this, but I will if I have to."

Fury welled up inside of me. I used what little energy I had to push from the wall, fingers curled into claws, a vicious cry ripping from me.

But the guard was faster, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He pressed his arm against my neck, holding me back from the prince. Though he did not hurt me, he made sure I got nowhere near Pierre.

Pierre's eyes danced with amusement. "Resisting is futile, my love."

Behind him, the guard hit Sabine's face again. I struggled against the guard, trying to claw face. His grip tightened harder so I could barely move.

Hot wrath filled my blood.

Something in my mind clicked. I was not trained like Elliotte or Darren, but I'd had to learn a bit. My father had seen to it. Made sure I could defend myself. My body clicked into motion, old muscles remembering the moves. I had a warrior queen's blood in my veins—and that had nothing to do with magic. Something hard pressed just above my hip. A weapon.

They had never bothered to chain me.

I turned into the guard as my fist came swinging out. Distracted, he didn't see the one I aimed into his groin. He let out a sharp gasp—the first sound I had heard out of any of them. The first sign they were even human.

He doubled over. I didn't waste any time as I grasped the sword and pulled it out. The guard was already recovering as I stepped away from him.

I pointed the blade at Pierre. It was heavier than I expected, and it took both of my hands to hold it. The blade trembled, and I fought to steady it.

Pierre had yet to turn around, still watching Sabine and the guard in the other cell.

I didn't even think. Anger was pushing me now. Pierre must have realized what was coming because he spun around at the last moment. Our eyes met, his wide as I drove the sword right through his stomach. A harsh sneer curled my lips.

"You'll never have it," I hissed, "the crystal, me. None of it will ever be yours. Rosailles will never bow to Garnette. You will not defeat us."

Pierre grimaced, his lips tightening over his mouth as his face contorted. He reached out, gripping the blade. I had aimed right through the boning of the binding he wore, but it still hadn't gone as deep as I wanted. For good measure I pushed more of my weight into the blade. Blood ran down his fingers as he tried to hold it from piercing him through.

His eyes were wide, somehow managing to look as if I was the one that betrayed him.

"What have you done?" he asked softly, his voice wet. He shuddered, shaking his head. The dim light revealed tears cutting dark lines down his cheeks. "I don't want to defeat you, Ophelia. I wanted to..." he coughed. "I wanted us to rise."

He leaned forward, staggering. "I gave you the choice, I offered you a seat at my side, but still...you resist." He let out a deep, wet rasp. Blood bubbled to his lips. Around me the Angels broke out in a frenzy of dark, angry whispers.

He stared into my eyes. "I will have what is mine. By my blood and by my birth."

My hands shook, my body trembling with rage as the adrenaline slowly started to leak out of me, and the true severity of what I had done hit me. I drew back, taking the sword with me.

Pierre let out a sharp cry as it cut through him again. His hands fell to where blood gushed out over the intricate embroidered whorls of his clothes. Red rivulets spilled out over bejeweled fingers. He let out a choked laugh as he stumbled to the ground gripping his stomach.

The door to the cell clanked open. I remembered the two guards a moment too late. The one that had been in the cell with Sabine stormed over to me, his sword unsheathed, metal glinting in the flickering light.

And the other guard. The one I had taken a sword from. I knew better than to think he had been equipped with just one. I swallowed, gripping my now blood-stained weapon. My training might have come back to me, but that didn't mean I could take on two fully trained and elite members of Aurelian's Chosen.

I gripped the sword tight. The Angels screamed against my ears. All I heard was the slow thump... thump...thump of Sabine's heart. The guard was almost upon me, moving like a shadow come to life.

Before I could react, a dark figure manifested behind my attacker. Something hot and wet splattered over me. The guard fell shuddering to the ground. Metal glinted as the figure drew back its weapon.

I took a step back. Wary. Pierre groaned beside me on the floor.

I rose my blade, watching as the figure wiped his dagger off on his dark clothes. It was the guard that had been restraining me. He tucked his blade away, making no move toward me.

I glanced at the body of the other guard.

"Who are you?"

He laughed, raising his hand to the seam of his mask. He pulled it off, sandy blonde hair flopping into view. Brown eyes glinted in the dark. They were hard, but appreciative.

"Your guard friend begged me to come to save you." Jourdon looked down at Pierre's prostrate body. He showed no remorse or sadness at the sight of his bloodied brother. "But it looks like the princess was capable of saving herself."