to ashes and left her even weaker than before.
He had also put a stop to her rather poor attempt at escaping. She had been healing one of his warriors in the infirmary when she had accidently lost her connection to the spell, leaving the demon in crippling pain. She had then touched every demon she could before they realised what was happening, unleashing a healing spell into each of them and then severing her link with it. It had been working, demons dropping like flies around her, and then she had discovered a massive flaw in her brilliant plan.
She had turned to escape through the arched doorway and found herself facing a dark witch.
The witch had gone to town on her, battering her with spells that she had no way of countering or protecting against. Before Rosalind had lost consciousness, the blonde witch had loomed over her and told her it was payback for her sisters.
Rosalind had slipped into nightmarish replays of killing the witches on the side of the Fifth King, seeing their deaths over and over again in gory detail.
She shuddered and weakly rubbed her arms, her manacles clanking with each sweep of her hands.
If the black-haired man despised witches, he wasn’t going to be very happy when he discovered the Fifth King had a whole harem of them living in the castle above.
Rosalind crawled to the bars of her cell with effort, each shuffling inch forwards causing agony to ripple through her. She collapsed into the right corner and leaned her head against the cold bars, breathing hard as she stared left along the corridor towards the man’s cell.
Her head swam, pain and hunger combining to turn it light and spin her thoughts together into a blur. She tried to focus on the man again, letting everything else drop away.
Why did he despise her kind so much?
Heavy footsteps sounded along the corridor at her back, coming from the direction of the dungeon’s torture chamber.
The thick leather boots stopped outside her cell and she managed to tip her head back and look up the towering height of their owner. The dark-haired demon stared down at her, his emerald eyes devoid of feeling, filled with cold indifference.
“Your healing is needed,” he said in a gruff, deep voice, and opened her cell door.
Who needed to be healed? One of the demons? She was too afraid to mention to this man that she was too weak from her punishment to be of use to him. She doubted she could muster the power to heal anyone right now.
The demon grabbed her roughly by her arm and hauled her onto her feet. He dragged her from her cell and along the dank corridor, moving too swiftly for her legs to keep up. She gave up trying to walk and let him pull her along, her bare toes bouncing off the gaps between the stone flags and her body hanging limp from his strong hand.
Only one guard. If she could channel her healing power into him, she could take him down. She might be able to escape. She almost laughed at that, the flicker of hope in her heart quickly dying. She couldn’t walk, let alone run. She was never escaping this hell.
She wasn’t powerful enough without her magic. These demons were one hundred times stronger than she was on the best of days. In a physical fight against one, she would last less than a second.
How strong would the man be when he healed?
He should be better by now. She had flooded him with all the healing spells she could manage, and the highest level ones available to her. It struck her that they were heading in the direction of his cell. She could sneak a glance at him on her way past to the infirmary at the end of the corridor.
Rosalind stared ahead, her eyes fixed on his cell to her right as they approached it.
The demon stopped outside it and her eyes widened in horror.
What had happened to him?
The man’s injuries were worse than ever, and his wrists bore a new set of cuffs, heavier ones that had been bolted to the end of the stone slab where he lay. They had shackled his ankles too.
And was one of the