The female archer grabs my arm, hoisting me out of the wagon. The chains around my wrists keep me from striking her and the same goes for Renit as my childhood friend picks him up underneath his arm and hoists him to a standing position. The prince turns a deathly shade of pale as he staggers.

Bren appears ready to let him drop and I glare back at him, a promise that if he doesn't tighten his grip—he'll face my wrath later. He will either way.

The small group of rebels stands watch, arrows at the ready and hands on the pommels of their swords. Way out here, away from the eyes of the mines, no one will notice whether we come in or out of this place. The slaves are too busy worrying about whether they'll see tomorrow and the overseers are so drunk with power, they're blind to the idea that some of them are allowed to glimpse the sun rise.

We're led through a small cluster of trees and towards an abandoned underground stairway. Don't let them separate us. Renit's words ring in my skull. I keep an ear out for his footsteps, if anyone were to take advantage of him it would be now. He's the reason they're here, filled with so much hate they're choking on it.

I glance over my shoulder at them, my past and my future, and Renit's head is dipped low. Bren keeps a tight grip on the prince but that's hardly enough to keep his feet shuffling forward. He can barely stand upright, let alone walk. I have to do something. I have to do something fast.

The stairs are narrow and dusty, lit only by the flicker of a candle carried down by a rebel ahead of us. Each one of them wears the black cloths over their faces and hoods to conceal the rest of their identity. Bren does the same, strapped with weapons of arraying strength. If I'm not mistaken, a hatchet is strapped to his back.

Straw slides underneath my boots once we reach the bottom of the stairwell and the archer pushes me forward into one of the few cells in the small, underground prison. Titanium bars suffocate any hint of power from floor to ceiling, the ground being the walls and the solid surface over our heads, supported by wooden beams.

The rebel sets down the candle on a boulder in the corner and opens one of the cells. I'm pushed in first. "Think about attacking me once these shackles are off and I'll chain you to the bars so you can't move," she snarls. I ignore the urge to punch her in the jaw.

She unlocks the shackles and backs away, taking the chains with her. Renit is shoved in next, brought by Bren, and I exhaust all of my effort into glaring at him as he takes the prince to the back of the cell and unlocks his shackles. I'm there immediately so he doesn't fall over himself and he slowly slumps to the floor in an old pile of straw. I don't let myself think about the rodents that have nested here over the years, they didn't bother to clean out the cell before we arrived.

"He needs to be healed," I order as Bren walks out of the cell and locks the titanium door behind him. We don't stand a chance of getting out of here, I have no doubt we will be watched from all corners of this small dungeon and on the ground, as well. Eyes are not few and far in-between in a place like this. Even with the overseers, we stand a chance of being caught in the wrong place.

"What's to say he doesn't attack us when he's healed?" Bren jerks a chin towards the prince.

Renit, leaning against the wall and bracing a hand against his shoulder, frowns. "I'll gut you where you stand," he croaks. The fever is too strong, he's losing every bit of sanity by the second.

My childhood friend grips onto the bars, staring at him with that predatory intent to kill. The same as the female archer. She steps forward, thumbing a dagger loose from her belt and scraping it against the titanium. Each movement is one of a warrior. "You won't touch him, prince. I'll skin you alive," she snaps, spitting at the dirt in front of his boots.

Bren snaps over to her. "Tesha, leave us." His voice is one step above a growl. She meets his eye but doesn't budge; he squares up to her fully. "Leave. Us." With a thumb jerked towards the stairway, Bren towers over the archer, now known as Tesha. The more I learn about them, the easier it will be to kill them for taking Renit hostage. "Now."

With one look back at us, a warning glare, she turns on her heels with a click of her tongue and stomps back up the stairway. So many threats loom on my tongue yet none of them are right for a moment like this, when I have no weapons and no power to name. Her skill with a bow should not be underestimated and out of spite, she might injure Renit again.

When it's just the three of us, I take a deep breath through my nose and look him up and down. He removes the black cloth and the hood, exposing himself fully to me. I bite back the lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes as I take him in, the slightly longer hair, the scar along his jaw and the battle-worn body. He's changed.

We've both changed.

"You're well?" I ask.

He swallows. "I'm fine. Are you well?"

"What does it look like, Bren?" I can't hold back the anger swelling in the back of my throat like a smoldering fire. Like his fire, the one born and bred into the immortal witch he has become. After two months, he looks older than he once was. Did he reach the Age Lock early? "Do I look fine? I'm in a cell, you're a rebel, and the prince will die if you don't heal him. I've had much better days."

From the back of the cell, Renit huffs a shaken sigh as his head droops low once more. Every second is wasted on this, on a reunion I didn't think I would be having this way. I wanted to embrace Bren, to tell him of these past two months and the strength I've developed but instead, I'll have to settle for this. I'll have to settle for the urge to scream at him every time he blinks or gives me that longing look telling me he missed seeing my face.

Bren's stare darts to the prince and back to me. "Celestine? How...how is Celestine?" He asks carefully.

"Celestine is fine," I retort quickly. "Heal the prince." I jerk a chin towards Renit who places a hand against his shoulder and winces at the pain he finds. I've never seen a rosier shade of pink on his cheeks, before long I'll have to strip him down so he doesn't overheat. There are hardly any preventative measures here—we have a bucket for relieving ourselves and another bucket of clean water that is likely the opposite of that. No food to name, no healing supplies.

I've memorized every little feature on Bren's face. His smile is wide, his eyes are bright, his cheeks are often flushed with the morning chill after chopping trees in the haze. Yet, when I look at him now, I don't find all the familiar features I've memorized. Instead, he's a completely different witch and I don't feel like I know him at all. "Your parents?" He inquires.

I shift uncomfortably, the memory of their heads toppling to the ground flashing into my mind. He doesn't know what he's doing by mentioning them but my heart swells with the irritation of their deaths—of what the king did. They didn't deserve to die. My eyes shift to the ground, where I toe the dirt with the tip of my boot. "They're dead, Bren." His eyes widen like he didn't hear me. "They're dead," I repeat.

His mouth parts to speak but no words come out. There haven't been many occurrences in our relationship where he's found himself unable to form the words but this is one of the few. First, he wants to look at me with sympathy and the next second, his rage is centered around Renit and what he might want to do as punishment for taking the lives of two innocent witches.

Those freckled hands of his go to his hips and brace against the belt he wears, stocked with daggers and a quiver of arrows. "Who?"

It's a simple question. Two months ago, I might have said Renit because he was the witch that took me out of Arego in the first place. But after witnessing for myself what the prince has gone through against his father, there's a solid wall dividing them, even if their behavior is one in the same. Once I thought them to be so similar they could be twins in personality. That has changed dramatically.

"The king," I mumble. "They were beheaded."

He nods slowly, rolling his tongue on the inside of his lip before jerking his strong chin towards the prince. "He didn't have anything to do with it?"

"No, he didn't. He opposed their killings, both princes did." I remember Silas, silently questioning his father before killing my mother. A testament to his subjects, a display of what can happen if anyone went against the crown. They can't live under his rule without their heads. A kingdom full of unloyalty does not do a king any good.

He kills them off like flies.

I glance over my shoulder at Renit, leaning the back of his head against the cold stone. He winks at Bren, the only sign of aggression he can show without fully doubling over himself. I'm surprised he can find amusement in such a time like this, when he's scorching.

When I turn back to Bren, he's already watching me. "That doesn't change what he did," he says loud enough for Renit to hear.

"I don't care what he did," I snap. I close the distance between us, stepping close enough to the bars so our faces are only inches apart. Bren doesn't balk but his cheeks flush. "He needs a healer or he will die." I allow my voice to drop. "What's your foolish plan if the prince is dead?"

Bren shrugs. "We'll make a statement that way. We're not afraid to kill a prince."

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not what you want to do, though. You have another plan in mind and infection wasn't one of them. If he dies, your plan is ruined."

"Why do you care so much? He took you from Arego and he's the reason your parents are dead. If I were you, he would already be dead." Bren grips the titanium bars and makes a point to glare at Renit with a challenging stare. That is not a fight Bren will win, not against a witch that has trained for three-hundred years to face this exact moment.

Even if we're already failing, in the grasp of the rebels, that doesn't mean we don't have a chance of escaping. With Renit healed, our chances are much better at fighting our way out. With my magic, losing would be out of the question and Renit's storm is the power to work wonders in fully allowing us to escape and sending a signal to the capital that we need aid.

I step in front of Bren to block his view of Renit. "I care because he is my ticket to life. I'm his Grounding and we're engaged." I lift up a hand to expose the gold band on my finger. Bren frowns at it, not hiding the disappointment in his face at all. "If he dies, there is no use for me and the king will decide that my life is no longer worth the cause. Once I'm dead, the same will go for Celestine. Do you want that to happen?" I arch a brow and Bren swallows.

"No...no I don't want that to happen." He huffs a sigh and looks towards the staircase. "How much longer can he stay like that? A day, tops?"

I shrug quickly. "If you don't heal him, I kill every last one of you." I school my features into neutrality and force such coldness into my eyes that Bren is taken back. "I don't care what personal relationship we might have had before this. Renit does not die, he is not harmed. That is my only condition."

At the same time my eyes turn cold from the loathe I feel for the rebellion, Bren's do the same. Except his hate is different, he feels that for the kingdom, for the king in the castle and the princes on the throne that have done nothing for others—everything is for themselves. Treasures sit at their feet, spilling over with gold coins and jewels.

I believed that to be the truth once. Two months in the castle has proved me wrong and I can no longer say the princes are on the wrong side of things. Renit has done terrible things in the past, yes, but motives laced his actions and there was nothing he could do underneath the hard press of his father's boot.

Silas donates businesses and parks to the capital, Renit took my punishments so I would never feel the brutal slice of a whip in my back. Because of that, I must protect them both. Even if the one back in the capital wants nothing to do with me now for the damage I've caused.

"Why do you care, Roux? He's the reason you're here in the first place," Bren hisses. Renit swallows loud, either evidence to show he's listening or because of the lack of moisture in his throat. That bucket of water is looking evermore tempting with each passing second.

"Things have happened these past two months," I bark. "If it wasn't for him, I would have received beatings from the king. He took those beatings for me so I wouldn't have to face injuries. If anything, you should be thanking him for protecting me. I could be in much worse condition but I'm not and that's because of him. So cut the crap and get a healer—if you're smart enough to have one. He needs to be healed."

Bren watches me as I step back and wring out the bloodied handkerchief in the bucket of water. He stands there, silently observing, as I place that cloth flat on Renit's forehead and let the cold water seep into his skin. The prince closes his eyes against the relief and I whisper reassurance, not at all caring that my childhood friend is still standing there.

Things have changed. He's part of the rebellion now and I'm on the other side. There are so many other things I want to scold him for, the rebellion being the top at that list, but I'll save that for later. Other things need my focus, like the prince, and I'm not going to waste another second arguing through solid titanium bars. That will get us nowhere.

Minutes later, I hear Bren shuffle up the stairway and back into the afternoon turning into evening. "I'm going to take off your boots," I warn Renit. He nods, the back of his head shifting against the stone wall.

"He's a jerk," he criticizes as I begin to unlace his boots. The heat will have to escape through his feet and if I can get his tunic off, his armpits will have a chance to breathe and release some of that heat.

"Bren's not all bad. He just...hates you." I take off his wool socks and place them inside his boots, leaving him completely barefoot. Renit sighs his relief as the bottom of his feet are exposed to the cool air in the underground dungeon. "Can you take your tunic off?"

"If you're trying to kill me, then yes." This isn't the time for humor but my mouth quirks to the side at his tone. I force away my smile and grab the hem of his shirt. I manage to pull his right arm out of the sleeve and tug the rest over his head, trailing the fabric all the way over his left arm that is left completely motionless. Renit moves as little as possible and keeps that cloth against his forehead. As I fold his tunic, he clears his throat. Before he has the chance to ask whatever he wants to ask, likely something about Bren, boots shuffle down the stairs once more.

I glance up, spotting Bren's orange hair and the company of another, an equally strong man without the hint of a smile on his face. He approaches the cell, eyes searching over Renit, and the door is unlocked.

"Your healer," Bren confesses. I glare at the man as he enters, staring at Renit like he's a piece of meat instead of a patient. He moves too slowly, calculating every step, until his feet are shifting in a strange way and my movements aren't quick enough to stop him as he drives his boot into Renit's side.

"No!" I scream. I slam into the healer's side, knocking him against the wall as Renit tumbles to the side, groaning. I have no weapons so instead, I claw at the man's face and reach for his throat. A second later, Bren is prying me off of him as I kick and thrash, promising that he will meet his death before this is all over.

The healer brushes back a strand of his long blond hair, stopping at his shoulders in straight, frizzy tufts. "That's for killing my husband," he snarls, staring down at Renit as the prince pants, wheezing through his nose as he attempts to breathe. That's another wound that will need healing. "He was a good witch, an innocent witch, and your father killed him."

Tears well in his eyes but I feel no sympathy. Bren's arm is still wrapped tightly around me, holding back whatever attack I might have planned. "I'll kill you," I growl.

His eyes shift to me and he smirks. "What can you do, weakling?" He dares to ask.

"Take off the titanium band and see for yourself." I lurch for him again, barely coming up short as Bren tugs me back. That cocky smirk remains on his face as he watches me thrashing to get to him and Renit, slowly recovering from the blow. He leans his head against the wall, waiting out every breath like it might be his last.

"Do what I asked of you," Bren orders, a sharp tone in his voice. A request from the leader of this operation, as much as we know. I don't have any facts other than that he's a rebel, joined after the fight he put up at the river in Arego when he tried to get Celestine to safety. His side of the story is blind to me but if the prince dies, I will have no need to know it—or him.

Bren will be dead to me, too.

The healer leans down next to Renit and an itch forms across my skin at the need to protect him from any other harm. He's too close, the healer can snap his neck right there, all because of something his father did. Those are probably most of the complaints from these rebels, actions drawn out by the king against the innocent people—and they've captured the wrong person.

A white light forms at the healer's hands as he hovers them over the wound. Shadows cast across his features as the wound stitches together, skin closing in on skin. Renit doesn't move and he doesn't let his eyes shift anywhere other than the titanium bars closing in on him. The prince isn't stupid enough to attack two able-bodied men with more outside.

Once his work is done, the healer stands and without offering a farewell, saunters out of the cell and like Tesha, stomps back up the stairs.

Bren finally releases me and I shove off of him, kneeling next to Renit to examine what is left. Already, he appears to be healthier but something is wrong. There's still infection in his wound and it's not closed completely...only enough to keep him down.

The titanium door slams shut and Bren watches me from the other side of the bars. "He's not healed all the way!" I shout. "I said to heal him."

"We have to keep him down, otherwise he might try to attack. I'm sorry, Roux, but this is the way I'm running things." He bids me a nod of farewell, a simple gesture between two people that know everything about each other from their greatest fears to their strongest ambitions and like everyone did before, departs from the dungeons so we have nothing to do other than face our fate.